The Muse

Realms of Sun & Shadow

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

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Had they added more stairs going from the springs up to the temple? Tia thought they might’ve. The climb had never seemed longer, never more demanding, than it did right now with her aching body, the burning weight of their stares on her back. It was a slow process, one hand gripping the railing, the other – the one that couldn’t even manage to make a fist, with how sore it was – hiking up the heavy fabric of her sleeping robe. The wind tugged at her hair, blonde strands tangling in front of her face. Tia tried to stay as composed as possible.

Until she made it into the temple.

The door was heavy as it slammed shut behind her. Tia flinched – she was still getting used to the personality of the building, all the ways it needed care and consideration. Its voice echoed through the short hall, down into the main chamber and back again like a returning answer. Sighing, Tia leaned back against the door. Her head met the wood as she squeezed her eyes shut. For a moment – a moment... she could allow herself that, right? – Tia let her humiliation and self pity surge through her.

She’d just wanted to make sure he wasn’t dying.

Tia forced herself to take in a long, slow breath. Tried to relax her muscles one by one. Imagined that this hurt, angry and petty and twisting as it coiled around her, loosened and slipped away.

It would’ve worked better if she could wash in the springs without feeling the weight of those eyes again.

She brought the heels of her hands up to rub at her eyes. Then she straightened up again, pulling away from the door. The humidity of the springs had come with her, into the temple. It made her hair frizz and her clothes feel too heavy. Tia pulled at her scarf to loosen it, and it seemed to stick to her skin. On one last, childish impulse, she rubbed up and down on her arms, like she could scrub away the stain of the man’s stare.

Without anyone to witness her, Tia moved stiff and careful down the short hallway back towards the main chamber. The heat of Aelios’ flame grew warmer – it wasn’t as comforting as it should’ve been. It only made the moisture still clinging to her skin more intolerable. Tia pulled at her scarf again, eyes downcast and unfocused as she slowly made her way to the nearest pew on the outskirts of the room.

Tia winced as she braced her good hand on its wooden back to lower herself into the seat. A splash of red caught her attention – the bottom hem of her robe, too long for her, had dragged along the damp stone of the springs. It was saturated with water, dirt, and blood. Another mess to clean up.

Another sigh. Another closing of her eyes.

She was being petty. What had they really done? Bandied words not even meant for her. She hadn’t mattered, so why should it affect her? The woman had been kind at times, and the man had… well, he wasn’t bleeding out, at least. That was something to be thankful for. But…

Opening her eyes, Tia gingerly pulled at her robe to reach into her inner pocket. Her hand emerged with the shining, too-perfect gemstone she’d pulled from the cave. She remembered the voice that had haunted it, full of wrath and thunder like a vengeful god. The vision.

Her visions.

Tia could brush away every cruel word the man had thrown at her, given enough time. But… his words about Aelios echoed in her mind. That she’d dedicated herself to something that… wasn’t there.

The dismissal hurt on its own. But if Aelios was gone… then where did Tia’s visions come from? A familiar fear rose up – that she was being misguided by something dark and malicious. It only awakened more worries, that same swirl of nerves and confusion and contradiction that had consumed Tia the entire time she’d been in Dawnhaven.

She stared down at the gem cradled in her hand, firelight flickering along the cut edges.

From over the edge of an open prayer book, no more than five feet away, hazel eyes watched her intently.

She didn’t seem to notice him, but he’d been aware of her presence from the moment she’d slammed the temple doors. Every movement she made was slow, like the weight of the world had settled on her shoulders and even the act of existing took effort.

So, he’d stayed silent.

His gaze traced the troublesome look in her expression, the damp stains along the hem of her robe, the way her fingers curled around the gemstone he and Ivor had nearly died for. His brow furrowed slightly, and he let the book dip lower, just enough to get a clearer look. Still, he said nothing. She could have her moment.

As he waited, curious to see how long it would take her to realize she wasn’t alone, his hand drifted down, fingers closing around the last half of his cookie. Lifting it to his mouth, he bit down as slowly and quietly as possi—

cruuuuuuuuuunnchh

The sound shattered the stillness of the temple.

His jaw stilled. Slowly, his gaze slid back to her.

Tia’s back was straight, her eyes wide as she stared at him. She blinked.

The guard from yesterday was sprawled across the pew like he’d always been there. Tia’s gaze darted around the room, to the doors, to the other empty benches, like she’d be able to tell where he’d come from and when he’d gotten here.

Her lips parted to say something. They closed. Tia looked back at him, blinking again as she fully took him in – cookie in one hand, prayer book in the other, and… Ranni’s gecko?

Maybe she was hallucinating. Maybe the man outside was right and Aelios was gone and now the evil gem god-demon-man-thing was completing his hold over her giving her confusingly non-scary (but confusing) non-visions.

“...Hi,” she squeaked.

Zeph swallowed his bite, a slow grin creeping in as he took in her wide-eyed stare.

“Hey.”

Leisurely, he set the prayer book down along his outstretched leg, his gaze flicking over her again. His smile softened into something a little less teasing. “You doin’ alright, firefly?”

Something fluttered in Tia’s chest at the name – the gentle look in his eye. She looked down at her lap if only to break his gaze. As discreetly as she could, her fingers curled around the gem, her hand turning to cover it. She tried not to wince as she adjusted her seat on the pew. The wet hem of her robe was heavy where it brushed against her ankles. When she found the nerve to look back up at him, she gave a shrug and tried to smile.

It was embarrassing, but he’d already seen the awkward way she moved. What good would lying do?

Smile drifting away, Tia nodded towards him and tapped at her shoulder with her free hand, a question in her eye. Briefly, she saw him sprawled on the cave floor, skin too pale as his own blood painted him crimson. It had been a long day yesterday – Tia hadn’t checked up on his healing as she should’ve.

Zeph glanced at his shoulder, then back at her, shrugging casually. “I’ve had worse,” he said with a smirk. It was true—he had. “But you’re quite the medic. Thank you.” He resisted the urge to reach up and touch the spot where the injury had been, his fingers still remembering the odd smoothness of his healed skin. “Can’t tell anything happened at all.”

Letting his attention drift to the gemstone she was trying—and failing—to conceal, he nodded toward it. “So, is that thing everything you’d hoped for?” He raised an eyebrow, curious. Her fingers curled tighter around the gem, eyes wide with poorly hidden panic. “Did you lose it there or something? How’d you even get out to that cave? Why didn’t you ask that Champion of yours to come?”

The moment the words left his mouth, he knew he was asking too much. Too fast.

Zeph wasn’t blind—he saw the way she hesitated before speaking, measuring each word before releasing them. He heard the faint rasp in her voice, the subtle strain against each syllable. His gaze dropped briefly to the scarf loose around her neck, catching a glimpse of pink scarring peaking just above the fabrics edge.

Meeting her gaze again, he studied the weariness behind those big beautiful doe-eyes. Her lips parted, like she was waiting to find the words.

“Never mind,” he said, shifting his tone—lighter, a touch easier and less insistent. “You don’t have to answer.”

A moment of quiet stretched between them, just long enough for Zeph’s gaze to wander around the empty temple.

Tia sat on the other end of the pew, trying not to glance at him. She swallowed, feeling the way the muscles in her throat didn’t quite move as they should’ve, didn’t layer over each other in the way they were meant to fit. She hadn’t missed the way he’d… he’d switched somehow, his curiosity muffled under something dismissive. It was almost like he’d deflated himself.

Something tightened in her chest as she thought of how easily he let go of his questions with a light voice and curving lips.

He was so quick to smile, this one.

In the quiet, another memory came to her — of him laughing at her as he’d dismissed her request to enter the pool in that frigid cave. How he’d dove in after Ivor without hesitation, when the clear water had turned bloody.

Zeph tilted his head, a new—easier—question surfacing.

“Is your Keeper around?” From what he could tell, they were alone. No angry, watchful presence lingering nearby.

When he looked back at her, his amusement returned in full force, tugging at the corners of his lips. “She didn’t seem too pleased last night,” he mused, a playful glint in his eyes. “I’m surprised she let you out of her sight.”

Tia flicked her eyes back up to him, and let herself be pulled along by the lightness in his words — even as her heart twisted uncomfortably as she thought of how Dyna had treated him last night, and the difficult conversations she’d yet to have with her sisters.

