The Muse

Realms of Sun & Shadow

---

---

_{Current Moon Phase: Full Moon | Current Weather: 35 Degrees, gentle snowfall, cloudy skies | Current Time: 9am}

---

---

For seven long days, the blizzard had roared over Dawnhaven, an unrelenting force of nature that piled snow upon the trees, houses, and streets, sealing everyone inside their homes. The howling winds seemed endless, drowning out any attempt at communication beyond the walls of the town. The streets were abandoned, as no one dared venture out into the storm. Guards took short rotating shifts, braving the brutal cold and conserving precious firewood as they huddled together, trying to stay warm while protecting the town as best they could. Blight-born who could withstand such harsh weather proved to be highly useful, keeping watch where the humans could not.

Now, a week later, the storm has finally begun to ease. Around three feet of snow blankets the town, with many snowdrifts built up along buildings. The winds, once fierce and biting, have died down to a gentle breeze. The snowfall has slowed, though it hasn't stopped completely. The streets, once impassable, were now being cleared by the guards who shoveled diligently, making way for the eager citizens who had been trapped indoors for days on end.

As the snow is cleared, another unit of Aurelian guards move through Dawnhaven, lighting torches along the roads. As they make their way from door to door, they announce that everyone is welcome to gather outside the Eye of the Beholder for a warm meal, generously provided by the Prince and Princess to celebrate the end of Dawnhaven's first blizzard of the season. It’s a moment of much-needed relief and community, after days spent isolated in the cold.

Slowly but surely, people begin to emerge from their homes, bundled up in thick coats and scarves. They make their way to the Eye of the Beholder, where a large bonfire blazes outside, casting a welcoming glow. Around the fire, hot soup and steaming bowls of stew are passed around, the savory scents filling the air. Laughter and conversation flow freely, as the townsfolk—grateful to be together again—share in the warmth of community, and the joy of having survived the storm.

Though the storm hasn't fully passed, Dawnhaven feels alive once again.

Realms of Sun & Shadow

Location: Royal Cabin | Time: 10:30am | Collaboration with @c3p-0h

Catching up to Amaya, Flynn fell into step beside her, his body language reading a bit more tense than it had been on stage—the mask beginning to falter.

"I’m sorry," Flynn muttered softly, his tone laced with guilt as he glanced over at Amaya. She gave no indication that she’d even heard him. He knew he had taken far too long to wrap up that conversation, despite feeling it was the right thing to do from the citizen’s perspective. As they neared the cabin, Flynn quickened his pace slightly to reach the door first.

"Thank you for your escort," he said to the guards as they stopped outside, then turned to hold the door open for Amaya, his eyes drifting down to her hands. He watched for any sign of her magic—water pooling at her fingertips, mist forming in the air, ice crawling along her skin. As far as he could tell, there was nothing.

Amaya managed to control herself until she heard the latch of the door slide closed behind her. And then she fell apart.

The flickering statue of Seluna gave a dull thud as it hit the floorboards, and Amaya’s hand shot out to connect with the wall beside her. Magic flooded out of her like grief, painting the cabin wall with the complex geometry of ice. A layer of frost coated the wood in a wide swath from her hand, expanding until the last edges of ice nearly touched the ceiling.

When Amaya came back to herself, she was gasping. She was barely holding herself up against the wall, her hand embedded in a thin layer of ice against it. There were tears on her face. Her whole body shook, her other hand splayed against her stomach as her breath escaped in puffs of white.

She squeezed her eyes shut, eyebrows pulling together as she tried to fight for control – but it was a losing battle, now that she’d opened the floodgates. She couldn’t stop the way her ragged breath tore through her body, couldn’t keep more tears from streaming down her face as her own treacherous emotions tried to drown her.

Flynn froze in place as the temperature of the room plummeted, watching in stunned silence as the frost crept up the walls, his body tense from the sudden outburst. The sound of the latch had barely faded before Amaya’s magic exploded from her like a torrent of grief, freezing everything in its path. His gaze darted to Amaya, her form trembling against the wall, struggling to steady herself. His heart twisted.

For a moment, he didn’t know what to do. The memory of her rejecting his attempts to comfort her when they learned about her mother’s death flashed in his mind. The last time he’d reached out to hold her, she had recoiled from him like his touch burned. He had failed her then, and the sting of that failure still hung over him. But now… he couldn’t just stand there, not when she was barely holding herself together.

Gently placing the statue of Aelios on a nearby table, Flynn cautiously moved toward her from behind, angling himself slightly to the side so he could see her face. His heart pounded in his chest, his brow furrowed in deep worry as he tried to close the distance without alarming her.

When he reached her, his hand hovered for a split second of hesitation before he gently placed it on her shoulder. She flinched at the touch. “Amaya...” His voice was soft, barely above a whisper. The warmth of his palm offered little contrast to the frigid atmosphere. He searched her expression, trying to gauge what she needed from him—whether his presence was a comfort or an intrusion.

“Breathe in deep," he instructed softly, his gaze locked onto her expression as he listened to her ragged breathing. "Focus on your breath—slow and steady." He took a deep breath with her, his mind racing as he tried to remember all the different techniques he had been taught to control his own magic. It was something like meditation, meant to center and control the chaotic energy that buzzed beneath the surface. He wished Eris were here to provide better instruction.

Amaya’s world shrank. There was only the chill wrapped around her body, the numbness of her hand against the wall, and –

The warmth of Flynn’s palm against her shoulder. His voice was so close as he murmured to her softly. It was an alien feeling, to have someone else sharing this tiny world she’d enclosed herself within. But everything was too raw, too overwhelming to be examined.

She tried to focus on his words through the roar of her emotions. But when she sucked in a breath, it was like her body was too full. There was no room for air. She couldn’t control her lungs, or the shallow, harsh gasps that escaped her.

"I'm here… Just breathe." he said, his voice calm and steady, though his expression of worry was unmistakable. The instinct to pull her into an embrace was almost overpowering, but he held back, remembering all too well how badly things had gone the last time. Instead, he remained patient, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder, hoping that just being there to offer her space to fall apart if she needed, would be enough. His concern deepened as the ice continued to grow, as though her magic was pushing to break free in a way that unsettled him. Amaya’s magic was volatile, and so was her grief.

Finally, one Amaya’s frantic gasps pulled her voice with it, in a sharp, pained sound. A hand clamped over her mouth. Amaya shrank in on herself even more, like she could fold herself away. All the while, ice continued to creep its way along the wall, claiming more of the cabin.

She wanted her mother.

But instead it was her father’s voice she heard, cold and derisive.

How easily you fall to pieces.

Amaya opened her eyes.

She was looking at the floor. The small drops where her tears had landed were frozen coins of ice against the hardwood. Something else started to bleed into her grief – anger. Amaya’s hand tightened against her mouth, willing herself to get back under control and stop embarrassing herself.

Amaya didn’t know how long she stood there, wrestling with her emotions as her body shook and ice climbed up the ceiling. But all the while, Flynn’s hand stayed on her shoulder. His voice murmured quietly to her. She tried (and failed) to pretend he wasn’t here, witnessing all of this. She tried not to focus on the warmth of his hand.

