[IC] Realms of Sun & Shadow

[enmuni]

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The Eye of the Beholder

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Nesna clasped her gloved hands in front of her chest as Nathaniel extolled the virtues of Sagedom. Her ears perked up and her eyes brightened in their glow and widened as he spoke of truths and histories. The smile on her blackened lips wiggled into a deeply eager expression, one which was resisting attempts to stifle it into a more demure composition.

As Sya interrupted, Nesna snapped suddenly to look at her. After a momentary freeze, she offered Sya a polite wave, smile, and nod of acknowledgement.

“I’ve seen to the tea, anyway,” she warmly responded. “I’ve put in an order with…ah, I’ll have to ask him his name again. The Lunarian merchant, anyway. It’s paid for and seen to, and I’ve gotten for us a nice sampling. Greens, dark greens, and reds, as I recall—enough to get a sense of what you most prefer, and how you should prefer them.”

Looking back to Nathaniel as he continued his thought as Sya hurried off to attend to all manner of other things, the same eager expression rapidly overcame her. The hand she’d used to wave to Sya drifted back inwards, settling by her face as her other hand met it, and they clasped together by her cheek. Her grin faded briefly as he stopped himself from continuing on, settling into a cautious smile, as if hoping that Nathaniel would simply promise it to her in no uncertain terms. Her still-clasped hands slowly lowered from her cheek, down past her chest, settling just underneath, drawn tightly to her.

“It sounds lovely…” she longingly sighed, as if bemoaning that she did not already know exactly of what he spoke. Nesna cocked her head as her eyes narrowed into a more wistful expression, contrasting with the hopeful smile that still sat on her lips.

“Oh, but for to even be a piece of such a thing, I could only dream,” she cooed, “Even if the age to become a proper Sage were passed for me, I could only hope to be of some use as a volunteer. I am used to demands, of course, and demands without reward! But Sagedom, how rewarding is it, indeed?”

Nesna cleared her throat, then continued, shifting to a more sensible, conversational tone, “Never mind all of that. If I could only know, do you ever lie awake at night with thoughts of your work? Or, say, find yourself compelled to stay at your station longer still? I’d always imagined such a thing as happening quite often.”

Interactions
Nathaniel @Echotech71, Sya @PrinceAlexus

[enmuni]

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Seluna Temple

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Initially, Ramona offered Katherine no response, no confirmation that she had even heard her at all. From behind her dark mourning veil, her eyes remained, dimmed by yet still piercing in their cerulean shine despite the fabric, fixed in the direction of Elara. Her mouth remained small, restrained to a neutral expression even as her rigid stance suggested anything but a lack of sentiment. And yet, Elara looked back, offering not a suggestion by her looks that she was any more supposed to be here than Ramona herself was. Elara seemed pensive, more pensive than Ramona herself had meant to muster the look of. And yet, it held behind it some shadow, some flicker of disapproval—but not directed at all where Ramona expected it to be. For Elara offered not a scowl, not any sort of expression that suggested Ramona leave or avert her gaze, but a little nod. Ramona returned a tight-lipped smile to Elara, at once offering a silent thanks and reciprocating the sentiment.

Suddenly, an owl swept in, and like a fearful little creature, Ramona flinched sharply, pulling her cloak ever-tighter around herself as she did, as if the bird were creating a frightening draft. As she again moved to relax herself, Ramona cast a silent, tired gaze at the owl and its owner with a slight tilt of her head. A quiet, strained sigh escaped her nose as she tried to convince herself that the animal would not ultimately disturb the calm of the temple.

When the priestess offered her welcome, Ramona offered a small bow and murmured, “So be it,” before continuing on her way after Elara. While Elara took the first alcove, Ramona stopped and knelt by the pool. Carefully, she removed her right glove, keeping her hand, already regrowing its webbing bit by bit as it was, close to her body so as to keep it hidden. She dipped two fingers in the frigid water as she lifted her veil with her other hand, bending closer towards the water as she did so. Bringing the wetted fingers to her face, she traced an arc along her forehead, from one eyebrow to the other, from right to left. Then, rewetting her fingers, along her chin, she traced a matching arc from left to right.

She flipped her veil back so it stayed out of her face as she turned to claim the next alcove down from Elara. As Ramona approached the alcove, she removed her other glove, and tucked both gloves into her pouch. At last, she knelt there, and produced from her pouch the three candles that she had packed. In a motion so natural she had no need to look, she set them in a row from largest to smallest, with the largest at the back. Each sat firmly attached to a little metal basin, where she would collect the wax and make new candles from the used wax. Taking the largest candle in hand, she rose again, bringing to the nearest candle in the temple to light it.

Ramona brought the candle back to its place in the row at the alcove, and bent forward as she knelt, until her forehead came to rest before the candles. There, she let herself sit in silence for a moment, before lifting her head again. She gazed into the flame, completely still, completely silent, until at last, from deep within her, she began to softly hum. Though it was not loud or forceful enough to echo, it was audible all the same, for how she had to force it out past her resistant vocal chords.

As she completed the song, she redoubled as she moved to light the second candle from the first, beginning to sing softly. Her voice, as it always did, crackled as though she had been crying just before, as though tears had been shed and she was singing through them, even though she was not yet, not today, in any such way. As Ramona slowly sung, she rocked back and forth on her knees, nodding her head forward and holding her hands to her chest.

“Youthful years, oh sweet youthful years,
You stay alive, here, within my spirit
When I’m thinking of those days,
I feel sad and desolate,
Oh, how soon we’ll all have been forgotten…

That little house, which I remember,
The place where I was born, and was raised
And I see it, my cradle there,
It sits in that same corner,
It seems like a dream so long abandoned…

And my mother, oh, how I have loved her
So too am I mourning now my father
Whenever we clasp our hands
Be we though in distant lands
I am still reminded of their warmth”

Ramona lit the last, smallest candle off of the middle candle as she continued to sing. Still rocking, she reached into her pouch and produced the bread and cheese, and began to break it into pieces. First, she split the bread and cheese into halves, then quarters. She placed a quarter on either side of the largest candle, then broke a third off of each of the remaining two quarters of bread and cheese. She set the thirds on either side of the smallest candle, and the remaining pieces, larger than the smallest ones, but smaller than the largest ones, on either side of the medium candle.

“I remember, little bird, my sweet, now,
I could still kiss your rosy cheeks, now
Your eyes were so full of life
With you, my heart felt no strife
How I’d hoped you’d be forever mine.

Youthful years, when my heart was blooming
Still from my aching hands, you’re fleeing
Now how sorrowful old years,
Mournful, cruel, terrible years,
Sit perched upon your beautiful remains

Youthful years, where have you been hidden?
Family, in life we’ve been unbidden
From this hollow world we’ve fled
Unto the land of the dead
Seluna, guide me when it’s my turn.”

As Ramona finished breaking the bread and cheese, she brought her hands back to her chest, and returned to humming. She rocked vigorously, forcefully, and rhythmically, until concluding her tune. Finally, she scooted back, and bent forward into a deep bow, touching her forehead to the floor.

“Holy Seluna, fair Goddess of the night,” she chanted in a monotone prayer, “Guide me and watch over me and keep me, as I walk in thy light and in the darkness, and grant that I might find and know thee better, in this life and in the next, and that those who come before and who come after alike follow in thy preserving, gentle light. I pray that in this phase and phases to come, that in thy blesséd light, the sacred mysteries of the world might be made plain towards me, that they should not inspire fear or weakness, that I should find within me the strength and the purpose to continue in my labour under thy light, and that within thy peaceful gaze, thou might see me on towards unity with those whom I have seen themselves wane. In this, and in thee, and in thy guiding light, I pray.