But they were out for the day. And Tia liked the spark in the guard’s eye, the light tease in his voice. She didn’t want him to douse himself again.

She looked up at him for a long moment, watching the way the firelight danced in his eyes like laughter. Hesitating, she bit her lip. Tia slipped the gemstone back into her pocket and reached out to tap the side of his shoe closest to the pew’s back. She looked back up at him. He arched a brow, curiosity flickering in his gaze, silently asking—And what, exactly, do you think you’re doing?—a challenge hidden in the way he held still, waiting to see if she’d follow through. She tapped again more insistently, before that became a shooing motion.

When his feet were finally on the ground and he was sitting more acceptably on the bench, Tia made a beckoning motion, calling him closer to her. He obliged her without protest this time, shifting to close the distance. She scooted closer in turn. The half of Tia’s mind that she was not currently giving control said that what she had planned was not normal behavior and he was going to think she was bizarre.

But then, Tia convinced strangers to go on secret spelunking missions with her, and had dreams that may or may not have been the result of an angry powerful being who hated her — or it was just her anxiety. She supposed she was bizarre.

Sitting together, they were less than a foot away from each other on the bench (and Ranni’s gecko was very carefully retrieved and placed on Tia’s other side). She looked up at him — and realized she may have miscalculated. Her plan — and her nerves — had failed to account for how very tall he was when he was this close. And how his little smattering of freckles —

Looking away from his eyes, Tia reached out to softly pull at his sleeve. She’d already gotten this far. Maybe she could just… ignore how warm her skin felt. Slowly, hesitantly, Tia guided his arm out until she held his hand out in front of them, his palm angled towards them. She swiped the side of her hand across it, cleaning away stray cookie crumbs. Tia glanced up at him, an eyebrow raised slightly, her smile almost more amused than shy. He shrugged, a flicker of mirth in his expression.

Then she began tracing careful letters into his palm.

Zeph watched in silence as Tia’s fingers moved across his skin, intrigued by the way she chose to communicate. The closeness of her, the gentle way she held his hand in hers, the soft press of her fingertips—it all felt… oddly intimate.

He wasn’t sure what captivated him more—the feel of her, or the sudden bursts of bravery that she seemed to possess.

M Y S I S T E R

It wasn’t much, but at least Tia could give him this — he could ask some questions without feeling like he had to deflate himself again.

She looked up at him, offering another smile, checking to see if he understood. He met her eyes, offering a small, lazy smile in return.

As she continued, his gaze didn’t leave her face.

D Y N A

When her eyes returned to his, he glanced briefly at his palm, trying to recall the feeling of the patterns she had traced, rather than the way she looked under firelight instead of crystal light.

“Well, you two look nothing alike,” he said flatly, feigning a look of disbelief, though the humor in his tone was unmistakable. He knew she likely meant sisters by faith, not by blood. The church did love to call themselves a family, all toxicity included.

Still, he was rewarded with a growing smile and a suffering look.

“Did you tell her where you were last night?”

Tia faltered. Her hands drifted down, lowering away from his. Her eyes were distant for a moment. They flicked to the fire burning in the heart of the temple. She shook her head. Then she refocused on his hand and lifted a finger again.

C A N T Y E T

Tia almost pulled away — but her indecision settled. With her other hand she pulled out the gemstone again, pink and glittering in her hand. Looking down at it, Tia bit her lip. She looked back up at him. She felt… guilty that she’d tried to hide it from him. It was especially silly, since he already knew she had it. He’d been there, when Ivor had pulled it from the water. He’d nearly died for it. He deserved what truth she could give.

N E E D I N F O

Zeph furrowed his brow, his gaze drifting to the gemstone in her hand. His mind replayed the sound of it clattering against the cavern floor, the image of her scrambling away from it in a panic still fresh in his mind. The more he learned, the less anything made sense.

He had so many questions.

But every time he broached the subject, he saw the hesitation. He didn’t want to press her. It wasn’t his place to demand answers out of a Priestess. He had no right to pry into something that wasn’t his to know.

“You don’t have to tell me about it, but….” his gaze softened, his tone turning more gentle and respectful than it had been. “If there’s anything I can do to help, just let me know.” He paused, locking his eyes with hers for emphasis—to make sure she understood.

Tia’s breath caught in her throat as he held her gaze.

“I do owe you a debt, afterall.” he said, offering her a small, sincere smile, as if the notion might be a joke. But even as he did, his chest felt tight, weighed down by a debt he wasn’t sure he could ever repay.

Tia couldn’t look away from him, watching the shifting glow of firelight over his skin. She tried to catalogue the different ways he smiled, and what they all might mean. Something bloomed in her chest, soft and warm and guilty as he gentled himself for her again — like he wasn’t owed answers. Like she hadn’t been the reason he’d almost died in the first place.

She shook her head.

“You don’t,” she whispered.

Zeph tilted his head, the playful glint in his eyes returning—searching for a way to bring a smile back to her face. He leaned in slightly, his voice low. “Oh, but I do.” he insisted, though there was no force behind it, only the warmth of his growing fondness of her.

Tia couldn’t help herself — she let out a bemused puff of air, as the corners of her lips quirked up. His mood seeped into her. His closeness casting a shadow over his face, that flicker in his eyes, made Tia feel like they were sharing a secret. For once that didn’t seem quite so scary.

“Besides,” he added with a chuckle, straightening up and leaning against the pew, “I had fun. Way better than guard duty.” His grin widened. “Promise you’ll let me tag along for whatever mischief you get into next time?”

Her eyebrow twitched up, smile only growing. Maybe there was a spark of mischief in her, too. Then Tia blinked. An idea popped up that she was too nervous to examine — a way for him to help, as he’d offered. Her fingers curled tighter around the gem in her hand.

He paused, a thought of his own suddenly striking. His smile faltered, remembering why he had come here in the first place.

“Actually, that reminds me… Do you happen to know anyone with the last name Hawthorne?”

Tia blinked again, refocusing on him. It took her a moment to process his words — the name. Her eyebrows drew together as she looked down and searched her memories.

Hawthorne… It sounded… vaguely familiar? Tia hardly knew anyone in Dawnhaven, and as far as she was aware, she hadn’t met a Hawthorne here. From before maybe? In the capital? But it was the biggest city on the continent and Tia had cared for countless people.

Eventually, she looked back up at him and shook her head, an apology in her eyes. Meanwhile that stray idea stewed in the back of her mind.

Zeph sighed. He wasn’t all that surprised, but still, he had hoped.

“That’s alright,” he shrugged, brushing off his disappointment easily enough. “Maybe your Kee—” He caught himself, glancing at her before correcting, “Your sister will know, then.”

His gaze flicked toward the temple entrance, thoughtful. “You know where she went?” He asked, though he was already considering how the conversation might go. If the Champion even let him speak to her, would she just take the opportunity to interrogate him about where Tia had been?

Her eyes snapped back to him — she’d drifted away, distracted by her own thoughts. Tia gave him an alarmed look at his words. She did not think a meeting with Dyna would go well for him.

“I’ll keep our little secret, don’t worry,” he added with a smirk, though the thought lingered. Perhaps asking random Aurelian guards would be the wiser choice.

Despite herself, Tia let out another huff that might’ve been a laugh. Her smile came easier each time. Finally she shook her head and shrugged, gesturing vaguely towards the door. She’d woken up alone — she had no idea where either of the twins had disappeared to.

Her expression drifted again, those distracting thoughts pulling at her. Her eyes flicked around the room — to the door, the fire, the gemstone… Tia could feel her nerves building under her skin, that anxious promise of trouble making it hard to sit still. She glanced at him. Her mouth opened — only to close again as she fidgeted in her seat, looking away.

Zeph arched a brow, watching her carefully. He let the silence settle between them, waiting, giving her the space to say—or write—whatever was obviously on her mind. But she didn’t.

And the questions building inside him only grew heavier.

After a moment, he shifted, reaching for her hand. His fingers brushed against hers, hesitant at first, his gaze flicking to hers, seeking permission. When she didn't pull away, he gently took her hand in his own, turning it palm-up. Her skin was warm and impossibly soft against the roughness of his own, a contrast that sent an unbidden thought skimming through his mind—one he quickly forced himself to set aside.