Flynn’s eyes squeezed shut, a dull ache spreading through his chest as he listened to Amaya’s hiccups and gasping breaths. It felt like her pain was his own, a visceral, unrelenting pressure weighing him down. Her pain was difficult to witness, and helplessness gnawed at him, making him feel utterly powerless to ease any of her suffering.

Finally, when she’d carefully put all her shattered pieces away and her breath was even with only a few stuttering hiccups, Amaya dropped her hand from her mouth. She sniffled.

Gritting his teeth, Flynn steadied himself, searching for calm within the storm of emotions. He focused inward, reaching for the chaotic tangle of magic inside him—magic he hadn’t tapped into in far too long. Slowly, he pulled at the threads of his fire magic, coaxing warmth to the surface. His hand, resting on her shoulder, began to glow faintly with heat. The warmth spread from his palm, attempting to wrap her in a soft blanket of heat, though it was being fought off by the frigid magic that continually leaked from Amaya. Flynn knew this would exhaust him, but in the moment, it didn’t matter.

She felt hollow. She turned her head to finally look at the wall. It was nearly completely covered in ice. Another hiccup shook her.

Amaya couldn’t feel her hand anymore. The ice around it had melted and frozen and melted again, over and over so it now formed a rippling, glass-like shell around her hand.

Flynn’s gaze shifted to her hand, encased in the jagged layers of ice. He was about to raise his fire-infused hand to melt it when her voice broke through.

“Open the door.” Her voice came out in a broken, emotionless whisper.

Flynn froze for a moment, glancing at the door. He knew the royal guards were stationed just outside, enduring the blizzard in short, rotating shifts. "Are you sure?" He asked, his voice filled with concern. "The guards—"

He trailed off, watching her, but her silence spoke volumes. Worried she was on the verge of frostbite, he shifted his attention back to her hand first. Gently lifting his palm from her shoulder, he hovered his hand just above the ice trapping her. Slowly, the ice began to melt under the warmth he fed into the air. It took longer than usual, her magic still spilling out like a relentless flood. Flynn felt it—how hard it was to keep up, to balance the energy without exhausting himself completely. It had been so long since he’d used his magic—he felt rusty, clumsy, like he was forcing a muscle to work that had long atrophied.

Something about his slowness, his gentleness, only fueled her anger — like she was a frail child that needed to be coddled. Even as her body wanted to pull towards his warmth, she grit her teeth and focused on her hand.

As the last bit of ice melted away, freeing her hand, Flynn glanced at her again, meeting her gaze. She looked at him with such force, such fury in her expression, as if daring him to question her again.

Stepping back, he settled his hand on the door handle. His eyes locked on hers, silently asking for one last confirmation. Her glare only hardened, the answer clear—she wasn’t going to repeat herself. Without another word, Flynn opened the door, the cold air rushing in.

Amaya flexed her hand, phantom needles piercing it as blood flowed again. And then in a swift motion, she raised it and pulled.

She’d been a skilled magic user before her world fell to pieces. Precise. Logical. Creative, with whatever shortcomings she’d possessed. But what she had in skill and practice, she lacked in sheer power.

But the world had changed much, since then. And her magic begged to be used.

Pulling from the well of magic in her that always seemed to overflow now, Amaya grabbed hold of the frost coating the inside of the cabin. Her specialty had always been turning water to ice, manipulating it to her will. She’d always known how to freeze better than she could thaw. But Amaya grabbed hold of the ice now, forcing it back into fluidity. It was water just long enough to pull away from the wall before freezing itself again, still in motion. Shards of ice shot through the air, past Amaya and Flynn, out the door, to bury themselves in the growing layer of snow in front of the cabin. The guards shouted in surprise. A stray shard flew too close to her hand, slicing a thin line of crimson that burned in the frigid air. It burned like clarity.

The tears were gone from her face, tracks of dried salt crystals marking her skin.

Staring out at the winter world beyond the door, Amaya let out a slow, shaking breath. It filled the air in a white fog. Her face was carefully neutral again. Her hands still shook. She was still empty. But the frantic storm of her magic had quieted to a dull hum.

She didn’t look at Flynn as she turned away from the door and began walking towards the stairs.

Flynn flinched as ice daggers shot past his face, their sharp edges too close for comfort. For a split second, he expected her to impale him and bury him beneath the same storm she’d unleashed on the walls. As the shards buried themselves in the snow and dirt outside, his heart pounded as he locked eyes with one of the guards who had shouted in alarm.

“Prince? Everything alright, Sir?” The guard’s hand moved for his weapon, clearly worried and on edge. Flynn gave a sharp nod, forcing himself to appear calm, though he was sure everything was not alright. Slowly, he closed the door, shutting out the guard's confused expression and the winter storm beyond.

He turned just in time to see Amaya walk away, her face devoid of emotion. His chest tightened as he watched her, the ache of helplessness returning. “Amaya…” His voice wavered, unsteady. He paused, searching for the right words, his mind racing in a thousand directions. “What… What can I do to help?”

It felt like a feeble offering, but it was all he had.

As he waited for her answer, the warm glow from his hand began fading as he withdrew his magic, the tendrils retreating back inside him like the dying embers of a fire. Exhaustion swept over him in a heavy wave, making his limbs feel sluggish.

Amaya paused on the steps at the sound of his voice. She didn’t mean to. But something in her, cold and small, ached for that warmth. His voice echoed in her mind, soft and close. She didn’t let herself look back at him. The cut on her hand stung in the open air, blood drawing a bright line where it dripped down her hand.

“I wish to be alone.”

When she made it up to her room, she closed the door behind her.

Flynn stood still, watching as Amaya ascended the stairs, a dull sense of defeat settling in his chest. He let out a slow, controlled breath, not daring to call after her again.

His thoughts drifted to his younger years—those long, familiar days spent looking after his younger siblings. Back then, it had been so easy to know what to do, how to soothe their tears and ease their worries. But here, with Amaya, he felt completely out of place.

Despite the exhaustion that tugged at him, he forced himself to move, making his way to the hearth in the living quarters. Kneeling, he carefully stacked logs into the fireplace, and then with a final flicker of his dwindling magic, lit the kindling. The fire crackled to life, casting shadows across the cabin.

He sat down in front of the flames, staring into the light as it danced, his hands outstretched to warm them. The howling winds of the blizzard outside sounded distant, muffled by the quiet that had settled inside the cabin. Flynn’s thoughts spun in circles, wondering how long the storm would last, both the one outside and the one brewing inside Amaya.

Realms of Sun & Shadow

Location: Town Square

Moving to the opposite side of the town square, Kira decided to put as much distance between herself and Elara as possible. Her steps were quick, avoiding any further temptation to accidentally fall into feral behavior. She found refuge by the blacksmith’s building, leaning against the cool stone wall, still on the outskirts of the crowd and unable to smell the sweet scent of the blood that coursed through her childhood friend's veins.