So be it”

[The Muse]

Collab between @The Muse and @c3p-0h
_{Location: Seluna Temple}

Part III

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The walk over had been quiet.

Snow crunched beneath their boots in a slow, steady rhythm. Behind them, the clatter of armor was a constant reminder that they weren't alone, but Flynn had asked the guards to give them space, and they had. They kept their distance, close enough to intervene if necessary—weapons ready, eyes sharp—but far enough not to intrude.

Flynn’s hand remained laced with hers—still cold despite how long they'd been walking. But she hadn't pulled away. She'd stepped into him earlier, folded herself into his arms, seeking warmth. Seeking him. That mattered.

Just as her words did.

He’d turned them over a dozen times now, trying to decipher all she hadn’t said aloud. She’d given him a warning, he knew. But also a small window into the reality of her world.

He caught himself glancing at her more than once. At the way the snow settled gently into the strands of her dark hair. At the snowflakes that still pulled around her ankles with every step, like they belonged to her—answered only to her.

They followed the path along the lake, its edges frozen over, the center still dark and open. Not unlike Amaya, he thought—ice guarding something deeper, something that refused to yield.

She was surrounded by everything that called to her—water, snow, and the chill of winter. The moon overhead, hidden behind a layer of clouds. Several pieces to the puzzle that shaped her—something that had never needed warmth to survive.

And then… there was him.

Trailing in the wake of it all. Trying like hell to get through. Reaching for warmth, wanting—always wanting. And every time he thought he’d made it, he stumbled.

For all his wanting, he still felt like a foreigner trying to interpret an unknown language carved into stone.

His eyes lifted as the temple came into view along the lake’s edge, its spired roof reaching toward the darkened sky. A design meant to honor the moon goddess. His gaze settled on the open part of the roof—the perfect circle carved out, where the full moon would align and allow Seluna’s light to pour straight through. He had stood beneath it after the temple had been built, curious of Lunarian customs. But today, the beauty of it was dimmed. Overshadowed by what lay inside.

Two bodies. Lunarian ones. Amaya’s people.

His now, too. Theirs.

Flynn slowed as they neared the temple. The crunch of snow behind them softened as the guards followed suit, pausing a respectful distance away. He turned to Amaya, studying her in the faint moonlight, trying to read her expression. Trying to memorize the way she looked with snow in her hair and the weight of sorrow in her eyes.

He wanted to draw her into him again, to shield her from whatever pain awaited her inside.

But instead, his voice stayed low, just for her.

“If it becomes too much…” he murmured, “just give me a word… a look… and we go, okay? Take as long or as little as you need.”

No push. No expectation. However long she needed—minutes or hours—he’d follow her lead.

She didn’t respond immediately. Her eyes, wide and shadowed, caught in the moonlight as she stared up at the temple. Amaya was silent as ever — still as the lake’s surface. But her fingers curled slightly around his. The movement didn’t ache anymore, her skin no longer so frigid.

They stood there under the falling snow, as Flynn waited for Amaya to be ready, and Amaya…

Amaya couldn’t move. She thought the snow had turned to ice around her feet, climbing up her ankles, legs, knees, holding her in place. She’d been walking just moments ago, one foot in front of the other, mirroring Flynn’s longer strides.

Some part of her mind had registered, as they’d walked across town for the second time that morning, that he must’ve been slowing his steps for her. The guards and their careful distance had never wavered as they followed.

They’d all allowed her to set the pace. Just as they allowed her this time now, in the frigid winter air, to decide if she even knew how to move anymore.

There was another surge of emotion, part fear, part disorientation, part… she didn’t know. She didn’t have the words for it. But Flynn’s warm hand had never pulled as they walked. There’d been no demand in his grip as he’d quietly led her back to the temple – as long as he was certain that her steps wouldn’t stray from his.

But his larger hand, his stronger grip, had tightened so desperately to keep her beneath the canopy that threatened to become an avalanche. His frame was tall and broad as he’d blocked her escape, his shadow swallowing her whole.

There were limits to what was allowable.

And still, she found herself wanting to lean into him. She couldn’t bring herself to pull her hand from his. It felt like sealing her own fate – sealing his.

“Do you know who it is?”

Was.

The second corpse in the temple, the thing that used to be a person, haunted her thoughts, formless and faceless. The other guard? Someone from the feast? A person that Amaya had never even seen, before she’d made them cold and lifeless? Someone had known them – would grieve them. How far would this pain stretch, like ice crawling over the surface of a lake?

Amaya traced the temple’s silhouette, the way it pierced the snowy sky like a blade. The entrance loomed large – sealed shut. It grew in her vision, commanding her focus as she stayed rooted in place.

This door was hers to open.

Flynn lowered his gaze to the narrow space between them, at the snow gathering in their footprints. He thought of the guards and what they had told him yesterday—of what he had failed to tell her.

Swallowing the guilt that tightened in his throat, he shook his head and looked back at her. “We don’t know…” he said softly, “The body…”

He grimaced, gaze lowering again for a split second. Even saying it felt like a violation. “It’s… unrecognizable. Whoever it was, they were found beneath a rock.”

He paused, breath fogging in the air. “The clothes were Lunarian in style, so that’s why they thought… why they assumed... And the body wasn’t wearing armor or leathers. Just a…” his voice trailed for a moment, the words bitter in his mouth. “A civilian.”

There was a beat of silence. The shame of it settled around his shoulders like a weight. The failure of it all. The blight-born still unaccounted for.

“No one’s reported anyone missing yet. But… we’re still searching.”

His words sank deep into Amaya and twisted. The falling snow flinched in the air around them. She was still looking at the temple entrance.

Lunarian.

Civilian.

Unrecognizable.

They hadn’t just been killed, they’d been mutilated. She heard Sir Abel’s scream as his face was ripped apart, the ghastly spray of blood that the attacker had practically bathed in – reveled in. It wasn’t survival. It was brutality for the joy of it. And there was something so sickeningly familiar about it.

Amaya was frozen, her quiet breath growing too quick in her chest. She was numb. She was coated in ice. The temple’s long shadow stretched towards her, its blade inching closer and closer.

“I don’t understand.” She never had. It was a lost, thoughtless whisper as the snow spun ever harsher through the air around them.

Flynn looked away from her, watching as snowflakes circled them, ripped out of their natural descent. Silently, he studied the shift, absorbed the feeling of the hum of her magic causing a static charge along his skin. It should have felt threatening and yet…

He turned his gaze back to her.

Distantly, he heard the crunch of boots. A pause. One of the guards behind them called out, wary and uncertain.

“Your Highness… ”

The voice was cautious, questioning Flynn’s safety. Unsure whether the Prince still stood untouched within the eye of the gathering storm that was Amaya.

Flynn didn’t turn. His gaze stayed fixed on her.

She hadn’t moved. Her pale blue eyes still locked onto the temple door.

He didn’t know how to reach her—how to ease what was breaking inside her. But the aching pull of his own heart pushed him forward.

Without a second thought, he drew her into his arms. One hand cradled the back of her head, the other slipping protectively around her.

“I know,” he whispered into her hair, his voice low, rough with helplessness. “I wish I had answers…”

He held her tightly to his chest, like he could anchor her back into her body. As if he might be able to call her back from whatever edge she stood on. Back to him.