Slowly, he traced the curve of a question mark into her palm. His gaze stayed locked on her face as he watched for a flicker of understanding, of trust—of anything that might tell him what was going on behind her eyes.

Tia forgot how to breathe. She could feel his touch echoing through her hand, down her arm, along her spine. There was that fluttering again in her chest, more frantic as it fed on her nervous energy.

Stars, she realized distantly. His freckles looked like stars.

She bit her lip, his gaze settling there for a heartbeat. Tia looked back down at their hands between them, her smaller one surrounded by his. She let herself hesitate — but only for a moment. Then she turned her palm over to draw another word into him, somewhere between a request and an offering.

M I S C H I E F ?

A slow, devilish smirk spread across his lips as the word formed beneath her fingertips, igniting something reckless in his chest. An ember catching flame.

Dark eyes met hazel.

For the moment, things didn't feel so dreadful anymore.

Because somehow, in this wretched town, she was here—a spark in the shadows, something bright and powerful. His mistress of temptation personified, wrapped in silken robes and staring back at him with eyes like smoldering emberwood, dark and endless, catching the firelight in glimmers of gold. He could've kissed her.

How strange it was, to find a partner in crime in a High Priestess of Aelios.

And yet, he nodded, silent still.

Cheeks warm, too aware of the places his skin still touched hers, Tia couldn’t help but smile back. Then she hesitated, suddenly self-conscious. Lifting her free hand — the one still holding the gem — she held her index finger and thumb close together. Small mischief. He was so excited, Tia didn’t want to now disappoint him. She emphasized the motion again. Hopefully he’d temper his expectations. Then she held up her index finger, a request to wait for a moment.

Another beat of Tia tracing the feel of his warm hands on her, his closeness, his smile —

Then she pulled away, standing — wincing — as her hand slipped away from his. His gaze followed her, a flicker of concern crossing his expression as she hurried out of the main chamber and back towards her room.

It looked even worse than she remembered.

Papers scattered about like a storm had blown through, progressively messier handwriting, and a bare spot in the middle of the floor where Tia had finally passed out. Embarrassment filled her. At least no one else was here to see this chaos.

Picking her way through the cold, darkened room, Tia made her way to the middle and knelt down on sore legs to sift through the pages. She found it — the final, complete recollection of the vision she’d received from the gemstone. There was even her best (though still bad) attempt at drawing what she remembered of the runes in the margins. The page was easy enough to pick out when her eyes had finally adjusted enough to the darkness — it was the only version she’d given a title to.

Upon Touching the Gemstone From the Crystal Cave

Yesterday’s date was written in the top corner. It had been one of the last things she’d written last night, her hand so stiff from writing that the letters were positively sloppy on the page. Maybe it would be enough to hide her handwriting. What was she going to do otherwise, ask him to rewrite it? She shook her head. This would have to do.

Carefully folding the letter into thirds, Tia pushed herself back up and found the winding path to the door that kept her from stepping directly over any papers.

When she emerged back into the warmth and light of Aelios’ flame, the guard was still waiting for her on that bench. Her heart skipped a beat.

Tia stopped in front of him, meeting his eyes. Her nerves swam — but she’d come this far. She thrust both the gem and paper out towards him. Zeph sat up straighter, his gaze flicking between the two items curiously.

Her heart hammered in her chest. She watched him, oddly worried that this request was too… petty for him. Like she should’ve been more ambitious with her rule breaking. But the gravity of the situation weighed on her, oppressive and ominous. This needed to be done, and Tia didn’t know who else to ask when involvement would put them at risk. The guard was already involved. He’d offered to help. Plus he seemed much more experienced with troublemaking than she was.

And… childishly, Tia wanted that feeling again, of sharing a secret. She could still feel his finger on her palm as his other hand cradled her — his silent, voiceless message as she watched the warm glow in his eyes turn bright and crackling.

“Sage Eris Hightower.” Her voice was soft — all the better to keep it from echoing in the halls of the temple. But the name was clear enough. “Anonymously.”

Zeph’s brows lifted. “Hightower?” he echoed, recognizing the name. His fingers brushed against hers as he took the gemstone and paper, weighing them thoughtfully in his hands. Running his thumb along the cut edges of the gemstone, he considered her request.

It wasn’t exactly the thrill he’d been hoping for—no perilous cavern dives or life-threatening experiences—but it was still mischief. Small mischief—a secret mission. And that, he could get behind.

Slipping the gemstone into his left pocket—the one that didn’t already hold the small bell chime he’d swiped from the entrance table—he glanced back up at her with a smirk.

“Consider it done.”

She released a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.

After a beat, he tapped the folded paper, tilting his head. “Can I read, or…?”

She paused, looking down at the folded paper. When she looked back up to his face, Tia remembered how he’d softened, dampening his own curiosity for her. She heard his voice gentling, only to brighten as he redirected himself to safer topics.

She saw him bloody on the cave floor.

It wasn’t like a Lunarian would put much stock in a Sun Priestess’ maybe-visions anyway, she reasoned. And… Tia was choosing to trust him with this task. She wanted to trust someone, anyone at all, with at least a fraction of what she’d been carrying since before she’d arrived in Dawnhaven. She couldn’t stand the thought of him taking a peek anyway and then lying to her about it if she denied him. She didn’t want a reason to doubt him.

Tia lamented that he was going to see how awful her handwriting had become.

Still, she nodded.

Zeph unfolded the paper with care, angling it towards the firelight as his gaze swept over the words. Slowly, as he read, his brows drew together.

Sprawling darkness. Obsidian spires. A towering figure, golden eyes blazing with unbridled wrath. The image she described was vivid, as if he could feel the weight of it himself—the fury that cracked through her like a physical blow.

Tia’s hands tightened at her sides as he read, curling around the fabric of her robe with a grip that sent pain arcing through her overworked muscles.

A slow breath escaped him, the gemstone feeling heavier in his pocket, as if it had suddenly gained substance. He lifted his gaze to Tia, his expression shifting—uncertain, wary.

His mind flashed back to the cavern, to the way she had nearly backed into the frozen water, eyes wide with fear.

“You saw this?” His voice was edged with disbelief, but he hesitated. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her—he did. He had no reason not to. But it sounded like something from a nightmare. Except… Tia hadn’t been asleep.

She didn’t respond. Tia was frozen under the weight of his gaze, pinned down by the new sharp edge. Her heart thundered in her ears like the voice from the vision. The reality settled into her finally — she’d told someone. Not everything, but Tia could see the questions building in him, his quick mind working her out like a puzzle.

Neatly, he folded the paper again, slipping it into the safety of his coat pocket. His gaze remained fixed on her, countless unspoken questions flickering behind his eyes. “Why don’t you want the Sage to know it’s from you?”

A thousand words she couldn’t say tumbled in her chest. She thought of the Arch Priest’s careful warnings. The Prince’s stern face as his eyes hardened with distrust and he demanded answers.

Her lips parted. She closed them again.

Tia uncurled a hand and brought it up to tap against the small emblem of the Church of Aelios embroidered on her robe. His eyes followed the movement, settling there for a few heartbeats.

“My words,” she managed in a soft, unsteady voice. It strained against her throat, tightened by her nerves. She tried to swallow. Tried to relax. Took another breath. “Have weight.”

Understanding clicked into place. Slowly, his gaze lifted back to hers, a small smile curving on his lips.

She fascinated him.

Beautiful, brave, and entirely unexpected. A mystery he hadn’t meant to start solving, but now he couldn’t stop himself from wanting to understand.

“Oh, I don’t doubt that.” he murmured, his tone light, teasing—but not dismissive. Her words did have weight. She was someone people listened to. Someone people followed.

And for some unknowable reason, here she was—trusting him.

“Your secrets are safe with me, Priestess.”

“Tia.” It slipped out without thought. She was too warm, too lightheaded with relief at his words, the return of his smile.

She wasn’t alone with her secrets anymore.

Her smile was small but real as she looked at him. Everything seemed lighter, suddenly. She gave a bow of her head before meeting his gaze again.

“Thank you.”

As she straightened, Zeph pushed himself off the bench in one fluid motion, rising to his full height. In an instant, the space vanished between them. Standing, he towered over her, close enough that the temple’s eternal flame wasn’t the only warmth he felt.

“Anytime, Tia.” he said quietly, a sly smirk forming on his lips.