As the Prince and Princess began their announcement, Kira listened carefully, her ears tuning in to every word. The news of Queen Anjali's death brought a slight pang of surprise, but Kira couldn’t say she was entirely shocked. The King had always been cold, calculated, and devoid of empathy, even when it came to his own family. The Prince did not specifically say that the Queen had been murdered, but to Kira there was no other explanation. It was obvious to her that the King would “replace” the Queen as soon as Amaya was gone and there was no one left to contest him. That was who he was—a man who saw people as chess pieces, easily discarded when no longer useful. It was sad, but Kira knew the game he played all too well.

As Amaya spoke of her mother, Kira's thoughts drifted to the few interactions she had with the late Queen during her own time in the castle. Queen Anjali had been a rare figure of kindness in Kira's life, offering her food when she was at her weakest, starved and battered from endless training. It was Anjali’s empathy that had sustained her, though the Queen never truly knew Kira. The Queen had helped many of the orphan children who had been put to work by the King. Still, in those fleeting moments, it felt like Anjali had been the only one keeping her from breaking entirely. Clearly, Queen Anjali had taken pity on Kira—a child stolen from Aurelia to be molded into the lethal Lunarian weapon she was today.

As the meeting came to a close, Kira's orange gaze wandered across the crowd, observing the mix of reactions to the news. Her attention was briefly caught by the rising wind, tugging at her cloak and flicking strands of her fiery red hair into her face. Irritated, she pulled her hood up, her mind beginning to swirl with thoughts of the King. What was his plan? He wanted to replace Amaya, no doubt. He had already offered her up as a sacrifice, which would leave him with no heir at all and put the entire kingdom’s future at risk. He was old, and his time was running thin.

Kira would wager that the Aurelian King would do the same, if he were in the same position. After all, power and control came before all else to men like them. With a quiet sigh, she pushed off the wall and stalked away, deciding to retreat to the safety of her home before the storm worsened. She needed time to process everything—Anjali’s death, the King's next move, and what all of this meant for the realm. Keeping her hood low, she disappeared into the winding streets, ready to hole up and wait for the storm to pass.

Kings and Killers: A Classical Fantasy Adventure (Chapter 1)

Nylah Aldaos had never known wealth like this before. The bounty she had collected from turning in Dalious Durendail, the infamous pirate captain, had been astronomical. It had felt too good to be true when she watched the guards drag him away, bound in chains, and the heavy sack of gold exchanged for his capture fell into her hands. For the first time in her life, she was free to do as she pleased. Her employers were happy, so she was happy.

Months had passed since then. Nylah had spent her days indulging in luxuries she’d never imagined. She had traveled across the world, hitting a few places on her bucket list. Eventually, she found herself on the Isles of Bishop & Knight, hopping from island to island, relishing the beauty of white-sand beaches, crystal-blue waters, and sunrises that cast the sky in hues of gold and pink. There were no contracts, no missions, no sleepless nights spent wondering where the next job would take her—who her next target would be. Instead, she allowed herself to relax, to simply exist without the ever-present weight of her mercenary life.

For a brief time, she had been happy.

But as the days drifted by, her spoils from Dalious Durendail’s capture dwindled. The lavish meals, the fine wines, and the carefree days came at a cost. Nylah could feel her coin purse grow lighter with each passing week, and now, the inevitable truth was staring her in the face—she couldn’t run from it any longer.

She’d been on the run from her employers, too. The ones who always expected their cut, their share of her success. For months, they had allowed her to enjoy the fruits of her labor, but patience was never their strong suit. Nylah knew they were waiting, and their patience would soon expire.

Sitting on the edge of a cliff, Nylah stared out at the vast sea. The cool breeze tugged at her cloak, the scent of salt filling the air. She knew what had to be done. The respite was over. It was time to pick up her bow and arrows once more, to return to the life she’d grown so skilled at.

Her fingers brushed the golden locket around her neck, a rare moment of contemplation as she stared at the horizon. The carefree life had been brief, but she couldn’t afford to be careless any longer. Reality was knocking at her door. Nylah Aldaos, the mercenary, would need to get to work again.

Kings and Killers: A Classical Fantasy Adventure (Chapter 1)

Nylah Aldaos

Name: Nylah Aldaos

Age: 26

Height: 5'5

Weight: 125

Class: Mercenary

Race: Wood Elf

Weapons & Equipment:
Weapons: Bow & arrows which she can infuse with light magic (limited by her low skill in magic), two hidden dirk daggers (typically strapped to the inside of her thigh highs), an assortment of lethal poisons.
Satchel: Holds her lethal poisons, a variety of herbs chosen for their specific medicinal and some lethal qualities, bandages, waterskin, golden locket necklace, 57 Silver and 5 gold.

Skills and Abilities: Nylah is a high level archer, rarely missing her mark. She is proficient in stealth, hand-to-hand combat (though she prefers to avoid it) and can be extremely charismatic. She can use very few light spells, but is not skilled in the art and usually only dabbles with it when she needs the extra punch in her arrow shots (the use of magic often shows itself in intricate golden design on her skin).

Bio: The only home Nylah can remember is a damp, cold shack in the middle of the lovely Knight Islands Port towns, raised by a gruff bastard of a man called Terk. He was tough, as Dwarf's typically are, and would often tell her that she ought to be grateful towards him. According to Terk, Nylah had been abandoned in the middle of the frostwood forest of Ispar when she was only four years old. Of course Nylah had no memory of that, so she took his word for it. Terk would go on to take Nylah home with him, though not out of the kindness of his heart. He had no desire to care for a needy child the rest of her miserable life, he had other plans. When Nylah was of age, 8 years old to be precise, Terk could cash in and sign her up for a life of mercenary work. Young ones donated to the "school" could bring in at least 100 gold if not more. Nylah would never know what Terk received for her, but after he handed her over to the training program that was the last she ever saw of the old dwarf.

The school was very obviously illegal, especially to work children to the bone as they did, but no one in the Knight Islands seemed to care. They were all criminals of some sort, so it seemed. The children were just working to fit in. To survive there, really.

Nylah would prove to be one of their top trainee's, showing her skill with a bow and arrow very early on. They honed in on this skill and over the years would mold her into a killer. Someone who could take an assassination contract and not bat an eyelash, as long as they got paid. At first they would send you out on simple things; steal a couple jewels, threaten a noble family, get some information out of people. The school would benefit 100% of the profit from these contracts. Eventually, at age 16 for Nylah, they would send her out on her own and expect her to find her own contracts. To bring in the big money for them, which meant find someone who wanted someone else "eliminated". She did it, and she gave the school 50% of the profits for the next 5 years of being on her own. After that they trusted her enough to take less of a cut, knowing she was a reliable source of income. She learned from other examples that if you didn't bring in the money, or tried to separate yourself from them, you'd be met with a cold steel blade against your throat in the middle of the night.

Today, she continues to take contracts and travel across the world. She has grown to enjoy her work, despite every so often when whats left of her conscience reminds her of how many lives she's ended whether they were corrupted or not.

Realms of Sun & Shadow

For everyone not in the discord:

Please begin wrapping up your scenes at the town square! The weather is taking a turn and is forming into a blizzard which will force everyone into their homes for a week. I'll do a time skip soon!