She was stiff in his hold. Vision obscured, she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to breathe. Her magic lashed against her tightening grip, leaking out into the air around her. Too many memories played in her mind. She tried to force them down — to ground herself in the center of Flynn’s inescapable warmth. Her hands drifted up, barely settling against his waist.

But as she fought to muffle the frantic buzz of her magic, to fold it inward, bubbling emotions tried to claim the empty spaces it left. They coaxed themselves to the surface as her ice began to melt. Painful and shattering, Amaya could feel them trying to rip themselves out of her grip. She tensed, leaning into Flynn as they built in her throat like a scream.

Amaya could feel the frost in the air growing more frantic. Jaw tensing, fingers curling into the fabric at Flynn’s sides, she fought until she forced her emotions down, too.

Eventually her breathing began to slow, measured against his. He held her up as she tried not to melt into him — held her together as walls threatened to crack under the weight of him, around her back, in her hair, against her heart. Somehow Flynn kept her from scattering in the air like snowflakes, even as he undid her.

“If I cannot control myself,” came her soft voice, too still, too thick with emotion, “remove me.” It was a shameful request to make. The words burned their way up her throat as she offered them. But she would not cause a disturbance where the dead rested.

Flynn’s jaw tensed, his gaze flicking up toward the four guards who had inched closer. Their attention remained locked onto the two of them—watchful, silent, concerned—reading the moment like looming danger.

But Flynn didn’t move.

Her request—no, her order—had come laced with reluctance, he knew. He felt the weight of it within his arms, pressing upon her. But she’d reached out for his help, in her way. Given him that permission. That burden. That honor.

Her trust was not lost on him. He held it like something fragile and sacred in his chest.

Shifting slightly, he lowered his head, his lips brushing her forehead as the hand at the back of her head slipped down to rest at her lower back. Then he gave a small, near imperceptible nod.

“…Okay,” he murmured, but didn’t let go.

Flynn eased the space between them, his arms relaxing just slightly, but he didn’t step away. He remained right where he was—wrapped around her like a shield, steady and unmoving. He would stay as long as she needed, as long as she’d allow, until she was ready to step out of his arms and face whatever waited beyond the temple doors.

Childishly, Amaya wanted to press back into him, to chase him across the meager distance he created. But she held herself in place. Her eyes were still closed. She was still wrapped in his warmth – in his shadow.

When she opened her eyes again, forced herself back into the perilous solidity of her own body, and all the ice that surrounded her instead of what brewed inside –

She looked up at Flynn and the sea swallowed her. Snowflakes dusted the top of his head, his shoulders, caught against the textures of his coat.

Emotions drifted across her face, pulled by his current. Worry. Fear. Grief. Her eyelids fluttered as she broke her gaze, looking back down to his chest. She took in an unsteady breath. Then, hesitantly, Amaya looked over her shoulder to see the guards, closer than they’d been all morning. Close enough that she could see the wariness in their eyes, the tension in their postures.

What was better - to be a doll, or a natural disaster?

Amaya folded herself away.

When she stepped out of the circle of Flynn’s arms, her back was straight and her expression was placid once more. The air was too cold. The space around her was too empty. She paused, glancing back at him. With a quick, gentle sweep of her hand, the snowflakes that coated him flicked away. She forced her next breath to be steadier, as she looked back to the temple. Amaya could still feel her heart in her throat, how her pulse jumped as she imagined –

His hand was warm in hers. She didn’t know who’d reached out first.

They stood there under the falling snow, as Flynn waited for Amaya to be ready, and Amaya…

Another breath. Another, final, moment of hesitation. Then she forced herself to move. Amaya led them to the entrance of the Moon Temple, snow pulling around her ankles with every step, and opened the door like she’d always known how.

[The Muse]

Location: Zeph's Home (Northeastern Neighborhood)

Hands buried in his coat pockets, Zeph absently turned the gemstone over in his fingers. The cold night air nipped at his face, the warmth of the Sun temple fading faster than he would’ve liked, but he hardly noticed. His thoughts were too loud. Too vivid.

So when another guard passed him on the road—an Aurelian archer he didn’t recognize—Zeph only half-registered him. Briefly, somewhere between bites of his cookie, he considered stopping him. Asking who this “Hawthorne” person was. But the urge fizzled out just as quickly as it came. His new trainee had been waiting this long, she couldn’t wait longer.

His mind circled elsewhere now.

On Tia.

He could still see the wide-eyed, confused look she’d given him. So caught in whatever inner storm she carried that she’d hadn’t even noticed him in her space. The memory made him grin to himself, just a little.

But she’d looked so exhausted, too.

He’d seen it. The way she moved. The wince when she stepped. The blood at the edges of her robes. He should’ve asked about it. Maybe—hopefully—the blood was someone else’s. She was a healer, wasn’t she? Probably nothing, right? Probably...

Yet the memory of her straining to get to her feet stuck with him more than it should’ve. It unsettled him more than he would’ve admitted. And he wondered just how much she had drained herself in the effort to save Ivor and himself from bleeding out. Healers had their limits—especially Aurelian ones, these days.

Still… she was a High Priestess. You didn’t get to that position out of luck. She was far from helpless and could take care of herself. So he shoved the thought down.

Besides, she’d given him a task. Something exciting, secret, and maybe even a little bit important. And that, Zeph could handle.

Under the cover of perpetual night, slipping unnoticed through Dawnhaven’s streets wasn’t exactly difficult. He’d been sneakier under worse circumstances. He just needed the right approach. The right timing. The right lie, maybe.

But first, he turned north.

Home wasn’t far. He pushed through the front door into stillness, struck a match, and lit a few candles lined up along the kitchen table. Their flickering glow filled the room as he dropped into a chair, the wood creaking beneath him.

From his pockets, he emptied everything out onto the table. The prayer book, the gemstone, the folded parchment, and the small silver bell he’d swiped from the temple.

Carefully, he unfolded the letter and began to reread it. Slower this time. Without Firefly there to distract him—hovering just outside the space between his legs, pink-cheeked and watching him with dark eyes full of wonder and worry.

Idly, he turned the little bell between his fingers as he read, his brows slowly drawing together as he took her words in more thoughtfully.

Not a nightmare—a vision.

Of course, he’d heard about the Aurelian Priest who’d delivered the so-called prophecy—the whole reason Dawnhaven existed now, as the Sun Prince’s dying wish. But… was Tia like him? Some kind of seer? Or just another fraud? But what reason would she have to lie?

Maybe she was crazy.
He always did like the crazy ones best.

But he’d seen how strongly she reacted when she touched the gemstone. As if the thing had actually spoken to her. The stone had felt completely ordinary in his hands, but she didn't seem to be lying. He was inclined to believe her… he supposed.

Or at least suspend disbelief long enough to see where it led.

Setting the letter aside, he picked up the gemstone and held it up to the candlelight. Faint light bled through, splitting into pale purple lines across the walls that shifted when he moved. It reminded him of the crystals they’d seen in that cavern. But this one wasn’t raw. It had been shaped. Cut by someone. Crafted with care. Made for something.

But what?

He leaned back in his chair, hazel eyes shifting from gem to parchment.

Tia had trusted him with this. Trusted him. And she didn’t even know him. Didn’t know what he might do with her words.

He smiled, slow and thoughtful.

If this was as important as she seemed to believe, then yes—she was probably crazy.
Which was... fun.