Tia blinked, suddenly face to chest with him. Her eyes, wide and round, darted up to his.

She didn’t want to know what color her cheeks were. He was close enough that she had to crane her neck to look at him, his smile sharp and his eyes dancing in the firelight — her name on his tongue. Her secrets in his pocket.

Oh no.

Her brain didn’t work anymore. She blamed his proximity. Or her panic. Or the heat she felt that dangerously was not panic. She should step away, she knew. Give him space. She didn’t think she knew how to move.

“Mhm.” It was a high, strangled noise. Tia was fairly certain she’d never been a bigger idiot.

Zeph settled in place, as if he belonged there. His gaze drifted over her face, tracing the delicate curve of her cheek, the way the firelight played along her skin. Slowly, unhurried, his eyes lingered on her lips for a few breaths—just long enough for the thought to register.

Meeting her eyes again, he let the silence stretch, savoring the tension—and the surprising way in which she didn’t move away from him. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, teasing. “Anything else I can do for you?”

Maybe Aelios had actually blessed her, Tia considered, by taking away her voice — if only to keep her from answering his question.

She couldn’t look away from him as his gaze burned tracks into her skin. Hazel was too indistinct a word, she decided. His eyes danced in shades of the earth and forests, pine needles and honey gold, and a green so pale it was almost silver, like new growth on a desert plant. The fire splashed sunrise orange across it all.

Caught by his distracting eyes and starry freckles and smirking lips, Tia forgot how to breathe. Every nerve in her body felt taught and electric, crackling like the fire she tended to so dutifully. Her mouth was dry. She tried to swallow.

Tia taught herself how to move again and gave a small shake of her head. Then an abrupt step back.

Panic shot through her as her heel caught on the dragging fabric of her robe — but she managed to catch herself before she could do more than stumble.

It was like the world suddenly snapped back into reality, expanding beyond the tiny bubble that held them. Sight and sound existed for more than just his face and voice. Warmth existed beyond what radiated off his body, close enough to feel without touch.

Currently, all the warmth in the world was concentrated under Tia’s skin. She blinked rapidly as she looked back up at him — now from a safer distance. He still felt very close.

There it is.

The uncertainty, the wariness he had glimpsed in her yesterday. Zeph had caught it then, and he caught it now, pleased to see he could pull the same reaction from her so effortlessly. From a High Priestess of Aelios, no less.

That was satisfying.

His smirk deepened, smug and self-assured. She had flustered easily before, but now? Now he was certain—delighted—that it wasn’t just the natural unease at standing too close to a stranger. She had been quite comfortable mere moments ago, unbothered by the proximity she had initiated. But now, as he examined the heat creeping into her cheeks, he knew.

There was something else causing her to step away, something warmer. Familiar to him, but something she clearly didn’t know what to do with.

And he thought, for a moment, how interesting it might be to discover all her unspoken desires.

Did she even allow herself to have them? Did the church permit it? Did she? Or had she spent so long under the weight of that emblem that she’d convinced herself she was above such things? Above wanting?

A shame, if that were the case. Because Zeph knew desire. He knew the pull of it, the freedom in it, the way it could unravel even the most disciplined of minds.

He could show her how to indulge, if she so desired.

Letting the silence stretch again, he watched as she blinked—using the moment to steady himself, too.

“Well,” He finally said, his voice light, casual. “See you around then, Tia.”

He turned, shoving his hands into his pockets as he strolled toward the entrance, the faint jingle of the charm barely audible beneath his footsteps. Near the door, he paused, plucking a fresh prayer book from the stack—why not?—and, with the same unbothered confidence, snagged one more cookie.

The door slid shut with finality, the sound echoing through the temple.

Tia collapsed into the nearest bench. Her heart was too quick, and she was breathless, and she was never wearing this robe again.

His face was too warm. Tia brought her hands up to feel her cheeks, eyes widening as she remembered the way his gaze had trailed over her, his soft voice as he’d said her name.

The fire popped loudly and she jumped like a scolded child.

Reaching to the end of the pew, Tia grabbed Ranni’s stuffed gecko and sighed as she hugged it tightly to her chest. But beneath the flustered nerves and overwhelming unease — there was that warmth again. The sense of accomplishment that she was doing something with all of her secrets, and that someone (a someone who conjured fondness and amusement and panic) was going to help her with them. A soft smile found its way to her lips.

Tia still didn’t know his name.

Realms of Sun & Shadow

Location: Aelios Temple

With a brief upward nod, Zeph silently acknowledged a guard outside the temple before making his way up the stone steps. As he ascended, a memory of yesterday flickered through his mind—The Champion’s sharp blue eyes, glaring daggers at him, moments before she slammed the temple doors. He nearly rolled his eyes.

Drama Queen.

With a pull, he let himself in, the warmth and the scent of incense hitting him first. At the heart of the temple, a massive brazier blazed—the so-called “eternal flame of Aelios”—its golden light casting flickering shadows over the room’s decorated walls and high-arched ceiling.

It certainly felt inviting, albeit… eerily quiet.

Zeph’s gaze scanned the room until it landed on a small table to his right. Neatly arranged beneath candlelight were incense sticks, small bell chimes, scrolls, and books. He reached for one of the books—then paused, brows lifting.

At the far end of the table sat a basket. Filled with chocolate chip cookies.

A smile tugged at his lips as he plucked one from the pile, turning it over in his fingers. Quickly, his amusement faded.

This felt like a trap.

For a moment, he contemplated the possibility that this was some strange Aurelian scheme—poisoning unsuspecting trespassers with deceptively innocent, delicious-looking sweets. Or maybe… maybe Aelios had sensed his craving and was rewarding him for finally stepping into her temple.

His gaze slid to the eternal flame, considering.

No—Aelios was gone. The sky had made that abundantly clear.

With a shrug, Zeph popped the entire cookie into his mouth. If it was poisoned, he couldn’t tell. He chewed thoughtfully, then grabbed a second one—just to be sure.

His gaze drifted to the chimes, their polished metal glinting in the candlelight. On impulse, he reached out and took one from the table, giving it a few jingles. The soft notes rang through the quiet temple, echoing slightly. Smirking, he tucked the chime into his coat pocket and turned his attention to the stack of books.

His fingers brushed over the spines before selecting one and flipping open to a random page.

"Light eternal, Keeper of the Golden Dawn,
Banish shadows from our path.
Let your fire guide our steps,
Your warmth shield our soul,
And your radiance remind us that,
Even in darkness,
Light is never truly lost.”

Zeph snapped the book shut.

Still chewing, he wandered toward the brazier, gaze sweeping over the temple’s design. Stopping in front of the flame, he tilted his head, wondering what would happen if he simply… accidentally, of course… tipped the brazier over. Would some divine retribution smite him where he stood? Would he damn the Aurelians? How much further could they be damned?

A crackling ember snapped in the fire, as if in warning.

Zeph smirked. Fine. He’d behave.

His attention shifted down a nearby hall, listening for any hint of movement. But there was nothing, only the flicker of flames filling the space.

Is she even here?

Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out the chime and jingled it again—just to see if it worked to summon her. What else were they for?

After waiting a few minutes, he sighed and tucked the chime back into his pocket. Turning, something caught his eye along one of the pews. Narrowing his gaze, he stepped closer, only to find…

A stuffed animal?

Gently, he picked it up and examined it more closely. It looked like some kind of lizard—but not one he’d ever seen before. Green, with golden stripes down its back, a chubby tail, and two massive black eyes staring at him blankly.

The fabric was soft, well-cared for, though its frayed edges showed years of use.

Cute, he supposed. But which child had left it behind? There weren’t many in Dawnhaven—surely it wouldn’t be hard for him to figure out who to return it to.

Zeph hesitated for a moment, considering just leaving with his new found items, but then thought better of it. He'd make himself comfortable, instead.

The temple was warm. It had cookies. And eventually, the Priestess would have to show up—she had a job to do, didn’t she?

Sliding into the pew, he leaned back against the wall it was pressed against, shifting until he found a comfortable spot. One knee bent, the other leg stretched out along the wooden bench, and the stuffed lizard placed on his chest, its head just under his chin.

Taking a bite of the second cookie, he chewed slowly, savoring the chocolate as it melted on his tongue. Setting the remaining half on the edge of the pew, he flipped open the prayer book and began absently thumbing through it with idle curiosity.