Realms of Sun & Shadow

Location: Town Square

Eris’s eyes lit up with excitement as she listened to Ashe’s response. “I’ll definitely spread the word about your work! It’s truly a masterpiece,” She smiled, her enthusiasm bubbling over as she admired her bracelet and pulled the fiery coat closer to her once more. “Such talent deserves to be recognized. I’ll be sure to tell everyone about the remarkable work you do.” She returned her gaze to Ashe, finding herself rather comfortable in their presence now. “I’m genuinely fascinated by your craftsmanship. What did you do before becoming blight-born? Did you—”

Her question was abruptly cut off as a herald's voice rang out over the crowd, announcing the arrival of the Prince and Princess. The words were barely out before a ripple of anticipation spread through the town square. Eris glanced at Ashe, her curiosity about their past momentarily set aside as the atmosphere shifted towards the grand occasion.

Eris’s heart raced with anticipation as the Prince took the stage, but nothing could have prepared her for the announcement that followed. When the Prince spoke of the Queen of Lunaris’s passing, Eris felt as if the world had momentarily tilted beneath her feet. Her mind reeled with the gravity of the situation—what had led to this? The implications were overwhelming, and her thoughts raced to the possible political maneuvers of the King of Lunaris. The notion of him remarrying and having another child to secure his lineage unsettled her deeply, casting a shadow over her thoughts.

Her eyes welled with tears as she watched Amaya speak about her mother, feeling the raw, palpable grief of the young Princess. Though Amaya had always been reserved, the emotion in her eyes was undeniable, and it tugged at Eris's heartstrings.

As the snow began to fall heavily from the night sky, Eris watched as the delicate flakes melted before even touching the coat Ashe had lent her. For a moment, she was grateful to be encased in warmth, immune to the frigid air.

When the Prince returned to the stage, Eris felt a renewed sense of purpose and pride wash over her. She had a role to play here, and she was determined to assist the Prince in finding a cure for the blight. Talking with Ashe earlier had been a triumph in itself, and now, with the Prince’s unifying words ringing in her ears, she felt a renewed bravery. The fear she had harbored towards the blight-born seemed smaller in comparison to the overwhelming resolve she now felt.

When the Prince and Princess exited the stage, Eris remained quietly contemplative, barely registering the change in temperature as the warmth from Ashe’s coat guarded her. “May Aelios and Seluna guide Queen Anjali to the next realm…” she said softly to herself, barely above a whisper.
With a final glance at the retreating figures of royalty, she turned back to Ashe, unclasping the coat and offering it back to them before they parted ways. The cold night air now bit at her exposed skin and the warmth she had felt from the garment was replaced with a stark chill as the wind whipped her hair around her face. “Thank you for your generosity, Ashe,” her voice soft but sincere.

"It seems the weather has taken a turn, as if the Winter Queen herself has joined us this evening." She smiled and tucked her hair against her shoulder, her gaze lingering on Ashe with a newfound appreciation for the warmth they had provided, both in the physical sense and in her growing confidence.

---

_{Interactions: Ashe @Timemaster}

Realms of Sun & Shadow

@Chronic Aw, thank you!! :) You can definitely join, we love new characters!

It's perfect timing too, we are about to do a time skip!

Realms of Sun & Shadow

Location: Town Square | Time: 10am

As Flynn made his way back home, his thoughts whirled with possible scenarios for his next conversation with Amaya. He imagined different ways to approach her, each one feeling more uncertain than the last. Ever since they had received the letter about her mother’s passing, he had been at a complete loss. His attempts to comfort her had felt awkward, and she had recoiled from any affection he tried to offer. The look in her beautiful blue eyes when he tried to embrace her had been venomous. Now, the memory of her coldness weighed heavily on him, making him nervous to address her again, especially considering that he had planned an entire town meeting without considering her feelings about it beforehand. Should he apologize outright? Or should he try to explain his perspective and hope she understood?

The tension in his chest tightened with each step, the knot of anxiety growing as he considered the best way to mend the rift between them. A wave of nerves washed over him, and his mind raced with uncertainty about how to smooth things over. Every possible conversation with her felt like walking a tightrope, and he could only hope that his words, however clumsy, might help bridge the gap between them.

When Flynn finally reached his home, he hesitated at the door, listening for any sound inside. The house was quiet, but that didn’t mean much. Steeling himself, he called out, “Amaya?” His voice echoed softly in the silence, and he waited, holding his breath, for any sign of her presence.

Amaya froze where she sat at her vanity upstairs. Her heart rate spiked at the sound of Flynn’s voice. Hands balled into fists in her lap, Amaya evaluated her reflection - her makeup was once again impeccable, her hair neat and curling over her shoulder. The only sign she’d been crying was the slight puffiness of her eyes. And if her nose was a little pink, well, one could simply blame the chill in the air. Amaya covered her small box of rouge and wiped her stained fingers on her nearby handkerchief.

Looking into her own pale eyes, Amaya took a slow breath in. And the mask was in place once again.

She stood and drifted out of her room with silent steps. She stopped at the top of the stairs, a delicate hand placed on the wooden banister. And when she looked down, there he was - the Prince of Aurelia. She held the air in her lungs, fighting against the way her breath hitched, the way another sob tried to rip itself out of her body.

She would not cry in front of him. When she was sure her voice wouldn’t break, she spoke.

“Don’t look so fearful, Husband.” The title burned like bile in her throat, but her voice was airy and unbothered. “It’s your house after all.” His house, his town, his orders, his decisions. Anger was a tight, coiled thing wrapped around her heart, but her expression remained cool. “No need to tread lightly.”

Flynn’s breath caught when Amaya appeared at the top of the stairs. Despite everything that had happened, she looked stunning—poised and put together in a way that made him feel… a bit uneasy, if he was honest. Her dark hair cascaded over her shoulder, perfectly arranged, and her skin, rich and warm, only made the pale blue of her eyes seem sharper and more piercing under the candle lighting of their home. She was undeniably regal and looked every bit the queen she was destined to become.

Despite taking a moment to appreciate her beauty, he was surprised to see her so composed, especially after how devastated she had been upon receiving the news of her mother's death—likely murder. Yet here she was, looking every bit the royal, her emotions hidden beneath a flawless exterior. Flynn, the Prince of Aurelia—the golden child—knew the game all too well. Royals often wore masks to hide their truths. Nonetheless, Flynn could feel the weight in her words when she referred to the house as “his.” The deliberate emphasis didn’t escape him, and it only deepened his discomfort.

Clearing his throat, he kept her gaze, his emerald eyes meeting hers as he entered further into the home but stopped at the bottom of the stairs. “Amaya…” His voice came out soft, uncertain. He swallowed hard, trying to muster the courage to speak properly. “Are you... okay?” A small circle of ice began spreading over the banister beneath her hand.

The question felt hollow, but it was the best he could manage in the moment. ‘Idiot… Of course she isn’t okay!’ He thought, his heart beginning to race. "I—uh… I also wanted to talk to you about the town meeting, if that’s okay?" he said, awkwardly shifting his weight as he waited for her response and pondered why the hell this small woman made him so nervous.