Nonetheless, he owed her a debt. And he wasn’t in the habit of disappointing pretty, doe-eyed Priestesses—especially not ones who looked at him like that. Not right away, anyway. The disappointment would come later. It always did.

For now, he had planning to do.

He knew the Sage—Hightower. Had met her plenty of times. Played watchdog while they held their blight-born interviews. He’d even been invited inside, warming himself by her fire. He knew the ground floor layout well enough. Knew that her living quarters were on the upper levels—though he’d never seen them for himself.

Hightower was kind, in a distant sort of way. She was often so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she’d rarely offered much in the way of conversion, but she’d always been nice enough to take pity on a poor, cold guard—offering him and his watch partners a warm drink or a break beside the fire.

Still, it wouldn’t be easy to enter unnoticed. Too many of the other Sages passed through. Too many people that might find the parchment, or recognize him. Too much risk.

And if he intended to keep Tia’s message a secret…

There was only one other way in.

Up.

[Beard Dad]

Ivor, The Wild

_{Location: Eye of the Beholder}

---

Ivor remained silent, his gaze sharpening as he assessed Kira’s answer, or lack of one. It was difficult to read people sometimes, especially one as even and measured as the woman sitting in front of him. Perhaps it was because of that eveness that he was able to see the smile falter from her lips, how the bottle in her hands suddenly stopped turning. Ivor could practically see the walls go back up around her as she guarded herself from his question, retaliating with a cursory response.

“Tell me about Aleksi.”

Her smile looked different now compared to earlier, Ivor wasn’t sure how to interpret it outside of falsehood. His eyes closed as he thought that, perhaps he delved a little too deep in trying to know her better, perhaps he’d been too sure in himself that she’d let him in further. Ivor’s eyes opened once more, soft again as the thought of how to answer her, because perhaps, right now, that liquor of Sya’s was hitting him harder than he anticipated and he should enjoy the company regardless.

He sighed, taking another small swig from his bottle, quickly tucking it away lest he be tempted further, “Just like you Aleksi, eh?” He spoke in his native tongue to no one in particular. “Where does Ivor begin?” the giant stroked his beard, leaning back as he contemplated his old friend.

“Aleksi is…man you can always depend on, but never truly understand what goes on his head.” Ivor gave a somewhat knowing smile, [color=9a45dc]“I think he liked it that way.” The smile quickly faltered and turned dour, [color=9a45dc]“People did not understand him or his nature, often they feared him because they judged too quickly, too harshly.” His eyes lowered to the table, his hand tightening into a fist, “How could they know him though? Know what he suffered, what he lost…” he stopped and sighed, hand relaxing once more, “It is not my place to say where he came from, only that it forged his heart to iron, his body into a weapon.”

Ivor’s face looked somewhere between contemplative and nostalgic, “He and I came from two very different lives, but we became fast friends, he is a man I would call my brother and I miss him dearly.” His face twisted as he began to snicker, “Though it took much, much longer for him to call me brother as well,” Ivor laughed, the alcohol lowering his inhibitions as he let the memory sweep his emotions.

When the man finally calmed down enough to breathe again, he sighed in relief, “It does not matter where we come from Miss Kira, where we call home is not the place where Ivor sleeps, but the people Ivor knows in his heart.” He looked at her, “I see the people and how scared they are, but also hope in the eyes and the faces. It reminds me of my people, of my home. Ivor think that, one day, he can call these people his brothers and sisters, can call Dawnhaven home.” Ivor smiled another toothy grin, cheeks flush with booze and honesty. “Ivor hope that one day you see the people here as home and as family, as Ivor sees you, Sister.”

_{Interacting with: @The Muse}

[Qia]

---

_{Location: Frostmoon Lake -> Town Square
Interactions: Céline (@Beard Dad)}

---

Orion allowed the silence to stretch, its cadence measured by the muted crunch of snow beneath their feet. The guards, now placated by his proximity to the stranger, resumed their patrol. He wondered if she understood the precarious dance he’d just orchestrated. How his title, casually invoked, had disarmed their suspicion. Dawnhaven’s vigilance was warranted, of course; he knew this. Yet Orion knew too well how fear curdled into cruelty, as it had in Aurelia’s cobblestone squares where he’d once stood cloaked in authority, sentencing souls while his own monstrous hunger lay coiled beneath his ribs, waiting for the necessary ingredients to satisfy it: the blight and his death. The hypocrisy still tasted acrid, even years later.

Céline’s voice, thankfully, pulled him back then.

“My name is Céline,” she said gently. “And how may I address my escort today?” When her eyes met his, there was no deference, only assessment. It reminded him of the few blight-touched, like Willis, who’d dared meet his stare during their interviews. It had not been so much defiance but more so a quiet reclamation of the power they’d lost, or gained for a few, with their acquired nature.

Orion’s lips twitched slightly as he continued to assess her and her responses.“Orion,” he replied evenly, “Advisor to the prince. If titles matter to you.” His crimson eyes shifted briefly to the guards behind them, reassurance silently communicated. “And you chose the right place to change things, if that’s the case. Dawnhaven is still deciding what it wants to be. That gives people like us time to decide too.” He didn’t offer comfort with his words, not really. Just space. But for someone like Céline, maybe that was the rarest kindness of all.

“So, are you looking to stay?” Orion asked after a moment. “Or just passing through? The prince tends to favor those with useful hands. And steady hearts, of course.”

All the while, the two of them moved through the early hush of Dawnhaven’s waking hours. This part of town still bore the awkwardness of new construction—hastily raised beams, half-finished signage, buildings that leaned just slightly until someone stronger could correct them. The paths were uneven in places, too, flattened by traffic and flanked by banks of snow shoveled just enough to form narrow walkways. Yet for all its flaws, there was something alive in it. In the way hands had shaped it. In the way it refused to collapse under the weight of winter and just about everything that had occurred thus far.

“Reckon you’ll find all kinds here,” Orion added.“Farmers. Soldiers. Traders hoping to profit from the apparent end of the world. And those like you and me, I suppose, looking for something similar but…different. A second chance at life.”

[The Muse]

Location: Outside Eye of the Beholder

Alone again.

Nyla wasn’t sure if she was starting to enjoy the solitude that had begun to plague her around every corner, or if it had just become her new normal. She’d never been good at being alone. She’d grown up in a tight-knit community. Together, they travelled from town to town, performed for countless nameless faces, and bonded with the public over shared drinks and stories. She’d always felt comfortable in that space—surrounded by noise, touch, and human connection.

Being alone meant being separated from your chosen family. Being alone meant certain death.

But the walk back to the tavern had been… oddly peaceful. A relief from the crushing weight of that stranger's presence. She told herself she was glad for it, despite the way she kept remembering the slow, deliberate way his dark eyes had assessed her from bottom to top.

Some traitorous part of her actually wanted him to follow.

Focusing her eyes ahead, Nyla repetitively forced each and every thought down. She had other things to be concerned with.

Like…. Why did she still have this basket of cookies?

Like… Where was Flynn?

_{… Where was Flynn?}

_{… Where was Flynn?}

Her grip tightened on the basket, the wood bending and creaking as she fought the urge to tear the handle in half.

And then, as if summoned by some cruel twist of fate, a familiar redheaded woman exited the tavern.

Nyla’s steps faltered, her gaze locked onto the woman and the sheepdog who walked beside her. It was the woman Nyla had seen Aldrick dancing with the night before, she realized. But now, closer up…

Nyla knew that face.