If nothing else, this wasn’t a terrible place to spend his day off.

Realms of Sun & Shadow

Location: Eye of the Beholder

Kira settled into the furthest, darkest corner of the tavern she could find, fingers curled loosely around the warmth of a coffee mug. She kept her eyes low, never quite meeting the gazes that occasionally wandered her way. Instead, she focused on a small imperfection in the worn wooden table, her attention drifting between the mundane chatter around her. On pure instinct, she sifted through for something worthwhile.

Briefly, a thought crossed her mind, one that had haunted her countless times since her transformation. How valuable she might have been to the King, if he knew of what she was capable of now. Able to eavesdrop from across the room, to hear even the faintest heartbeat beneath layers of noise. If only she weren’t certain he’d have her killed on sight for it.

Most of the surrounding conversation was the usual drivel. Guards grumbling about the cold. Drunken recollections of the previous night. Complaints about food, sleep, or the lack thereof. Speculation on how the Princess was faring, or where her attacker might have gone.

All of it dull. Predictable. Utterly boring.

But then, something… different caught her attention. Her eyes flicked toward the source before she could stop herself.

Unnatural, ashen skin. Two sets of vacant violet eyes. Horns protruding from her head. Batlike wings, pulled in tightly against her back.

Blight-born, and one who had not a single shred of hope to blend in.

Kira’s gaze slid to the company she had been locked in conversation with.

One of them was the guard—the royal guard that she had crossed paths with yesterday, who did not seem to remember her the way she remembered him. And beside him, a woman—another high-ranking Lunarian, judging by her attire alone. Vaguely familiar. Kira squinted, trying to place where she had seen her before. In passing at the palace, perhaps.

She watched them in silence for a few moments, curious how they would interact with someone so visibly afflicted by the blight. To her utter surprise—not with pure disdain. Perhaps a year's time had changed the old guard's heart.

As she processed this, someone new approached. Someone Kira didn’t recognize.

A man. Nobility, no doubt. It was in the way he carried himself, in the fine clothing he wore and the subtle arrogance of inserting himself into another’s conversation. Kira leaned back slightly, uninterested in knowing him, but her focus sharpened as she caught onto their conversation.

The blight-born woman—she wanted to be a Sage?

Kira’s lips pressed into a thin line as she focused her eyes back on the table, listening.

Why play with her?

It was a foolish, naive dream. And cruel, too, for that noble man to be entertaining it.

Blight-born had no dreams, no future beyond what they had been dealt. Their fate had been sealed the moment their veins ran dark. To think she could rise above it, be accepted, be one of them...

Kira had seen the way the Sages looked at her. Fear. Curiosity. Rarely warmth. Then again, she had never given them any to start.

She took a sip of her coffee, thoughts halting as her gaze drifted across the tavern and landed on a familiar shape. A man. Sitting alone, absently pushing food around his plate.

Kira set her mug down, tilting her head slightly, eyes narrowing.

Him.

She recognized that tousled dark hair, the lazy way he sat. Could picture the blood staining her hands as she ripped the dagger out from his torso.

A slow, faint smile curled at the edge of her lips. Had he noticed her yet?

She watched him for a beat longer, then the tavern door swung open.

Ivor entered, his presence sucking the air from the room as he greeted the tavern with his usual boisterous energy, Sya trailing in beside him.

Kira immediately looked away, her nerves prickling. Too many people. Too loud. It would soon be time to—

She froze, a sensation running up her spine.

She wasn’t just being watched. She was being seen.

And, at the same time, approached.

Ivor was making his way toward her, but it wasn’t him that had forced her attention. Across the tavern, the dark-haired man had finally noticed her.

Her gaze flicked back to him. His eyes were locked onto her, unwavering and bold, even as she held the stare for a few heartbeats.

Annoying.

Slowly, deliberately, Kira smiled at him. Just enough to bare a sharp canine, running her tongue over the tip in a lazy taunt. A dare.

Something flickered in his hazel-eyed gaze.

Good.

Satisfied, she turned her attention to Ivor just as he reached her table, her expression softening.

When he greeted her, her expression shifted into something almost—almost—pleasant. She could still feel Zephyros’ eyes on her, but she ignored him, keeping her focus on the giant before her, her mind catching on the word “friend” as he said it.

She supposed, if she were to have one, Ivor would be the closest thing. Loud, larger than life, overbearing. But that vastness was almost comforting. His presence filled the space around him so entirely that, for a moment, there was no room left for anything else—no room for thoughts, for ghosts, for the weight of the past and present pressing against her ribs.

She recalled the quiet of the forest, the shared hunt, the moment of understanding between them. And for the first time in a long time, she smiled.

A real one—small, but genuine.

"Good morning," she replied, voice steady, quiet. "The day has been…. fine, I suppose."

Gesturing to the empty seat across for her, she asked, “Would you like to sit?”

Her own invitation surprised her.

She didn’t offer company often. Didn’t want it often. But today—

No.

It had only been to shield herself from the ire of Zephyros and his royal guard master, if it were to come. A protective measure, nothing more.

“How has your morning been?” she continued, keeping her gaze fixed on Ivor, despite catching Zephyros gesturing at her from the periphery.

---

_{Interactions: Ivor @SkeankySnack
Mentions: Coswain & Persephone @PrinceAlexus, Nesna @enmuni, Nathaniel @Echotech71}

Realms of Sun & Shadow

Location: Eye of the Beholder

Zeph sat alone at his usual table in the tavern, scowling at his meager breakfast. Leftovers from the feast—but no pastries. He took a swig of coffee to make up for it, the bitter warmth doing little to improve his disappointment.

Around him, the tavern bustled with early “morning” activity—guards and townsfolk coming and going, the clatter of plates and mugs, the occasional bark of laughter. But he stayed quiet, nursing his drink, letting the dull hum of conversation blur into the background.

His gaze flicked across the room and landed on Nesna, not far from where he sat, sticking out from the crowd like a sore thumb. She was talking to two of the royal guards—and someone else. A slim, dark-haired man, dressed like a scholar. A sage or some type of wealthy merchant, he’d guess. Zeph studied him for a moment, sizing him up, then dismissed the thought. Nesna seemed to be settling in well with the townspeople, despite her rough start. That was good, he supposed.

His attention shifted back to the royal guards—particularly Lord Coswain. Zeph had known he was in town. The barracks had been buzzing about it ever since he and Zeph’s old unit arrived. Still, seeing him in the flesh stirred something bitter in his chest. The grizzled old man had aged since Zeph last saw him, lines etched deeper into his face. It had been some time since they'd last seen each other—a little over a year. He had no intention of speaking to Coswain, but even so, Zeph was relieved to see him alive. Though, he wondered why Coswain was here.

Strange, how despite Zeph being cast out from the unit, they’d both ended up in the same place anyway.

Just as he considered getting up, a familiar blond Lunarian guard—Voss—slid into the seat across from him, coffee in hand. "Where's Hawthorne?" the man asked casually.

Zeph raised a brow, meeting Voss’s dark brown eyes. "...Who?"

The fellow guard looked at him like he was slow. "The Aurelian recruit? Heard old Volkov stuck you with a trainee."

Zeph leaned back in his chair, unimpressed. "News to me."

Voss chuckled, shaking his head. "Figures."

Of course, Volkov would saddle him with an Aurelian. Clearly, he wasn’t letting Zeph off easy. He wondered if Aliseth had gotten a similar punishment, or something worse. Had he seen a Psychic magic user to pry his mind apart yet?

Zeph sighed, taking another slow sip of his coffee. "An Aurelian?" He already didn’t like where this was going.

"Yep."

Zeph swirled the liquid in his mug, considering that for a moment. "You know where he’d be?"

Voss snorted. "She. And no.”

Zeph went still, his cup hovering near his lips before he set it down. He grimaced internally. An Aurelian woman. Because historically, they had been so receptive to direction and constructive criticism. He could already feel the headache forming.

"I’ll find her," he muttered, though it was supposed to be his day off.

Voss leaned back in his chair. "Where were you last night, anyway? You missed cards. Tav took all my coin this time."

Zeph just smiled, a mischievous glint in his hazel eyes. "Busy."

