The Muse

Realms of Sun & Shadow

Location: Jail

Zeph made his way back toward the eastern gate, helmet held under one arm. Each exhale turned to fog in the crisp night air as his mind circled back to his interaction with Nesna. He had taken a chance by trusting her, letting her walk free instead of locking her up. It was a gamble, sure—but then, Zeph had always been a gambling man, and something about her didn’t scream criminal to him. Aliseth probably wouldn’t be pleased when he found out. But luckily for Zeph, he didn’t really care what Aliseth thought.

As he scanned the area, several guards rushed past him, heading west—toward where Abel had lost his life. A heavy sigh escaped him, the weight of guilt pressing like an iron hand on his chest. Abel’s death would forever hang over him like a storm cloud. The urge to draw his sword and join the search for the blight-born that had killed Abel tugged at him, but he knew he’d already spent too long away from his post. If he wanted to keep a job, he’d better get back to the gate.

"Hale!" a familiar voice barked. Zeph paused, turning to see the archer from the gate shift earlier, jogging towards him with a torch in hand. Their joint shift had likely rotated out by now.

"They’re looking for you," the other guard said, stopping a few feet away and slightly out of breath.

Zeph furrowed his brow. "Me? Why?"

The archer shrugged. "Volkov’s orders. Said you’re wanted for watch at the jail."

Zeph groaned. “Of course.” he muttered under his breath, already pivoting toward the half-finished jail. That old man had a knack for making Zeph’s life harder in subtle, irritating ways. If their shift had rotated, then Zeph should’ve been off-duty by now, yet here he was, trudging towards the jail.

As he arrived, he looked over the building, lit up by torchlights and surrounded by guards and construction workers alike. Parts of the roof were still incomplete, but the cells were operational. A guard stationed at the entrance gave him a nod.

“Am I taking over for you?” Zeph asked, scrutinizing the guard under the torch light. What manner of illness had this man befallen that he couldn’t complete his shift?

The guard gestured inside. “You’re on prisoner watch. Enchanter’s on the way.”

"Prisoner watch?" Zeph muttered with a hint of annoyance, his brows knitting in confusion. ‘They already caught Abel’s killer?’ He thought as he stepped through the stone doorway, boots clicking against the floor as he made his way to the back of the jail.

Opening the door to the holding area, his gaze landed on a blonde-haired woman in radiant armor, unmistakably that of an Aelios Champion. She stood at the furthest end of the hall, glaring at a man lounging behind bars. ‘Shame someone that stunning is so devout—especially to Aelios’, he thought, crinkling his nose slightly at the sight of her armor.

“Guess I’m here to relieve you, eh?” Zeph asked as he approached, his eyes flicking between the prisoner and her. “Can’t imagine this is your usual scene. Seems a bit beneath you.” he said, a hint of sarcasm in his voice and a playful smile to match.

“So, what’s this guy in for? Besides showing off... or are you here just for the show?” The man behind bars looked smug, shirtless as he did sit-ups and stared back at the Champion. Zeph raised an amused eyebrow, the scene almost making him burst out laughing. There was no way this guy was responsible for Abel’s death. Perhaps he was just a drunk from the tavern, sent here to sober up.

Zeph cocked his head and smirked. “You cold in there, buddy? Or is this your idea of impressing a Champion of Aelios? Futile, by the way—I tried it once. Trust me. Not a good idea.”

The prisoner smirked back, but before he could retort, the door at the opposite end of the hall opened. Soft footsteps echoed, and Zeph turned to see an older brunette woman enter, her hair streaked with faint silver threads. Her brown eyes darted around the room as she introduced herself, though she barely made eye contact with any of them as she bowed her head.

“Enchanter, at your service.” she said softly, lifting her head only briefly to meet their gaze. “Give me a moment, please.”