Her lips curved into a surprised smile before she could stop them, her gaze sweeping over the woman’s familiar features. “Ah—Aren’t you Lady Evercrest?”

Formally, she should have said. Lady no longer befit her.

“Thalia, yes?”

She tilted her head, feigning mild confusion, as if she might be unsure of the woman's first name. But she knew. She’d seen this woman multiple times on multiple occasions—always from afar. She’d seen the way those hazel eyes had looked up at Flynn—like he could offer her the entire universe in just one breath.

“Oh,” she forced herself to faintly laugh, “you probably don’t remember me. I used to perform in the capital, but I remember you. I’m surprised to see you here.”

---

_{Interactions: Thalia @Qia}

[c3p-0h]

---

_{Location: The Sun Temple}

---

---

Tia’s eyebrows drew together, her smile patient and embarrassed as the guard tried to call her Your Grace, of all things. She shook her head, a hand raising to calm him. Tia tried to soften herself, giving him a gentle look as his nerves leaked out of him – for how solidly he’d placed himself at the temple door, he fidgeted like a schoolboy as he looked at her. It was… rather endearing, actually. Her smile turned encouraging, as her previous worries about his presence began slipping away. Whatever had motivated the order to bring him here, he still deserved the warmth of a fire and a friendly face.

But… her worries didn’t disappear completely.

At his question, her smile faltered. She shook her head again – she hadn’t been told that there’d been a guard arriving. The question lingered in the air, prickling lightly against her skin. Tia’s lips parted. Then she reconsidered, before looking down at her robes and retrieving her small notebook and pen from her interior pocket — she’d been sure to grab them from her room upon changing. Her smile when she looked up at him was a little more unsure, a little more nervous. Tia tapped at the scarf covering the skin of her throat in explanation and turned her attention back to the book.

Flipping through the first few pages, her eyes glanced over snippets of writing – previous conversations half-written as she’d moved about Dawnhaven. Memories flashed briefly at stray words, little reminders of all that had happened.

But she stilled when she saw one note in particular.

You should know that we technically don’t have permission to do this.

Please don’t tell anyone.

It was one of the last things she’d written – a hurried confession to the guard just before she’d left Dawnhaven with him and Ivor on their perilous, unsanctioned quest. He’d given her a cheeky smirk, assuring her in a low voice that he could keep a secret.

But Ivor hadn’t.

The realization struck Tia like lightning: Ivor couldn’t read. She’d never communicated to him that if anyone knew the details of where they’d gone yesterday, the Prince was going to be very mad.

And Ivor, exuberant and lively and loud, loved sharing with others.

Tia was frozen. Any peace she’d found outside in the springs all but evaporated. Wide eyes blinked down at her words. Then back up at the guard.

The guard. The Aurelian guard. The Prince was Aurelian (never mind that so was most of the population of Dawnhaven). Did he already know about where Tia had run off to yesterday, when she'd been unavailable to aid the Princess? Was the guard here to keep an eye on her? When had her pulse gotten so loud in her ears?

Tia's smile was only a little panicked as she looked up at him.

She tried to take a breath to calm herself – she didn't know the reason why the guard was here today of all days. Maybe it was because of the secret evil-gemstone-demon-cave mission. Maybe it was because of the alarms yesterday. Maybe it was because there should've been a guard here all along but they'd just… forgotten.

If her hands shook a little as she turned to a fresh page in her notebook… no they didn't. Tia flexed her hand a little before managing to write out another note. Her glance back up to the guard was nervous as she held the page up to show him.

Is this because of yesterday?

---

_{Interactions: Kale Grall @Theyra}

[Qia]

---

_{Location: Outside Eye of the Beholder
Interactions: Nyla (@The Muse)}

---

Lark surged ahead, a black-and-silver comet against the snow, his paws churning powder into glittering arcs. He hurled himself into a drift with the fervor of a knight breaching castle walls, emerging with his muzzle frosted and eyes blazing triumph. Thalia’s lips twitched despite herself. “Tyrant,” she called, her breath a pale plume. “Leave some snow for the rest of us, would you?”

He shook himself vigorously, spraying diamonds, then circled back to nudge her thigh with a damp nose. Your turn, his wagging tail seemed to insist. She huffed, bending to ruffle the ice from his ears. “I may not be a lady anymore, Lar, but I don’t think it will do for me to just swim in a pile of snow.”

He’d been her shadow through every unraveling. When suitors’ carriages stopped rolling up their drive, when her mother’s letters grew sparse and formal, Lark had remained as a steady weight at the foot of her bed, a silent critic of her failed embroidery. She wondered if he missed the manicured hedges of Evercrest Manor, the well lit parlors where he’d sprawled like a lord. If so, he didn’t show it. Here, he was a creature of immediacy: snow, squirrels, the next thrown stick. No ghosts were in his gaze it seemed. Thalia clung to that fact like a prayer.

They were halfway across the square, making their way toward the half-buried barn, when a voice called out behind them.

“Thalia, yes?”

Not Lady Evercrest.

And it hit harder than she expected. Not because she missed the title. She didn’t. Not really. But because it marked a shift in how the world saw her and, perhaps more tellingly, in how she was learning to see herself. In Aurelia, names were always wrapped in ribbon and expectation. “Lady Evercrest” came with obligations. “Thalia,” on the other hand, was just… her.

Names, she realized then, were cages as much as they were crowns.

Thalia turned, gloved hand tightening on Lark’s collar.

“That’s right,” Thalia said, her tone a careful alloy of courtesy and steel. All the while, Lark sniffed the air, tail slowing to a metronome’s beat. Not a threat, his posture decided. And that was good enough for Thalia to carry on.

“Have we…met?” Thalia asked, head tilting slightly to the side. The woman standing before her had the kind of beauty that didn’t beg for attention. It simply assumed it. Dark hair spilled over her shoulders in waves, a cascade of shadows that seemed to absorb what little light flickered from nearby lanterns. Gold shimmered at her ears and throat, not in the showy, overwrought way nobles wore it, but with the ease of someone used to performing beneath candle glow and firelight. She looked like someone who belonged on a stage, or in the center of a story, never just on the sidelines.

Thalia’s eyes flicked briefly to the basket the woman held and then back to her face.

“I’m…sorry if I’m supposed to recognize you,” she said, the apology brittle. She cursed the stumble in her tone, the ghost of etiquette lessons haunting her tongue. “It’s just… it's been some time since I’ve seen anyone else, really.”

The admission hung between them, raw as a nerve. Lark pressed against her leg, a silent rebuke. Too much, his warmth seemed to chide. Too soon.

Now that she gave it some thought, however, Thalia realized she hadn’t even seen him yet either, the prince whose presence supposedly tethered this whole frozen endeavor together. The one she was meant to coexist with and love in her own way once upon a time. Her mother would have called it disgraceful.

And Thalia? She wasn’t quite sure what she called it. Avoidance, perhaps. On her end, that is. Not that she believed Flynn even remembered her. Why would he? They’d only gone on a couple of dates before fate, maybe even Aelios herself, had decided that she was unworthy of that kind of life. She could still recall the careful way her mother had draped her in silk for their very first one, arranging her hair tidily and murmuring reminders about posture and poise. She’d worn expectations like a second skin. She’d smiled until her cheeks hurt. She’d laughed at just the right pitch, and navigated small talk with the precision of a seasoned diplomat. Every move, every word, choreographed for the brief moments she shared with Prince Flynn.