A blond brow lifted. "Oh? Found yourself a new friend?" Voss smirked, clearly assuming Zeph had spent the night entangled with someone. Zeph let him think so, staying silent and letting the insinuation linger.

His mind, however, trailed back to Ivor and the Priestess, to the night before—the cavern, the blood, the cold.

As if conjured by thought, the tavern door opened again, and in strode Ivor, accompanied by the serpentine innkeeper, Sya. As always, Ivor’s presence was impossible to miss. The giant man greeted the room with a booming voice and a grin. Zeph raised his mug in return, along with a few other patrons.

Tracking the giant’s movements, Zeph watched as he made a beeline for—

Zeph’s heart skipped.

Red hair. Glowing eyes. Flickering candlelight casting shifting shadows over fox-like features.

As if he wasn’t sure if he was seeing things correctly, his gaze narrowed, trying to make out the rest of her face from across the tavern. And then, as if sensing his stare, those fiery orange eyes locked onto his.

He didn’t look away. Neither did she.

They held each other’s gaze for a few long heartbeats. Then, a slow, knowing smile curled at her lips—just enough to reveal the razor edge of a canine. Her tongue flicked over it, deliberate. And then, as if dismissing him, she turned away, her expression smoothing as she looked up at Ivor. Her smile softened, her manner relaxed, as if she hadn’t just bared her teeth at Zeph.

What the fuck is she doing here?

Zeph exhaled slowly through his nose, expression unreadable.

"Hale?"

Zeph blinked, realizing he’d completely tuned out whatever Voss had just said. He tore his gaze from the woman in the corner and looked back at the guard.

"You know that one?" He didn’t bother being subtle about it, gesturing toward the redhead.

Voss followed his line of sight, brow furrowing. "Not really. Seen her around. Think she runs an herb shop or somethin’."

Zeph scoffed, smirking. "An herb shop?"

His gaze flicked back to her. She was still speaking with Ivor, composed and unbothered, as if Zeph’s presence meant nothing at all.

He downed the rest of his coffee and stood. "I’ll have to stop by sometime," he mused.

Voss chuckled. "Sure you will.”

"But first," Zeph sighed dramatically, "Seems I’ve got to go find this Hawthorne person." He made it sound like the most exhausting task in the world.

With a lazy wave to Voss, he shoved his hands into his pockets and stepped back out into the cold.

Honestly, he had no interest in asking around for the Aurelian recruit. He barely spoke to the Aurelian guards, and the thought of mingling with them sounded miserable. Volkov had known exactly what he was doing with this. The prick.

So instead of heading for the barracks, he decided to check on Tia.

An Aurelian he could tolerate.

She had burned through a lot of energy saving his life last night. It was only right to make sure she was alright. Plus, maybe she, or her Keeper—the ever-charming Champion—would know who this Hawthorne person was.

And if the Champion didn’t let him speak to the Priestess?

Well. He’d find a way. He always did.

Realms of Sun & Shadow

Location: Alchemy Chambers

Eris blinked, a bit taken aback by the guards sudden shift from drowsy warmth to rigid formality. She hadn’t meant to startle her—or to send her into a flurry. Pulling her blanket tighter, Eris watched as Charlotte scrambled to the hearth.

“Oh, you d—” The words died in her throat as she thought better of it. Charlotte was nervous. Eris could have lit the fire with magic in an instant. She had been doing so the entire time she’d lived here—the logs beside the hearth more for decoration than anything. But in her current state, drained from the night before, the help was welcome. And Charlotte, it seemed, needed something to focus on.

Eris could empathize with that.

As Charlotte stood before her, their eyes met, and for a moment, Eris felt a warmth that had nothing to do with the fire. A rush of something she couldn't quite name had been ignited as she stood in the taller woman's shadow, struck by the sharp contrast of Charlotte’s steel-blue eyes against her raven hair.

“There’s nothing to forgive, Miss Hawthorne,” she said hastily, needing a distraction herself now. She shuffled around Charlotte in her cocoon of a blanket, waddling closer to the fire. “You did nothing wrong. We all need sleep, don’t we?”

She cast a glance over her shoulder, her gaze trailing over the armor Charlotte still wore, likely having slept in it.

“We’re safe here, in the tower,” she added, glancing toward one of the darkened windows. Her quarters sat high in the spire of the Alchemy Chambers, above the rest of Dawnhaven. Despite everything, she did always feel more secure here than she would have at ground level.

A flicker of memory surfaced—Charlotte’s steadying hands, the way she had practically carried her up all the winding steps the night before. Eris’ cheeks warmed further, and she quickly turned back toward the fire, hoping the flames would disguise the flush creeping up her neck.

“Besides,” she added, voice softer now, “I would have been worried if you’d gone back out into that storm.” A pause. The fire crackled, filling the space between them.

Quick flashes of memories replayed in her mind.

Aliseth, his tight grip on her hand. Charlotte, putting herself between Eris and him. The stonemason, simmering under barely controlled anger. The blight-born Priestess, crying. The Princess, cold and silent. Charlotte, waiting for her.

“Thank you for helping me last night, Miss Hawthorne. How can I ever repay you?”

Her gaze drifted across the hall to the small kitchen. She pulled the blanket down from her head as the fire’s heat seeped in, letting her mess of brunette curls tumble free.

“To start, do you like tea? Or coffee?”

---

_{Interactions: Charlotte @SpicyMeatball}

Realms of Sun & Shadow

Location: Royal Residence

Flynn’s eyes lit up the moment the word “all” left her lips. A rush of selfish excitement washed over him at the thought of having her by his side all day. It wasn’t just that he could use the help—though he certainly could—it was that he wanted her there. He wanted to know she was safe beside him. He wanted to enjoy her company. To have someone with him who wasn’t just serious, no-nonsense Orion—who, frankly, wasn’t nearly as easy on the eyes.

But beyond his own desires, pride settled deep within him at her answer. Despite everything, she chose to step forward rather than retreat, to take on more responsibility instead of shrink from it. She was resilient—just as he’d known she was.

However, his smile faded when she mentioned the prisoner. His brows furrowed, a slight frown tugging at his lips as contradictions caught in his mind. The stranger had helped Amaya—yet he’d found himself in a cell for treason.

Confusion flickered across Flynn’s face as yesterday’s events replayed in his mind. Halcyon. That was the name he’d given at the tavern. He’d made insinuations about Flynn’s family, even told Flynn to call him brother. He nearly shuddered at the memory of those ghostly eyes looking back at him.

The treason wasn’t surprising, but helping Amaya? Perhaps whatever game he was playing only involved being a thorn in the side of Aurelians. Flynn supposed, for the moment, it was a relief that Halcyon would only target him if given the chance.

Then Amaya’s voice softened, and his focus snapped back to her—spiraling thoughts frozen mid sentence as she lowered her gaze away from his.

For a heartbeat, he just looked at her. He wanted to say something that would lift the weight from her expression—to remind her that she didn’t have to carry so much guilt. That the knight had fulfilled his oath and bought her and Elara precious moments to escape.

But a knight had given his life for her. A person. Not a mere obligation to be dismissed—sworn by oath or not. No words seemed sufficient to honor that sacrifice.

“We’ll make time,” he promised, certain of it. “He’ll receive the honor he deserves.”

He longed to pull her closer, to make her forget all her worries. He longed for her to help him forget his.

But instead, he swallowed the impulse, letting out a quiet breath as he stood. Turning to face her, he extended his hand, palm up—another invitation. His lips tilted into a soft smile.

“Come on, beautiful,” he said, his tone warm. “Let’s get dressed. Then we’ll head out.”

---

_{Interactions: Amaya @c3p-0h}

Realms of Sun & Shadow

Location: Aelios Temple > Hotsprings

“The sun warms all,”

Noticeably, the words came strained from the Priestess, each syllable carrying the weight of effort, but Nyla couldn’t help but smile. There was something undeniably endearing about the way the woman’s eyes widened, her cheeks coloring. Nyla’s gaze followed hers to the window, where only the deep, frozen darkness of night stared back at them.

She never could get used to it, either.

“Mm…” she hummed, arching a brow as she returned her gaze to the woman. Her lips curled into a knowing smile that was neither mockery nor pity, just quiet amusement. “So it seems.” Her voice carried an easy, lilting sarcasm, as a soft laugh slipped past her lips.