She moved past them and to the corner of the wall, pulling out a piece of charcoal from a satchel. “Didn’t think I’d have to do this so soon,” she muttered to herself before getting to work. Zeph watched as she scrawled precise and intricate runes horizontally along the wall, her fingers steady. As she shuffled down the length of the back wall, she muttered some kind of incantation under her breath, too softly for anyone to hear, her expression entirely focused on the runes.

Gradually, the runes glowed to life, a lavender light pulsing brightly before softening to a faint hue. A strange sensation crept over Zeph, and his gaze narrowed on the enchanter. With each rune that illuminated, the air grew heavy, his limbs sluggish, and an invisible force drained him. By his sides, he flexed his fingers, unsettled by the sudden void where his magic used to hum faintly under the surface. Though he had never heavily relied on his limited magical ability, its absence felt wrong all the same. Anti-magic fields had always unsettled him—an unnatural intrusion that never ceased to feel fundamentally wrong, no matter how often he encountered them.

The Sage finished her scrawls along the interior walls and slipped out the door as quietly as she’d arrived, continuing the runes along the exterior. Zeph’s smirk returned despite the heaviness in the air, turning his attention back to the Champion. Waiting for her to break the silence, his eyes glinted with mischief, met only with her steely and unamused gaze.

---

_{Interactions: Dyna @Queen Arya, Gadez @Dezuel}

Realms of Sun & Shadow

Location: Elara's Home > Royal Home

Flynn listened intently as Elara spoke, his brows furrowing deeply. Images of the unknown faces he'd left Amaya with before his departure flashed in his mind. Which of them had done this? None of them had appeared outwardly blight-born. Was it someone entirely different? Unease twisted in his stomach. When she mentioned Amaya being injected with the blight-born’s blood, a look of disgust flickered across his face. He cast a glance at Amaya, lying motionless on the floor, a wave of worry sweeping over him. What had the blood done to her? Blight-born were completely unpredictable. There was no telling what it could do to her now or in the future.

“I can’t lose her either,” he said quietly, barely registering the familiarity of Elara calling him by name, too consumed by his thoughts and the sight of Amaya before him. Turning his attention back to his wife, he studied her face again, as if he expected her to cry out in pain at any moment.

"I won’t let this happen again," he said, though he didn’t know if he fully believed the words himself. What could one man, even a prince, do to protect her in a world as unpredictable and dangerous as this? But he did know he would do everything in his power to keep her safe. He had to. He had brought her out here to try and save her life, not let her die at the hands of a blight-born.

A part of him cursed himself for ever leaving her side. He should have brought her with him to see the Priestess. Though he wouldn’t have felt right trying to control Amaya in such a way, at least she would have been safe. If she had remained at his side, this could have been avoided. ‘Damn it.’ he thought bitterly, guilt squeezing his heart.

Gently, as if she might break under his touch, Flynn slid his arms beneath Amaya’s limp frame and effortlessly lifted her into a princess carry. Holding her close to his chest, he stood to his full height, her head resting against his chest. She didn’t move, and the worry in his face deepened.

“I’m going to take her home to rest.” he said firmly, leaving no room for argument, his decision final. Turning to Elara, his green eyes met her pale blue ones, the intensity in his gaze mirroring hers. “You did well, Elara.” he said, his voice sincere. “Thank you for keeping her safe.”

Adjusting Amaya slightly in his arms, he gestured with his head toward the door. “Could you open it for me, please?”

As she opened the door, Flynn stepped out into the chill and glanced back. “Find Eris Hightower, the lead Sage. She lives just west of here. In the tower. Tell her to come to our home, could you?” he asked, the request coming off a bit more like an order.

Before leaving, their eyes met one last time and Flynn gave Elara nod, a silent acknowledgement of her efforts. He didn’t know how, but he’d find a way to repay Elara for this. Somehow.

Stepping out into the snow-dusted streets, Flynn tightened his hold on Amaya as she stirred. Unconsciously, she shifted closer to him, her face pressing into his chest as if seeking his warmth.