And yet, despite the weight of it all, Thalia had found herself actually enjoying Flynn's company after some time. He had been refreshingly genuine amidst the calculated artifice of court life, asking real questions, offering real laughter, and seeming to listen, truly listen, when she spoke. She’d liked that about him more than she’d anticipated. Liked that his attention never felt like obligation or charity, but interest. Genuine, unguarded interest.

Then came the Fall. Not the grand, tragic kind bards sang of either.

A misplaced word at a banquet. A priest’s divination etched in black ink. Flynn’s letters, once brimming with wit, dwindled to formal scrolls sealed with a stranger’s hand. The Lunarian princess’s name became a refrain in court gossip, each syllable a needle in Thalia’s ribs.

Almost, they’d whispered. Almost a queen.

She had packed those memories away, stacked them neatly beside all the other might-have-beens in her life—tucked into the same mental trunks they’d hauled north from Aurelia, too heavy to leave behind but too precious to discard. Yet now, standing here in the perpetual twilight of Dawnhaven and faced with someone who knew her, or at least her name, from those fleeting days, Thalia felt something stir inside her chest, uncomfortable and unbidden.

The past, it seemed, wasn’t buried as deeply as she’d believed.

[SpicyMeatball]

---

---

* * *

_{Interacting with: @PrinceAlexus Mentions: @Theyra, @Qia and @enmuni}

In the moments following her miniature welcoming ceremony, Katherine couldn’t help but feel a bit of pride. It was her first morning running Dawnhaven’s temple of Seluna and it had truly surprised her that anyone had showed up at all. She had not announced her arrival, apart from to the guards, nor had she been dressed like a priestess at all until this morning.

And yet despite all of it, the faithful had arrived.

No longer was the temple silent. The subtle sound of footsteps momentarily broke through, soon followed by the rustling of offerings being taken from their baskets. The candles watched them in a silent vigil, standing guard in clusters around the room and providing just enough light for Seluna to observe her followers.

The air in the temple felt heavy, weighted with the deaths of the two Lunarians. To many it may have felt as though they were imagining the feeling, that it could be shaken away if they put it out of their minds.

Katherine knew otherwise.

It was a familiar feeling, one that perhaps only the truly devoted followers of Seluna would recognize as impatience. It was a warning. Seluna was waiting for her dead to be returned, so that she may finally cast their souls into the stars and pass her final judgement. The goddess would not be made to wait.

Katherine sighed, nodding to herself--or perhaps to Seluna. She’d need to arrange an expedition to the sea with the deceased.

Which meant she needed to speak with the prince.

You see the situation you’ve put me in? This whole ordeal is on you. She directed the venomous thought at her ever-observant passenger, groaning internally.

You’re a clever girl. Figure. It. Out. Her head pounded with each word. Unless you want to remember what it feels like to betray your kingdom again.

Katherine’s breath caught in her throat. She blinked--and the temple was gone. In its place, the towering stone walls of the palace, torchlight flickering throughout its halls, and her father’s voice muffled beside her. The world loomed tall around her--voices above her head, footsteps like thunder on the stone floors. Her father’s grip was clamped around her wrist, firm and unyielding, steering her through a sea of strangers and silk. Then—stillness. The murmurs around her faded, as if pulled underwater. Her eyes were drawn to a small figure in the crowd, its features indistinct, almost forgotten by time—except for the eyes. Pale blue, unfamiliar, locked on hers with uncanny clarity. The figure raised a hand and waved, slowly and hesitantly, but with a certain understanding.

Then, as the palace quickly disappeared, a new scene materialized before her.

Katherine felt the tears running down her cheeks before anything else. As she blinked them away, she felt the burning ache in her throat that told her she’d been screaming. Her gut throbbed with a familiar pain, one that was always prefaced with her father’s boot. Katherine’s brown eyes darted around and searched for an explanation, finding only faceless, shadowy figures surrounding her. And as another kick landed against her abdomen, the memory shattered like glass.

The temple came rushing back into her vision. Katherine’s mind raced, trying to put together fragments of a vision that disappeared faster than she could grab them. She shut her eyes tightly and pinched the bridge of her nose, willing herself over and over to remember again.

Nothing. Whatever memory…. vision? Whatever it had been, it was gone without a trace.

With a deep sigh, she opened her eyes and was met with the welcome sight of Persephone, holding what could only be the breakfast that Daphne had promised. The thought brought a warmth to the priestess’ face, before she paced forward to meet her guest.

“Quite insistent, was she?” Katherine smiled warmly, trying hard to mask the grin beneath it. She grasped the basket’s handle and gently lifted a corner of the blanket, smiling even wider as the warm steam escaped and the lovely aroma filled the air. The remaining stress was quick to disappear off of her face as she rose back to meet Persephone’s gaze. “It seems I’ve already been spoiled and we haven’t known each other but for mere hours.”

Katherine bowed her head towards Persephone, nodding gently, “I appreciate the gratitude, my lady, but it is my duty to protect those who can’t protect themselves…” she paused for a moment, eyes widening, “Even if they only can’t protect themselves temporarily.”

“Unfortunately I wasn’t in time to intervene,” her attention moved to the bodies, eyes lowering in respect, “May Seluna let them shine brightly among her stars.”

Her attention on Persephone faltered as a familiar tune whispered through the air. Its gentle melancholy touched at familiarity, though Katherine could not place where she’d heard it before. Her head turned, looking for its source before her eyes landed on the little she could see of the raven-haired woman. Then, as Ramona began to sing, Katherine listened more intently as the lyrics of past-times filled the air.

Vague memories of the happier moments of her life drifted through her mind, before shifting to darker ones in unison with the tune. Katherine saw her mother in these memories, at first alive and well, in the precious few moments they’d shared together, then laid out unmoving on a table before her. Then came the all-too-familiar memories of her father, the man that was respected in public by all, but feared by his own family.

She shook the thoughts away, swallowing hard through the ache in her throat. Then, she whispered a few words barely audible to anyone but herself, forcing out the emotions that had threatened to overwhelm her.

“My apologies, my lady Seluna. I will not break down again.”

[Qia]

---

_{Location: Seluna Temple
Mentions: Katherine (@SpicyMeatball), Ramona (@enmuni), Persephone (@PrinceAlexus), Flynn (@The Muse), Amaya (@c3p-0h)}

---

Elara had just finished arranging her final offering when the temple door creaked open once more. She straightened from her crouch, brushing her palms together softly, and turned in time to catch the arrival of another unfamiliar figure—a woman, her arms full with a bundle wrapped in soft fabric. The scent of warm food drifted gently behind her, curling through the cold air like a promise. The stranger’s voice was quiet, reverent, and polite in the way that suggested familiarity with decorum but not entitlement. It reminded Elara of how nobility sometimes presented themselves when they’d grown up on the outskirts of court life—respectful, but not ruled by it. Her gaze dropped briefly to the basket the woman had brought. Porridge pastries, spiced meats, wrapped sweets tucked like secrets among the folds of a winter blanket. It was a thoughtful offering—practical, warm, and clearly given with intention rather than obligation. Elara recognized the difference.

She didn’t linger on the gesture long, however. It wasn’t meant for her, and even if it had been, Elara wasn’t the type to reach for what hadn’t been offered. Instead, she gave the stranger a small, almost imperceptible nod of acknowledgment, then turned back to her alcove.