Amaya stared down at him. Her fingers twitched on the banister, her magic leaking unnoticed from her skin. She couldn’t move. If she did, then the thin layer of calm she’d managed to fold over herself would shatter, and her emotions would be a storm made real. She couldn’t speak - all she wanted to do was scream, and wail, and be held.

She wanted her mother.

But instead she had him, a man who had the gall to be uncertain after making all the choices for himself.

“What is there to discuss that hasn’t already been decided?”

Flynn could feel it, the shift in the air around them—a subtle pulse, almost imperceptible to most, but unmistakable to him. The veil between the physical and the magical wavered as Amaya’s magic threatened to implode on itself, raw and uncontained. Though Flynn wasn’t highly skilled in magic himself, his training had drilled into him the importance of sensing its presence, particularly Lunarian magic. Amaya wasn’t stable, no matter how poised she appeared. She wasn’t okay, not even close.

His heart clenched as he stood frozen for a moment, seeing her at the top of the stairs, so composed yet so fragile beneath that exterior. That’s when he noticed the ice forming over the banister. He frowned, unsure if he should address it after how she had reacted to him earlier that day. Slowly, he decided to ascend the stairs to meet her at the top, each step heavy with caution, not wanting to shatter her already fraying composure. Amaya’s breath stilled in her chest as he approached.

When he reached a few steps below her, Flynn reached into his pocket, pulling out the folded parchment he had spent the morning laboring over. His emerald green eyes held hers as he held it out to her. “I wanted to ask you,” he began, “if you’d like to speak during the town meeting? I didn’t know your mother well, and I... I don’t think it would be right for only me to speak about her in front of the people of Lunaris. It would mean more coming from you.” His voice remained calm and steady as he continued, “But I understand if you don’t want to. I can handle it, if you prefer.”

Flynn extended the parchment a little closer to her. “I’ve written something for the speech. If you’d like, you can read it, or tell me your thoughts.”

Amaya stared at the parchment like it was a viper. It hung in the air, a pitiful olive branch between them, and Amaya wanted to take it to the nearest candle and turn it to ash. Her eyes flicked back up to Flynn to snap more venom at him, but -

Ice met the sea. There was nothing sharp in his green eyes to cut herself against, no coldness, no fight, just… patience. Sadness. A vastness and depth that would swallow Amaya up, if she let it.

She pulled in a silent breath, fighting to keep her careful mask in place. Then she took the parchment with her free hand. Sliding it open with her thumb, her eyes moved over the Prince’s words. As Amaya took the paper, Flynn’s eyes darted back to the banister freezing underneath her palm.

Her hands tightened as she read, her breath becoming shallow. With each word the thick coil of her emotions tightened around her heart, closed her throat. Something burned hot behind her eyes. This was her mother’s eulogy. She was gone, had been gone for weeks and Amaya hadn’t known and she was never going to see her again -

A sharp crack cut through the air, something snapping under Amaya’s hand. She gasped, flinching away. She blinked rapidly, her breath coming in shaking spurts as she looked for the source of the noise.

The banister. A deep crack like a bolt of lightning the length of her hand marred the dark wood. Ice crystals painted a geometric design around it, the wood so severely chilled that it emitted a soft cascade of fog.

Flynn tensed as the banister finally cracked under the pressure of Amaya’s magic. His heart skipped a beat, and his hand shot out instinctively when she flinched, ready to steady her if she were to lose her balance. Amaya could only stare at the broken wood with wide eyes, lips parted. A tear rolled down her cheek.

She hadn’t even noticed she was calling that much magic. How had she not noticed?

“Are you hurt?” Flynn's voice was gentle but urgent as his eyes darted to her hand. She didn’t seem to hear him. His concern was palpable as he leaned a bit closer, scanning her arm, palm and fingers carefully. Internally, he resisted the urge to take her hand into his to further investigate. Seeing no visible harm, he breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

Once assured she was fine, Flynn’s gaze shifted back to her face, his worry still present but accompanied by a faint, warm smile. “Well,” he started, glancing briefly at the cracked banister, “I hated the way these stairs looked anyway. I think it looks better this way.”

She looked up at Flynn, for the first time unguarded. Her face was a canvas of heartbreak, and helplessness, and fear. Then, before her grief could finish clawing its way back up her throat, Amaya remembered herself.

She looked back at the now crinkled parchment like she could hide in it, fighting to control her breathing. She wasn’t reading anymore - she couldn’t bear to. But still she moved her eyes over the words that blurred together in her vision. Her hand wiped at her cheek in a swift motion. Then it hid in the folds of her dress, fist tight as she tried to pull every thread of her magic back into the tangled mess that was her heart.

When she was certain her mask was back in place, she looked up again. She couldn’t quite manage to meet his eyes. But her spine was straight. No fresh tears spilled. It would do.

“Remove the fourth and fifth sentences from the second paragraph,” she said, holding the parchment back out to him. Her voice was still too tight. She tried to swallow. The sentences in question were about… well, her. Her mother’s love for her. Amaya didn’t think she could stand to hear him say those words aloud - either she’d start sobbing or she’d kill him. “I’ll speak where you’ve indicated.”

Flynn took the parchment from Amaya's hand, his fingers brushing lightly against hers as he scanned the lines she had pointed out. His frown deepened and he didn’t bother hiding the disappointment on his face. He read over the sentences again and a quiet, defeated sigh escaped him.

He remained silent for a few moments, the weight of what he’d written and what she wanted removed settling uncomfortably in his chest. He didn’t want to take them out. The words were true, and he wanted the town to hear them, to know that even a stranger could see how much the Queen had loved her daughter. It felt wrong to erase such sentiments, but arguing with her now could only end badly, especially when her magic was so out of control. His mind flashed briefly to the thought of being frozen in ice until someone came to thaw him out, and he suppressed a shudder.

He was wary of her magic, but more than that, he was concerned for her wellbeing. She wasn’t in control, which could be detrimental to both her and others around her. For a moment, he considered asking Eris to help Amaya with her magic. Maybe she could offer some guidance, some way to ease this storm inside her. But he hesitated. Would Amaya even accept help? She seemed to resist anything he offered over the last two months. For now, he would keep that thought to himself.

Folding the paper carefully, the Prince slipped it back into his pocket, finally lifting his gaze to meet hers. “I’ll do as you ask,” he said softly. He paused, searching her face, looking for a flicker of something—anything—that would tell him more about what she was feeling. “But... I hope you know that what I wrote is true.”

Amaya finally met his gaze again, her eyes flashing with emotion for the barest moment - before she quickly smothered it behind her cool façade. She imagined running away into the frost and wilderness.

“I’ll grieve their Queen with them. Not my mother.”

Flynn nodded at her response, letting silence hang between them for a few breaths while he held her gaze. He understood. Who was he to tell her when and how to grieve? He could not yet know what it was like to publicly grieve a mother while still being expected to maintain the poised composure of royalty.

“Very well.” he finally said, taking one step down on the stairway before offering out his hand for her to take. “Shall we go together, then?”