Nyla’s gaze flicked down as the Priestess lifted a small basket of cookies in offering. She blinked, her brows lifting slightly in surprise. She had been given many things in temples—blessings, prayers, judgments—but never a cookie.

And who was she to refuse such kindness? Refusing gifts could be seen as rude.

With a graceful motion, she plucked a cookie from the basket, holding it between her fingers as though it were something finer than a simple baked good. “A gift from the temple?” she mused, peering at her with curiosity. “Or from you?”

She didn’t wait for an answer before taking a delicate bite, letting the taste settle on her tongue. Sweet. But simple. Humble.

It would undoubtedly leave her stomach in knots later, but Nyla had long since learned to ignore such things. If she wanted to pass as human, she had to commit to the performance.

The Priestess, meanwhile, had gestured toward the hallway leading to the springs, and Nyla followed without hesitation. As she walked, she took her time, letting her gaze drift over the temple’s ornate walls and vaulted ceiling, allowing herself to absorb the warmth of the space. It reminded her, in some ways, of home.

When her gaze flicked back to the Priestess, Nyla watched her move, noting the careful way she held herself. Controlled, deliberate, but she was stiff—straining. Nyla had seen it before, in dancers who had pushed themselves past their limits—in herself. Though the Priestess seemed to be doing her best to mask it.

Interesting.

When they reached the doorway, a gust of cold rushed to greet them, though Nyla barely reacted. Since her transformation, the cold had become more tolerable—though she still didn’t like it. Gathering her long, dark hair to one side to shield it from the wind, she followed the Priestess outside, smiling at the familiar feeling of heat and steam enveloping her.

Then, the Priestess stopped short.

Nyla followed her gaze, landing on the lone figure hunched at the water’s edge. The red staining the ground, swirling in the sacred waters. Her eyes shot back to the Priestess, just in time to catch the basket and towel thrust into her hands. Nyla took them without protest, though her brows drew together slightly. She watched as the priestess hurried down the steps, concern evident.

Nyla, however, lingered.

Her playful demeanor didn’t vanish entirely, but it did sharpen, her head tilting as her eyes studied the scene at the bottom of the steps. She had no particular interest in rushing in to play the part of a worried onlooker.

Instead, Nyla inhaled—and immediately regretted it.

Beneath the thick, humid, mineral-rich air, something else lurked.

Rot.

Decay.

Her grip tightened around the towel and basket as her expression shifted, her amusement slipping into nausea. She darted a glance around, trying to pinpoint the source through the rising steam. An animal carcass left in the snow? A dead body?

She resisted the urge to wrinkle her nose. The scent was faint, even to her—so subtle that a human likely wouldn’t notice it at all, she guessed. But to her heightened blight-born smell, it was enough to make her stomach turn.

Slowly, with growing concern, she stepped forward, though the Priestess’s urgency wasn’t quite mirrored in her own steps.

As she reached the bottom of the steps, her attention slid to a sword leaning against one of the rocky outcrops—dark steel, unmistakably Lunarian. Her gaze flicked back to the man as the priestess approached him.

A soldier?

Broad-shouldered, dark-haired, his posture spoke of pain or exhaustion—perhaps both. Maybe the scent of decay clung to his weapon, and that was why he had come here. It would be typical for a Lunarian to desecrate the sacred waters of Aelios.

Yet something inside her stirred, a quiet warning that set her instincts on edge.

Wariness flickered in her gaze as she glanced at the priestess, then back to the man, choosing to linger a few steps behind them. Silent, she continued scanning the area, searching through mist and shadows for whatever had begun to rot in the cold.

Because whatever it was…

It was close.

---

_{Interactions: Tia @c3p-0h, Vellion @Dark Light}

Realms of Sun & Shadow

Location: Town Square > Aelios Temple

Quietly, Nyla wandered through Dawnhaven’s winding streets, her eyes tracing the variety of shops clustered around the town center. For a brief moment, she wondered what it was that the shop owners sought to do here. Did they truly believe they’d find a new start instead of meeting their end? Nyla had come out of desperation, but the humans who arrived willingly seemed to cling onto hope still. It was admirable, if naive.

With each passerby, she noted their faces, offering a small smile if their eyes met hers. The townspeople seemed tense, and the guards watched her even more closely than they had when she first arrived at the gates yesterday. It set her slightly on edge, but she continued on, following wooden signs that pointed out important locations—armory, tavern, market, barracks, neighborhoods, and temples.

The town was organized enough, she supposed, but sprawling in a way that made her wonder how much of it had been planned and how much had simply been built wherever it could go up the fastest. She couldn’t help but smirk at that. It suited Flynn, really. For all his plans and thoughts, he was still Flynn—Impulsive, willful, and always well-intentioned.

Eventually, she found herself in the northeast neighborhood, where the homes were neatly aligned, well-kept and clearly occupied. She paused, considering a new direction to wander, when an Aurelian guard passed by, offering a polite nod.

“Excuse me, love,” she called out, her southeastern Aurelian accent lacing her words with a subtle, honeyed warmth. “This area—most of the homes are taken, yes?”

The guard gave a small chuckle, adjusting his grip on his spear. “Aye, miss. Mostly assigned to guards and the like. You lookin’ to move in? You’d have better luck toward the west end, I reckon.”

“I see. Thank you.” She began to turn away when the guard cleared his throat.

“Miss,” he called after her, prompting Nyla to half-turn and meet his gaze. “You should talk to the stonemason and his crew. Or the Prince, if he’ll deign to meet with you. They’ll know which homes are ready.”

Nyla flashed him a warm, easy smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.” She gave him a gracious inclination of her head, and he returned the gesture, before she continued on her way.

She had no interest in tracking down Flynn or whoever the stonemason was. Flynn had already said she could have any home she wanted—so she’d take it.

As she made her way back down the snow-laden streets, a wisp of steam caught her attention, curling into the crisp air from somewhere to the east. Intrigued, she followed it, cutting through narrow streets until she found herself at the base of a temple—perched atop a hill, framed by the forest, and radiating warmth that seemed to seep through the very walls. It wasn’t anything like the grand, glittering temples of Aurelia, but it held its own quiet dignity.

She stopped at the foot of the steps, narrowing her eyes as she took it all in—the Temple of Aelios. The goddess whose followers had changed the course of Flynn’s entire life… and hers.

Her lips pressed into a thin line as she looked up at the spires reaching up into the clouded night sky. She had never belonged to Aelios’ faithful, despite growing up in the eastern sands where worship was as common as breathing. There, faith bled into everything—prayers before meals, blessings for water, rituals for the rising sun, mediation under the blazing summer heat or in the warmth of a cleansing hot spring.

She did not deny Aelios’ power, but the nomads lived by their own rhythm, guided by the wind. And Nyla had never cared for how religion tried to box people in.

Still, the temple’s heat called to her all the same, tempting her with promises of comfort like a familiar lover. Might as well, she thought, if only to see everything Dawnhaven had to offer.

Letting herself be drawn closer, she scaled the steps until she reached the doors and gave them a gentle push. The warmth spilled out, washing over her, and Nyla stepped inside. The vast, open center of the temple welcomed her with flickering firelight. At the heart of it all, the eternal flame burned—a beacon that made the air seem to hum with power. A familiar sight, and yet, so foreign at the same time.

Near the flame stood a woman—blonde, petite, and strikingly beautiful. A Priestess, no doubt. But more curiously, she bore the unmistakable features of someone from the Ember Isles—despite the rarity of her sunlit hair. Nyla took a moment to drink her in before stepping forward, a soft smile gracing her lips as she moved with the unhurried, fluid grace honed on countless stages.

“Warm greetings, Priestess,” she said, dipping her head in a respectful bow, keeping her gaze averted for a few breaths. If her life had taught her anything, it was to tread carefully around members of the church. With all their entitled pride, they weren’t often forgiving of perceived disrespect.

When she straightened, her blue eyes briefly flicked to the Priestess's scarf before meeting her gaze.

“I couldn’t help but notice—is that a hot spring beyond the temple?” she asked, nodding toward the door at the back. “It’s been far too long since I’ve had the pleasure of one.” She paused, her soft smile shifting, turning teasing.

Because despite her inclination to respect the clergy, she was still Nyla—impulsive and willful.