Elara had just decided to focus on herself and what she’d come here to do when the shift beside her drew her attention. Ramona had claimed the neighboring niche, her motions pared to a liturgy of muscle memory. Elara kept her eyes lowered, honoring the unspoken rule of sacred spaces: devotion deserved privacy, even when performed in plain sight. But the various sounds the other’s actions elicited seeped in, and the handmaiden couldn’t help but glance sideways.

Elara’s eyes lingered on the arc traced across Ramona’s brow, the second across her chin. Another gesture of ritual, she guessed, though not one she herself had ever practiced. Her own family had spoken their prayers with softer hands—her father’s with folded parchment, her mother’s with quiet touches. But something was arresting in Ramona’s formality, something deeply... intimate. As though each word and motion had been hard-earned.

But it was the singing that surprised her the most.

Not because it was unwelcome—Seluna’s name had been carried on song for centuries—but because it was…worn. Like something stitched together with the young woman’s grief. Ramona’s voice crackled through the stillness, paper-thin yet unflinching, and Elara found herself unable to look away.

“Youthful years, oh sweet youthful years,
You stay alive, here, within my spirit...”

The words slithered beneath Elara’s ribs. Her own youth had been a script penned by others, a sieve sifting her wants until only duty remained. And yet, not everything had been sifted away. One memory clung fast: Amaya’s laughter spilling across palace hedgerows, her bare feet crushing clover as Elara trailed behind, clutching their discarded slippers like contraband. They’d collapsed onto grass still trembling with midday heat, shoulders pressed close enough to fuse. A breeze had pried a strand of Amaya’s hair loose, draping it like silk over her cheekbone. Elara’s hand had moved before thought could intervene, tucking it behind her ear. It was a gesture too tender, too telling. Her fingertips lingered, grazing the shell of Amaya’s ear, and for a heartbeat, the world narrowed to that single point of contact. Amaya’s smile then had been a puzzle that needed solving, neither permission nor protest, but a door left ajar.

Elara’s laugh, too bright, had slammed it shut.

The memory flayed her. How dare this stranger’s apparent lament resurrect it?

“That little house, which I remember,
The place where I was born, and was raised...”

She’d left at twelve, dispatched to the capital as a ward of the crown. She hadn’t wept at her departure. Not then. But now, the loss rose like bile, acrid and inescapable.

“And my mother, oh, how I have loved her...”

The breath caught in Elara’s chest this time. Her gaze dropped slightly, eyes burning with a memory she had no desire to shed tears over in public. She remembered the way her mother smiled when she fumbled a healing charm. The softness in her voice, even when correcting her. That death had come too swiftly. Elara hadn’t even been there for her when it happened.

It was…sort of funny, actually. How alike, how close to Amaya it had made her when she’d lost her own mother a while back. When their eyes had met during the royal announcement, Elara had wanted nothing more than to comfort her in the same way her father had done for her, despite his palpable grief. But alas, even then, Elara realized now, there was a gap between them. The prince had already been there, his consolations more than likely smooth as poured honey in her ears.

Inwardly, Elara’s mind rebranded her empathy as intrusion.

Her fists clenched, while her eyes began to water.

Whenever we clasp our hands
Be we though in distant lands
I am still reminded of their warmth.”

She was…she was beginning to tire of this song now. She willed her body to move, to flee the song’s relentless excavation of her heart and mind, but her limbs refused, as though the stone itself had rooted her in place.

“Youthful years, where have you been hidden?
Family, in life we’ve been unbidden…”

Unbidden. That word sat heavy in Elara’s stomach. She had spent so long shaping herself into what was needed, wanted, and expected. Rarely had she asked for anything without weighing the cost. It had never felt like she had the right to. Not when her role was to fade, to support, to endure.

And yet she had asked, hadn’t she? At the window.

Do you want me, or do you need me?

She hadn’t asked to wound. Only to be answered.

_{What is her answer?}

“Seluna, guide me when it’s my turn.”

A tear fell, searing a path to her jawline. Elara swiped at it, but others followed, a silent rebellion her body waged against her will. Ramona’s song coiled around her, a serpent of shared sorrow, and she loathed it. Loathed the way it pried open chambers of her heart she’d bricked shut. Loathed the girl who sang what she could not.

As the final note dissolved, Elara’s feet miraculously stirred.

She stood slowly, as if afraid to draw attention to the act, as if motion itself might betray how deeply the song had touched her. Though she supposed the tears that clung to her eyelashes were a dead giveaway, especially as she made no moves to wipe them away. Let them dry. Let them vanish on their own. No one would look closely enough to see them. Not if she left now.

She kept her gaze fixed ahead, refusing Ramona the satisfaction of her attention, even as the woman’s whispered prayer brushed the air like a parting hand. The alcove’s warmth receded with each step, replaced by the chill of the corridor beyond. Here, the walls bore simpler carvings of the goddess, as if the architects had deemed humility a virtue for hidden passages. Elara leaned into the stone, its roughness a balm against her trembling spine. Her lungs ached, each breath sawing through her like a blade dragged sideways.

One breath. Then two.

The stone didn’t ask questions, and for that, she was grateful.

[PrinceAlexus]

Lord and Lady Coswain

Temple of Lunaris

Lady under the moon

Persephone was having fun handing over the baskets as she watched Katherine's face change. Persephone was smart and could read people perfectly well, Katherine was clearly very much more than friendly with Daphne.

She held her expression but smiled as she watched her look at the food wrapped in soft insulated blanket material, thick soft blankets that had kept all the food nice and toasty still. Syas staff knew exactly how to keep something warm for delivery even if this was a special request and entirely caused by an evident potential relationship between the two. She had not missed the moment between them however out if it.

“Special order, I rode over for them. Sya expects the basket back, but i'm sure you can make use of the Blanket, nights are cold. I'll cover for you with Sya.” Persephone said with a laugh and a knowing smile. Sya and the staff at the Inn were quite formidable in their own way, it took being pretty tough to run the only Inn in the whole town. The blanket was soft, warm and just large enough that two people would have to Snuggle close but could share. She would find out later.

“I not seen Daphne like that with just anyone.” Persephone added with a heavy wink just to the priestess, she was not going to lie how she worked out but also not making it public at same time. She knew Katherine's Father and knew his daughter would not be a dull blade and miss her implications talking much more quietly and very very clearly.

OK she was teasing her, but Persephone was not exactly innocent, she had two children, grandchildren and knew exactly what people who liked each other did in private.

“If anyone gives you trouble, we can help.” Persephone said with a gentle tone but was very clear that she was not just a lady at court and quite capable on her own. “May Seluna bless you brightly.” Persephone said revonently and left her to her other duties, basket handed over. Seluna would appreciate it was a small but heartfelt joint offering, not fancy but intent mattered more than the value to Persephone.

She turned and adjusted her lean to kneel and switched her pose as the heavy sword rested alongside under the cloak. she lit a small candle and had her own more simple rituals. She heard the song from the woman, deeper, slower and more … personal. She had a beautiful voice and obviously had placed a lot of practice into her art and worship.

There was a far less formal religion at times with Seluna and every person had their own personal approach be it their profession, family or sect. Unlike the Auralians they could be less formal outside the cities and much more based on local and family traditions.

“May the light of the goddess and her blessings protect my family, bring Light in the darkest nights and hope my humble offering brings help to Katherine. Bless my Squire too, for she is family now, she had no others so she is part of ours now. Look out for her as one of us.”