Amaya couldn’t quite hide the shock she felt - it was there in the slight widening of her eyes, in the way she leaned (almost flinched, really) away from his hand. She knew it was clear to him that her magic was not under control. She could very well freeze his hand if she took it.

Not that she would ever admit to caring.

Her fists had buried themselves deeper into the folds of her dress. She couldn’t tell if she was imagining the ice at her fingertips, or if her untethered magic was still seeping into the world. Amaya looked back up at Flynn, expecting to see hesitance or a challenge or judgment, but… there was just that patience again. That openness that offended her so, when he displayed his anxieties for all to see. But it stilled her now. The sharp rejection that had come to her like a reflex, died on her tongue.

Slowly, Amaya forced one hand to uncurl against the fabric of her dress. She kept it close to her body as she raised it, eyes flicking down to ensure she’d sealed off every last ounce of her magic from it. Her mind spun through the exercises she’d drilled years ago, when she’d first learned to harness. After one last look up at Flynn to make sure he wasn’t second guessing this, she placed her hand lightly onto his, barely touching his skin.

Flynn felt the icy chill of Amaya’s hand seep into his as he intertwined his fingers with hers, but he held her firmly and without hesitation. The coldness from her magic radiated from her skin, but he kept his grip steady and unwavering, trusting her in this brief moment not to harm him—this, in itself, felt like a small victory. It was the first time she’d allowed any sort of sustained contact, but he wasn't about to ruin the moment by pointing it out. The quiet between them felt delicate, as if a single word could shatter it.

Without a word, he began to descend the stairs with her, step by step. Together, they moved through the house, Flynn leading her toward the front door as he wondered what was going through his wife's mind at that moment. She had clearly been hesitant to take his hand, but he was glad that she had.

Opening the front door for her, the chill of the outside air greeted them as they stepped into the cold darkness of the day. He glanced upwards, noticing the clouds gathering, their edges illuminated by the pale radiance of the moon. The sky mirrored the atmosphere between them—tense, but calm for now.

As they walked into the crisp air, Flynn cast a brief glance her way, half-expecting her to pull away, but she remained beside him, still holding his hand. A moment of unexpected peace lingered between them, and thankfully, he didn’t feel the need to fill it with words.

Amaya spent the entire walk through the town methodically folding away every bit of magic, emotion, and pain deep into the space hidden between her spine and her heart. It was odd, touching Flynn in this small way. Intimidating and disorienting. She tried not to think on it. Instead she focused on his hand - how his palm encompassed her own, long fingers tying her to him. How his steady warmth seeped into her. If she could just protect this little candle flame between their hands, hold her frigid magic at bay as the steady beat of his pulse slowed her own, then maybe there was hope that she could hold herself together long enough to make it through the speech.

When they reached the outskirts of the town center, the faint murmur of the gathered crowd began to grow louder, an uneasy energy building in the air. Flynn paused, casting a glance at Amaya, feeling the steady warmth now between their hands. It was strange, but grounding at the same time.

"Ready?" he asked, his voice now carrying a more firm and confident tone than he had been using with her earlier. Easily, Flynn stepped into his Princely role once more. Wearing his own mask this time. Strong, certain of his every decision, a man of the people. His shoulders straightened, and his gaze sharpened as if all the uncertainty had melted away in an instant. Flynn had been trained to wear the title of Prince as effortlessly as the cloak around his shoulders, his voice steady and unyielding. In that moment, he was no longer just a husband trying to bridge a fragile gap or a leader second-guessing his choices. He was the embodiment of Aurelia’s future, ready to face the crowd, regardless of their loyalties. With Amaya at his side, they would face whatever awaited them together—or so he hoped.

The Princess didn’t react outwardly to his shift in demeanor, but she noticed it all the same. He seemed taller beside her - or perhaps Amaya just felt smaller, fragile and uncertain in the wake of his confidence. But she still saw it for what it was. Some quiet part of her felt… sad for him. Flynn, who so often wore his emotions on his face, had walls to retreat behind, too. He was a Prince, after all.

Amaya carefully untwined their fingers, drawing her hand back. She kept her gaze straight ahead. The loss of his warmth was immediate, shocking her skin. Amaya drew her hands together in front of her legs. There was a small intake of breath as heat met ice - she’d been so focused on protecting Flynn’s hand that she hadn’t noticed her other hand growing numb in the cold winter air. The temperature difference was almost painful as she gripped her hands together, trying to thaw.

The pain grounded her. Her face remained placid and poised, chin held high. The shaking of her hands was almost imperceptible as she shuttered away her emotions and kept her gaze straight ahead.

Just off to the side of the stage, a young Aurelian herald stood, scanning the gathered crowd. His eyes caught movement at the far edge of the square, and in an instant, his posture straightened. He recognized the unmistakable forms of the Prince and Princess approaching. With a sense of urgency, he hurried onto the stage. Once positioned at the center, he cleared his throat and raised his voice, trained for moments like this.

"Ladies and gentlemen of Dawnhaven!" His voice boomed across the square, instantly drawing attention. The murmurs of the crowd began to hush, curiosity and tension thickening the air. "It is my great honor to present to you—Amaya Selu, Princess of Lunaris, and Flynn Astaros, Prince of Aurelia!"

As the names rang out, the anticipation rippled through the crowd. Slowly, all eyes turned toward the approaching figures. Amaya and Flynn, walking hand in hand, ascended the wooden stage that had been crafted for this moment. The crowd’s murmur faded entirely as the two royals came into full view, their contrasting presences—Amaya’s cold, reserved grace and Flynn’s commanding yet steady demeanor—setting the tone for what was to come. The stage creaked softly beneath their feet, and a weighted silence settled, the town holding its breath for what would come next.

As Flynn took center stage, he could feel his own nerves beginning to creep in as he looked upon the many faces before him. Although he’d been trained all his life to speak in front of crowds, he found himself growing nervous now—an unfamiliar sensation for him. Speaking to Aurelians, who admired him, was something he could manage with ease. But addressing the Lunarians who likely harbored little affection for him, save for the safety Dawnhaven provided, was a different challenge altogether. Nonetheless, the mask he had dawned remained strong and his facial expression remained calm and steady. Having gone over his speech many times earlier that morning, Flynn did not take out the parchment from his pocket and began to speak on it from memory.

"Citizens of Dawnhaven, thank you for gathering here today.” he began, easily able to project his voice in a clear and commanding way. “I stand before you with news from the capital of Lunaris that may be deeply upsetting to many of you. We have just learned that Queen Anjali, who was beloved by many, tragically passed away about a month ago. The King has remarried and, according to our sources, she is with child as well.”

Flynn paused as the crowd began to whisper among themselves at the news, the ripples of surprise beginning to spread.

“I understand that this news may come as a shock to those who held Queen Anjali in such high regard. While I did not have the privilege of knowing her well, I had the honor of meeting her once before I married her daughter, your princess, Amaya. In that brief encounter, Queen Anjali showed me great kindness.”