“Is the hotspring reserved only for the devout, or might any heathen enjoy it?”

---

_{Interactions: Tia @c3p-0h}

Realms of Sun & Shadow

Location: Royal Residence

Flynn watched Amaya carefully, analyzing every subtle shift in her expression and every small motion in her body language. He couldn’t help but notice the way her hair fell unruly around her face, how the nightgown clung to her body as she kept a calculated distance between them, how her eyes shifted away from his, how her—

His thoughts stumbled to a halt.

It was almost imperceivable against her darker skin, but unmistakable to him. He’d gazed at her so often, traced the lines of her face so many times, that the slightest change was noticeable. She was… blushing.

The rigid formality she always wore like armor still wasn’t in place, leaving her unguarded and… nervous? The realization was surprising enough that it almost made him forget to breathe.

A slow, almost lazy thrill unfurled in his chest. Something warm, bold and just a little bit smug.

He knew this look, this energy. He’d seen it on plenty of faces before—flustered, uncertain, caught off guard in his presence. But to see it on her? That was new.

He wasn’t used to being the one to leave her so visibly unsteady, and it gave him a rare, almost dangerous sense of confidence. Something told him that if he reached for her now, she might not immediately pull away. Maybe she’d even lean into it. The thought was oddly reassuring and calming. Maybe she had enjoyed his company after all—begrudgingly or not.

As she sat up, he silently cursed himself for having pulled away, for letting the weight of his own thoughts drag him out from under her. He should have stayed. Should have kept her tucked against his chest and kissed her awake instead. He wanted to reach for her, pull her back down onto the couch with him and coax her into staying just a little longer.

But before he could convince himself to try it, she spoke—quick and practical, trying to cut through her own nerves with practicality.

Flynn just nodded, his lips curving into a soft, almost teasing smile. “Right. I should dress too,” he said, keeping his voice gentle. “Sorry, I... didn’t mean to wake you.”

His thoughts snagged on the notion, unsure of what he would’ve done if she hadn’t woken up. Left her there to wake up alone? No—that didn’t sit right with him. He would’ve stayed. He’d just… needed a moment to breathe.

His gaze caught on her hands as she started to rise, and an urge to stop her tightened in his chest. Before he could overthink it, the words quickly tumbled out.

“I meant what I said—yesterday.” He paused, waiting for her to meet his gaze. “About… being my partner,” he clarified when she did, holding the soft smile on his lips.

He hesitated for a beat before leaning in, nudging her shoulder with his in a gentle, playful gesture.

“Come with me today,” he said, lingering close, his gaze dipping briefly to her nightgown before finding her face again. There was a spark of mischief in his eyes, but it was softened by a touch of tenderness that lingered just beneath the surface.

“I’ve got to check in with the commanders first,” he continued, eyes briefly flicking to her lips. “Then, apparently they’ve put someone in the cells—that odd man we ran into on the road before… Speaking of treason, I heard.” He sighed, slowly finding her eyes again. “After that… more blight-born interviews.”

The list felt heavy on his shoulders as he named his tasks aloud. He just wanted to stay here, with her.

“You’re welcome to join me for any of it,” he said, softer now. “All, or just some…” he paused, knowing that everything might be too much after what she’d just been through.
“Or none of it at all,” he added, his eyes searching hers.

“Whatever you desire.”

---

_{Interactions: Amaya @c3p-0h}

Realms of Sun & Shadow

Location: Eye of the Beholder > Town Square

Nyla’s hips swayed, her movements fluid and precise, each twist, arch and hand placement a carefully crafted spell to captivate every eye in the room. Wrapped in colorful silks, they fluttered around her like flames. Music thrummed in her ears—a lute, tambourine and drums paving the rhythm that shaped and guided her every motion. Gold, silver, and bronze coins were tossed at her feet, clattering across the wooden stage of a smoky tavern. Men and women alike leaned forward, greedy eyes trailing her body.

Effortlessly, she pirouetted, her world blurring from one to the next.

A grand hall unfolded around her, polished marble floors reflecting candlelight as highborn nobles sat rapt with attention. From across the room, the Queen’s green eyes fixated on her—unwavering, familiar, and stripped of their light.

She spun.

A dim brothel—whispers crawling through the dark, slithering between raised glasses and crooked smiles. Some faces alight with wonder, others glinting with cruel intent.

She spun faster.

Dancing on the sunlit streets of Aurelian markets, where the crowd chanted and clapped along to the music, their cheers crashing around her like waves of pure adrenaline.

She spun in a darkened room, for one man.

His hands reached for her, catching her mid-turn. He whispered into her ear, his breath warm against her skin. Promises, sweet and poisonous, spilled from his lips. She closed her eyes, leaning into the sound, completely breathless. Motionless.

The silks tightened around her torso—slowly at first, then viciously. Her breath hitched as they constricted, burning hot, searing into her flesh. A coppery taste materialized in her mouth, rushing into her lungs as blood filled the space where air should have been. She choked, fighting to breathe, but the silk pressed over her lips and sealed over her eyes. Darkness folded in on her, suffocating, crushing. She was drowning, trapped, and powerless against it.

She tried to scream—

Nyla gasped awake, her body rigid, heart pounding against her ribs. Darkness pressed in heavily across her body, asphyxiating her. She flailed, desperate to throw off the weight of it. Panic clawed at her chest until a sliver of light broke through, distant and faint. She reached for it, pushing against the weight of shadows until she broke free.

Under dim torchlight coming through her window, she stared down at herself and stilled. Small hands, slender and fragile, trembled against an entire ocean of blankets. She was tiny—small enough to fit into the palm of a hand. Fae.

Somewhere in sleep, she must have shrunk into this shape.

Her wings twitched in annoyance at her back as disgust pulled her lips into a sneer. The room loomed around her, monstrously oversized.

With a frustrated huff, she sat down, her weight hardly making a dent in the fabric. Fighting against the tide of magic that kept her small, she closed her eyes, and forced her mind to conjure the shape she preferred—taller, stronger, more human sized. It took several attempts, each one feeling like an uphill battle, but at last, heat crawled through her bones, stretching and reshaping her muscles. When she opened her eyes again, she stood tall, back to her usual height.

She paused for a moment, stretching her limbs, adjusting to the unfamiliar weight of her newly restored form. She wasn’t sure she would ever fully acclimate to the strange, shifting sensations of her transitions.

Her gaze drifted to the window, where snowflakes gathered along the sill. Moving across the room, she leaned closer, peering outside. The world beyond seemed frozen in time, blanketed in an eerie stillness, draped in a shroud of white.

There was a time when the sight of snow had filled her with joy, but now, it only served as a bitter reminder of her own loneliness. A hollow ache spread through her chest as she mulled over her plans for the day. But why bother stepping outside? Why brave the cold and emptiness when there was nothing waiting to warm her? A grim thought struck her—she wished she had died a month ago. It would have been easier.

But her thoughts snagged on Aldrick—vibrant, reckless Aldrick. Still living, still thriving, sparking life into every room he entered. Hadn’t he always known how to survive? To keep moving even when life bled him dry? She’d been like that once—daring and bright. Maybe it wasn’t too late to reclaim the spark that Aldrick had held onto. She couldn’t stand the thought of giving in, of letting the world crush her spirit entirely. And yet…

Her mind returned to Flynn. She remembered the way he’d looked at her, those green eyes, always so caring, that now hid so much behind them. She remembered his embrace, the way it had felt less warm than it used to. And even so, she felt comfortable there. A pang through her heart made her chest feel tight.

His words tugged at her thoughts—talk of an interview. She scoffed, irritation sparking. As if she were some stranger to him. As if he didn’t already know every corner of her soul, every curve of her body. The idea of him treating her as an unknown, possible threat, scraped against her nerves.

Let him chase her down if he wanted an interview so badly.

Despite how guarded he had been, he’d still promised her a home here—a place to be safe. Well, she’d find herself a space, then. A little corner to call her own.

Throwing on her clothes and a thick coat, Nyla pulled her magic around herself like a veil, tucking away her horns and wings, presenting herself as human again.

Downstairs, she slipped through the inn, hurrying past faces without meeting anyone’s gaze. Snow crunched underfoot as she exited, making her way toward the town square.

She didn’t quite know where to begin—only that part of her ached for Flynn to come find her, as he always had.