Daphne carried on quietly, for her husband, children and grandchild, her devotion was quieter, more simple and austere but carried the same heartfelt meaning. She rose quietly leaving the lit and burning softly in a corner of the quiet temple. A little light in the darkness that had surrounded them.

Maybe she was selfish vs some but Persephone was greatly concerned about her family and their future.

Standing there she saw the white hair woman, she had smiled at her before and was not sure where she worked, not where she had seen, so maybe one of the larger places, royal Lodge, did not seem to fit As a trader or so… something else… She was …in a bad way, Persephone was very sharp with body language, half her role was reading body language and people's real intentions…while when she had actual work.

She was torn, she wanted her privacy but also this woman seemed in distress. Maybe she should show a little kindness? She padded softly but not too close in an accent deeply from Lunaris Capital. “Temples bring people together for a reason, sometimes we need more blessings than we can manage alone. Goddess be with you.”

She said thoughtfully and left the white haired woman alone returning to one of the benches and wondered what to do with her day. She had made her offerings, her prayers were not long winded or particularly complicated. Delivered the food. Her horse needed exercise but for now she enjoyed the calm and peace of the Temple. Right now in Dawn Haven she felt rudderless without what her life used to be, it was better in ways but Persephone was not sure what she was anymore or how to carry forward?

Slow calm breathing, she practiced the meditative form through her eyes flicked to the doors at a noise.

Mentions: Katherine (@SpicyMeatball), Ramona (@enmuni), (), Flynn (@The Muse), Amaya (@c3p-0h) @Qia (Elara)

[c3p-0h]

Collab between @Queen Arya and @c3p-0h
_{Location: The Aurelian Guard Camp}

---

The Champion's eyes flicked over to approaching footsteps, her attention stolen from the Prince and Princess as they entered the tent. It only took a brief moment for her gaze to flicker over the man, and evaluate him as an incoming irritation. Something about the way he carried himself, an… ego perhaps? A mannerism that reminded her of the various men who'd so often strutted around as if the world revolved around them. Mentally, she braced, wondering if this would be the type to demand work from her or the type to try to take her home.

Still, none of these thoughts showed past neutral expression.

As he finally drew near and spoke, the Champion already felt irritation creeping in. The Lunarian, no doubt with both his attitude and lack of recognition for a Champion, started in with not-so-subtle undertones about the Prince.

”Perhaps.” She said, keeping a neutral tone even as her gaze added a condescending nature to her words. ”Such behavior has more to do with the Princess’ will, as opposed to the Prince.” Dyna replied simply, finding irritation in both his jab at the Prince and implication that the Princess had no will of her own…

This was going to be a dreadful conversation no doubt.

Amber eyes narrowed slightly as Elio took her in – her look so aggressively Aurelian it bordered on offensive, her practiced posture, how her gaze flicked over him like they were taking stock before turning away again. Her words washed over him, with their carefully restrained bite.

The corner of his mouth twitched up.

She was new to Dawnhaven, Elio could figure that much – he would’ve heard about someone being blinded by the reflection off her armor by now if she’d been here more than a week. And what did this one know of the Lunarian Princess’ will? Most Lunarians barely knew a thing about her. The King and Queen were practically forces of nature, a felling earthquake and the first sunrise of the year – but it was like Princess Amaya barely existed at all. Hell, Elio had probably seen her more in the two months he’d spent in Dawnhaven than he had his entire life in the capital.

Briefly, a memory flickered. It drifted through him like the biting winter air.

Elio folded his arms, leaning casually against a nearby tree as he kept his attention on the Champion. He wondered idly at that careful control of hers.

It wasn’t like he had anything better to do as he waited for the royals to finish up with the Commanders, unless he wanted to barge in and interrupt.

Which, hey, could be fun.

“You’re probably right,” Elio said with a shrug. His voice carried the same lightness, the same subtle layer of humor as he poked at her. “The Princess is probably a consummate shut-in, and discovered the thrill of near death experiences. Seems she can’t help but chase the next one.”

The fun thing about having sex with lots of unhappy wives was that one learned to notice the same patterns popping up over and over again.

“Makes much more sense than a domineering husband.”

Or a straying one, keeping her close to compensate for a guilty conscience.

Dyna listened to the man's words, realizing he'd be one of those to try to play word games with her, feeling innately more clever and superior. ”I meant that her will might have been to go out today. For whatever reasons, I will not pretend to know them.” She said bluntly, finding herself wondering if it was worth it to continue dealing with this man, or simply excuse herself to the temple already.

Elio’s smile grew the slightest bit as some of that decorum of hers slipped away. His eyes caught on an emblem shining against her armor – the Church of Aelios. He wondered what she did know.

“Isn’t that what they like to teach in all the churches, though? Pretending to know? Something both kingdoms have in common, at least.” Perhaps not one of his subtler jabs, but if it cracked her enough to crack him, all the better – Elio was still feeling a little pent up. And maybe that armor was actually worth something. Her stance was promising at least, and the way she kept her attention on him even as she feigned indifference. “Right up there with inscrutable heirs to the throne.”

Dyna’s body tensed for half a second, barely noticeable before she reigned in control as the man jabbed at the church. Yet, the Champion bit her tongue. Playing into his games could only serve to spell trouble for her, and so Dyna shook her head in response. ”An… interesting point of view. I’m afraid we don’t agree on that, and I have other tasks I should be attending to. Excuse me.” Dyna said, not allowing anything beyond a cold professionalism to show in her voice as she moved to step past Elio.

Any longer, and she’d start considering the merit of striking him.

Elio didn’t respond, unmoving as he leaned against the tree. His eyes weren’t on the Champion as she navigated the space around him – they instead caught on a flicker of movement in the distance.

The door to the Commander’s quarters opened and out stepped the royal couple.

Astaros was such a shining golden Prince that it was a cliché. His immaculate hair glinted in the firelight as he held the door open for his little wife and escorted her down the path. His face was stern and pensive. Hers was cool and relaxed. Elio took her in for a moment – it was rare to see her at all, let alone with so few others around.

She was beautiful, there was no denying that – and seemingly devoid of inner thoughts. A carefully painted doll, draped in lace and silk, with a blank face and pretty eyes. Elio liked to think he was fairly good at reading people, if only to better find ways to get under their skin. But the Princess always seemed so… carefully calm. Elio felt a familiar curiosity stirring – along something a little more devilish.

The image shifted. He saw wide eyes, bright and blue. Too overwhelmed to be cautious. Too young to be guarded.

His gaze flicked away from the Princess – to find her husband glaring at him. Elio’s smirk grew. Stifling a laugh, he looked back to the Champion as she passed his space. But he’d caught the way the Prince had begun to move the Princess in a wide arc around him

There’d been a tension there, in their bearing – in the way he practically seemed to hover over her, her hand tucked against his, walking closer together than strictly necessary. The scant few times Elio had seen them in public together, there’d always been a stiffness in the space between them. They’d given a stilted performance of a relationship, like each touch was something to be suffered through and carefully measured. But now…

Feeling a little possessive?

“Another commonality,” Elio finally murmured to the Champion’s retreating figure. He stayed motionless and mountainous as the different figures orbited him, careful to not venture too closely into his space. Then he was alone. Leaning against the tree, he watched the snowflakes fall and replayed the sight of the royal couple in his mind.

Elio pushed himself upright, idly rolling his shoulders. Then he made his way down the path towards the Commander’s quarters. It was time to get that gardener a different plot of dirt to plant himself in – or at least to bury him under.

He had work to do, too.