Flynn glanced down at her, taken aback at her sudden movement—one more intimate than she had ever granted him in the past. Pushing the emotion aside, he focused on her safety and comfort. Drawing upon his dwindling mana reserves, he summoned a thin barrier of warmth that enveloped them both, shielding her from the biting winter air and the snowflakes that drifted down around them.

As he neared their home, a guard spotted him and immediately straightened. The soldier’s face was a mixture of shock and confusion, his eyes darting to the Princess and then back to the Prince. “Your Highness! What can I do?”

“Open the door.” Flynn commanded as he walked past the armored man. The guard obeyed without hesitation, moving quickly and holding the door open wide. Stepping inside, Flynn said over his shoulder, “Get a fire going and light the candles.”

“Yes, sir.” The guard responded, rushing to fulfill his orders and disappearing toward the living room.

Flynn didn’t stop. He carried Amaya up the stairs to her room, his foot nudging the door open. Stepping inside, he glanced around the room, dim and quiet. A space he had rarely ever entered. Carefully, he lowered her down onto the bed, her head resting on the pillow.

For a moment, he sat on the edge of the bed, his green eyes scanning her face. She seemed peaceful, but the dark stain on her sleeve was a stark reminder of what had happened. His jaw clenched. Whoever the blight-born was, he’d find them. And they’d pay.

With a shaky breath, Flynn adjusted the blankets around her. His expression softened as he whispered, “I’m sorry…”

---

_{Interactions: Elara @Qia, Amaya @c3p-0h}

Realms of Sun & Shadow

Location: Forest Crime Scene

Beneath the pale light of the moon, the forest seemed almost serene, quieted after the departure of Katherine, Daphne and Nathaniel. Gentle snowflakes drifted down from the sky, settling atop the icy stalagmite or melting into the blood pooled beside it. From beyond the clearing, curious eyes observed, drawn to the unnatural creation made from Amaya’s magic, yet too fearful to venture closer.

Yet, near the base of an ancient pine, a brave creature stirred.

Once a squirrel, it skittered out of the forest's shadows with twitching, erratic movement, sniffing the ground fervently. Glowing orange eyes, devoid of their pupils, darted around the clearing as it approached the icy structure. Mangy fur, matted with dark clots of blood, hung loosely over its oversized frame, its decaying flesh emitting a faint, sickly odor. Large claws scratched into the frozen earth as it moved, while the occasional clicking of its teeth echoed eerily through the forest's stillness. The ears—scarred and frayed—twitched at every distant rustle, giving the impression that it was both prey and predator, eternally listening, eternally hunting. Sniffing the crimson-stained snow, the creature chittered, then began to lap up the pool of blood into its mouth.

Suddenly, the creature froze. Its ears pricked forward, glowing eyes growing wide as the faint sound of crunching snow drifted to it from the north. With a jerky rhythm, it rose onto its hind legs and sniffed the air, now towering at four feet tall.

Crunch

Instantly, the creature’s head snapped in the direction of the sound with unnatural speed. Its gaze pierced through the darkness, spotting the silhouette of a soldier accompanied by a wolf.

The creature’s jaw unhinged like a snake, revealing rows upon rows of razor-sharp teeth. With its eyes set upon Valthyr and Adonis, a guttural hiss tore from its throat, low and venomous. Crouching, its muscles coiled with unnatural strength.

For a moment, there was silence. Then, like a shadow given life, it launched forward.

---

_{Mentions: Coswain @PrinceAlexus, Valthyr @Fetzen}

Realms of Sun & Shadow

Location: Eye of the Beholder

Nyla blinked, momentarily taken aback by the transformation the blight had wrought on the innkeeper’s appearance. A petite woman with a large singular eye that stared back at her, and a serpent's tail adorned shimmering blue scales to match. Nyla had seen the grave effects of blight before, but this felt profound for someone who seemingly still clung to their humanity.