Recalling the lines that Amaya had not wanted him to say, Flynn’s mind recited the words internally, causing him to hesitate just briefly in his speech. _{I saw the love in her eyes as she watched Amaya walk down the aisle to become my wife. It is clear to me that the Queen was not only beloved but also a devoted mother who raised a remarkable daughter.}

“For that, I am profoundly grateful.” He continued, excluding those lines and staying true to his word. “At this time, I would like to invite Princess Amaya to say a few words about her mother and share her thoughts during this difficult moment."

Turning towards Amaya, Flynn held her gaze for a heartbeat, searching her eyes as if silently asking if she was alright. She offered him no answer. Only the briefest glance, like she couldn’t look away fast enough. His emerald eyes softened, though his expression remained composed. The crowd seemed to fade, and for a brief second, it was just the two of them on that stage, bound together by this shared weight. He knew how much this moment meant, how much it cost her.

Taking a small step back, Flynn offered her the space to speak and left the center stage to her—this was her moment.

Standing alone, Amaya looked out over the crowd of people - her people. Whether they were from Lunaris or not, that they were here in Dawnhaven, meant Amaya was responsible for them in some way. And she hardly recognized any of them.

There were the members of her royal guard. Flynn’s blightborn advisor with whom she’d barely exchanged two words. The sage, Eris, that Flynn so often met with. But Amaya felt disconnected from them all, as she stood above the eclectic group of humans and otherworldly blightborn. She didn’t even know who amongst them was Lunarian. Amaya filled with shame that she couldn’t afford to feel in this moment.

Amaya searched the crowd for Elara, her handmaiden - her only friend. Something in her chest loosened as she found her silver form. She tried to draw strength from the only person in this world who truly knew her, now that her mother was gone.

“Words seem inadequate to describe the enormity of this loss.” Her voice was softer than Flynn’s had been - less commanding. But it carried through the crowd like a breeze. She hadn’t thought of what to say on the walk here. It had felt too dangerous, with the fragile grip she had on her emotions. But her mother deserved this. Amaya tried to swallow.

“There are some here who may be unfamiliar with Queen Anjali. She had several monikers, but the most common one was the Winter Queen. I understand that to Aurelians, this may seem an unforgiving thing to call her, but please know that it was a term of deep affection. There is beauty in winter - snow blanketing an evergreen, like a quilt draped around a child.”

Amaya was seven years old, fear like ice in her veins, stopping her heart, as she threw soaking, freezing body into her mother’s embrace.

“A chill in the air that urges communities closer together, sharing food and warmth.”

She was fifteen, sitting in her mother’s study as they both read independently - but never out of reach of each other.

“A quiet stillness that soothes your racing thoughts, and urges you to simply be.”

She was twenty-four, and it was the last time she would ever see her mother alive. Her wedding was in mere hours. The Queen had dismissed all of Amaya’s attendants, until it was just the two of them looking at each other in the reflection of her mirror. Slowly, silently, her mother helped her dress in her ornate wedding gown. She combed her fingers through Amaya’s hair, weaving the strands together into an elegant design. She threaded fine, sparkling jewels into her hair, around her neck, circling her wrist. And when Amaya had finally been transformed into the bride they were all awaiting, her mother wiped her tears with gentle hands, and placed a long, soft kiss at the crown of her head.

“She was all of these things to the people of Lunaris.” Her beautiful mother, who’d traveled across the ocean and through the mountains to rule over a kingdom that did not know her - but still grew to love her. “She was patient, when it was easier to be afraid. Kind, when it was easier to be cold. Fair, when it was easier to be cruel. And now without her… this land of frost and moonlight seems colder. The night seems darker, without her brilliance.”

Amaya let her gaze refocus again over the crowd - people who would never know her. But they deserved to. She thought of her father, and with sudden clarity realized that she hated him. Ice so cold that it burned filled her body. She made a decision fueled in equal parts by love for her mother and spite towards her father.

“When the settlement of Dawnhaven was proposed to the Kingdom of Lunaris, Queen Anjali was its strongest advocate at court.” The King had despised how influential his wife had been amongst the other nobles. And while he’d managed to stifle any public knowledge of her power while she was alive, Amaya would see to it that her legacy was known. “She was adamant that the collaboration between our two kingdoms, and the offer of sanctuary to those touched by the blight, was the only choice that we could afford to make.” You must survive, my darling girl. Her mother’s voice echoed in her mind, as Amaya fought to hold steady against the churn of her emotions. “And so all of us here, Lunarian and Aurelian, human and blightborn, have been touched by her tireless belief that the world can become more patient, kinder, and fairer, as long as there are those endeavoring to see it so. If you loved her, as -” as I did. Her voice broke, the words trapping themselves in her throat.

She couldn’t breathe. If she did, if she let her lungs work, she would gasp and sob and wail. Her world narrowed to nothing but the thunderous pounding of her heart. Hot tears burned at her eyes, threatening to fall. She couldn’t break, not here, in front of strangers, in front of Flynn. The warmth had long since left her hands, where she held them in front of her dress.

Amaya tried to swallow. She tried to breathe. The tears came perilously close to falling, and Amaya tilted her head up to the sky, like they wouldn’t fall if she simply refused to allow them. But she paused as she looked up.

Snow.

Full, soft flakes drifted through the air, landing on her cheek as gently as her mother’s touch. Amaya was captivated. Bits of sparkling white powder adorned her dark hair like jewels, melted into her white dress like lace. The shining moon emerged behind the clouds, filling Amaya’s vision.

A single tear finally crested over her cheek.

“If you grieve for her,” she said softly, still transfixed. She looked back out over the crowd. Her voice was fragile, but didn’t falter. “There are no flowers you could leave at her grave, no songs you could sing, that would be more fitting a tribute to her memory than simply…proving her right.” Her face flashed in Amaya’s mind, a soft smile and bright blue eyes nestled in a loving expression. She wondered what her mother would see, if she looked out over this crowd.

“Just prove her right. That’s all she would ask.”

Amaya let her gaze drop, forcing herself to not drop her composure anymore than she had already. Then she dismissed herself, and turned to walk to the back of the stage. If Flynn had expected to continue the meeting with her involvement, then she supposed he would have to improvise. She simply didn’t have any more in her.

Her footsteps marked a simple path through the gathering snow on the stage. Amaya turned to face the crowd again when she arrived at the back, head held high and eyes unfocused. She didn’t bother to wipe the tear track on her face.

As Amaya finished her speech and made her way toward the back of the stage, Flynn glanced at her, hoping to catch her eye. He offered her a faint, supportive smile—one he hoped would remind her that she wasn’t alone in this—but she didn’t meet his gaze. She passed him as though the weight of the world were still pressing down on her shoulders alone. His heart sank for her, knowing how difficult this moment had been. Nonetheless, her speech had left him with a deep sense of pride. Despite the turmoil she was enduring, despite the weight of grief and anger that he knew threatened to consume her, she stood there, composed and regal. She had faced the crowd with strength, her words steady, even as her heart undoubtedly ached. He admired her resilience.

Instinctively, his eyes dropped to her hands, searching for any signs of her magic slipping free. To his relief, there was no frost, no telltale shimmer of ice or uncontrolled power. For now, it seemed she had it under control.

Stepping forward into the center of the stage once more, Flynn scanned the gathered crowd—his people. Lunarians and Aurelians alike stood before him, the tension thick in the air, the anticipation palpable. The snowflakes fell softly around them, a cold hush settling over the town. This was his moment now, but his mind lingered on Amaya. He had to carry on, but he would not forget the quiet strength she had shown, even if she refused to look at him. With a steady breath, he turned his focus to the task at hand, ready to address the people.
"Thank you, Princess, not only for your words but for your strength in sharing them." Flynn said, his voice warm as he glanced toward her before turning back to the crowd, admiration for her evident in his tone. "As we process this news, I want to acknowledge the uncertainty it brings to all of us. It is concerning, not only because of the loss of a cherished Queen but also because of the rapid changes happening in the Lunarian capital. These events remind us of the fragile nature of our world and the importance of standing united as we face the challenges ahead.

Dawnhaven is a place where people from different backgrounds, beliefs, and lands come together for a common purpose. In these trying times, it is more important than ever that we remain strong and united. We must continue our efforts towards finding a cure and ensuring the safety and well-being of our community. I want to extend my heartfelt gratitude to all the human citizens of Dawnhaven for your acceptance and support of the blight-born. Your contributions, remarkable generosity, and willingness to embrace them have played a crucial role in our city’s progress. I firmly believe that the blight-born, despite their circumstances, deserve a second chance at life. They have greatly contributed to our city, and their resilience exemplifies the spirit we all share. Our mission to return them to civilization and stop the blight is a testament to our collective strength and compassion.” Flynn paused for a few heartbeats, his eyes finding his blight-born advisor who had been invaluable during this time.

“Let us remember that while we may come from different kingdoms, our shared determination and strength will guide us through these dark times.” As Flynn reached the final words of his speech, he allowed a brief silence to settle over the crowd. “Together, we will weather this storm as one.”

Taking a steadying breath, he turned to leave, his gaze naturally seeking out Amaya. Between them, the snowflakes fell faster, their gentle descent gathering upon the dirt and gravel roads below. Closing the distance between them, Flynn extended his hand toward her. His emerald eyes locked with hers, a silent, hesitant plea reflected there, as if asking for her permission to hold her hand once more. His fingers lightly brushed hers, seeking the delicate touch of her hand in his so that they might leave the stage as one.

The cold breeze tugged at his cloak, the temperature notably beginning to drop, but Flynn’s focus remained on Amaya, waiting to see if she would allow another moment of connection despite her vulnerable state.

Amaya took a slow breath in, still looking straight ahead. Then she answered his silent request, placing her hand in his. It was a careful motion, more performance than connection. Amaya knew her role here, before the eyes of Dawnhaven. She couldn’t afford to open herself up right now - not somewhere so public, after such a monumental revelation.

Not when her control was hanging by a thread.

And so, sealing herself away, Amaya allowed her husband to lead her by the hand, off of the stage. The warmth was familiar this time. So was the snow, as it coated Dawnhaven.

Flynn felt a wave of relief wash over him as Amaya's hand gently slipped into his. The simple act of her accepting his touch was a quiet victory, a reassurance amid the crowd’s scrutiny. Despite their vast differences, at least they could agree to appear as a united front among the people of Dawnhaven.

With her hand securely in his, Flynn guided her off the stage. The crisp, winter wind grew stronger, sending flurries of snow swirling around them as they descended the steps. The guards, ever vigilant, fell into formation behind them, their presence a formal shield against the encroaching cold and any potential threats.

The couple moved in silence, their path illuminated by the dim glow of lanterns as they made their way back toward their cabin. The wind whipped through the trees, its mournful howl an omen for what was to come.

---

_{Collaboration with @c3p-0h}

Realms of Sun & Shadow

Location: Town Square

"Made by your own flames?” Eris echoed, her blue eyes wide with wonder. A glimmer of hope flickered within her as she considered the implications. Perhaps Dawnhaven wasn’t doomed to suffer through the harsh winter after all.

Her eyes scanned the coat curiously before flicking upward to meet the blight-born’s molten gaze. "That’s…incredible.” She smiled up at him, curiosity momentarily easing the wariness coiled in her chest. Although their fiery form was rather terrifying, their demeanor spoke of calm control, a creature of immense power who did not want to wield it recklessly.

As Ashe began weaving flames in their hands, Eris stood transfixed, her breath catching in her throat as she observed his craft. The spectacle of living fire being shaped so effortlessly stirred excitement within her, her eyes glittering like stars reflecting off water. When they held out a flaming bracelet, offering it to her, she blinked in surprise, her lips parting in awe.

She carefully looked over the bracelet, its flames flickering back and forth in the breeze just like any man-made fire would. Slowly, she extended her hand, hesitating just above the flickering flames. She could feel the heat resonating off the bracelet but it did not sear—no pain, no burn. She shot a cautious glance at Ashe, half-expecting them to be playing a trick. Would it truly be safe to touch? Or was this all just a jest? With a deep breath, Eris let her fingers dip into the flame, marveling at the sensation. The warmth remained, yet the fire did not scald. With careful apprehension, she took the bracelet, twisting it in her palm to examine every intricate, fiery detail. “Absolutely brilliant…” she murmured under her breath, mostly talking to herself at this point.

Slipping the bracelet around her wrist, she held out her hand and admired how it looked as the flames danced softly along her skin. The warmth spread across hand and crept up her forearm, fighting off the encroaching cold. Never in her life had she seen such a unique article before—the noble women of Aurelia would have killed to get their hands on such an accessory! Eris grinned at the thought, imagining the envy in their eyes. For once, she would have been the object of their jealousy.

“Thank you. This is… far too kind of you.” She said, meeting his gaze for a brief moment before turning her attention to the coat they offered once more. It was still hard to believe such a thing existed—wearable fire, as if it were fabric. Reaching out, she touched it cautiously, expecting it to burn her fingers, but again, it only radiated warmth. “You’re sure?” she asked, her voice tinged with confusion. Generosity like this from a blight-born? It felt too good to be true. She couldn’t help but wonder if there was some hidden motive, a ploy, something lurking beneath their kindness. Were there truly blight-born who could be so nice?

Slowly, she took the coat from Ashe and wrapped herself in it, clasping it around her shoulders. She smiled, appreciating the coat as it enveloped her in its warm embrace. She grabbed the edges and pulled it closer to her, creating a make-shift cocoon around her tiny frame. “You know, you could make a fortune selling these in Aurelia,” she half-joked, though she meant every word. Ashe could rise to noble status in mere days if they so desired.

Suddenly, the thought of Aurelia reminded Eris of her manners—or lack thereof. “Oh!” Eris met Ashe’s gaze again, panic flashing across her face as she released the coat and extended her bracelleted hand to him for a handshake, momentarily forgetting that they were made of flame itself. “I forgot to introduce myself! I’m Eris. Lead Sage here in Dawnhaven. I’m so sorry, that was terribly rude of me.” She fumbled slightly, her cheeks flushing deeper—this time, not from Ashe’s warmth, but from her own embarrassment.

---

_{Interactions: Ashe @Timemaster}