For a fleeting moment, she couldn’t help but marvel at how comfortable this woman seemed to be in her new form. Her tail swayed to the Aldrick’s music and the aura around her emanated with positivity. She was confident, even playful, as if she had long since accepted the cards that had been dealt to her.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sya.” She said, quickly recovering, her practiced smile slipping back into place—as though nothing about Sya’s appearance had fazed her. The art of smiling through any situation had always been one of her strengths. “I’m Nyla. Nyla Zafira.”

As Sya pulled out a map of the rooms, Nyla leaned slightly closer, taking in the options as they were presented. Her eyes skimmed the map, her brows briefly furrowing as she considered her choices. After a moment, she tapped her finger lightly on the map at room #1. “I’ll take this one,” she said, raising her gaze to meet Sya’s. “Thank you.”

Straightening, she glanced briefly through the lively tavern, her gaze naturally drawn to Aldrick, still performing with his magical instruments at the far end of the room. After a few moments, her attention shifted to the staircase leading up to the rooms before returning to Sya once more.

“Is it always this busy in here?” she asked Sya with a playful tone, taking another small sip of her wine.

---

_{Mentions: Sya @PrinceAlexus}

Realms of Sun & Shadow

Location: Zeph’s House > Eye of the Beholder | Collaboration with @enmuni

Nesna plucked her discarded shift off of the floor with a look of disgust. It looked nothing like the article she’d died in all those years ago. The formerly light fabric was covered in innumerable stains, busted seams, tears, and all manner of other flaws. She grimaced as she dropped it to the floor again, and resolved to keep the towel wrapped around herself. At least that was clean. After a moment’s hesitation, she walked through Zeph’s bedroom and cracked open the door enough to call down the hall.

“Zephyros, might I ask if my shift is tailored?” she projected, “I’ve come to realize the one I brought is in no shape to be worn!”

Zeph looked up at the sound of Nesna’s voice, her words pulling him out of his concentration. His eyes drifted to the garments laid out on the table in front of him, surrounded by scattered threads, needles, and fabric scraps. His fingers throbbed faintly from the numerous times he’d pricked himself with the needle—more times than he’d care to admit. He shook his head with a small sigh, the work taking longer than he’d anticipated. The articles of clothing were far finer than any of his own clothing, and the pressure to do them justice weighed on him. His grandfather would’ve been done with this fifteen minutes ago. It had been a long time since Zeph had done this kind of work though, and the rust was proving difficult to shake.

Still, he’d made progress. The shift was finished, at least. His stitches weren’t as quick or clean as his grandfather’s would have been, but they were sturdy and even, the seams mended and reinforced. He picked it up carefully, the silky fabric feeling strange against his calloused hands. Normally, he was taking these off, not handing them back.

“Uh—yep! Coming!” He called back as he rose from his seat and carried the garment down the hall. Goddess, this felt odd.

As he moved down the hall, his eyes met hers. She hid behind his door, wrapped in a towel, and for a moment, he struggled to keep his thoughts in check. What did she look like beneath the towel? The intrusive thought was quickly shoved aside, and he forced his focus back to her face.

“Here,” he said, extending the shift toward her, careful not to let his gaze wander. “I, uh… hope it’s to your liking.” He stepped back slightly, giving her some space, and gestured vaguely toward the hall. “I still need a bit more time with the dress, though—maybe ten more minutes? If you don’t mind.”

“Thank you,” Nesna responded, taking the white shift up in one hand, “I cannot express how helpful this has been. Take as long as you need.”

She closed the door for a moment, dropped her towel, and pulled the shift up around her. These things were meant to be quite loose, but, so she gathered, she hadn’t quite finished growing by the time she’d left. With her tail pulling just a bit more at the back, it was a touch clingy around the hips. It didn’t yet feel inappropriate, but it did feel odd. Perhaps at some point she could simply buy some new clothes, since these were clearly only so salvageable.

“I’m decent now,” she offered as she began to reach behind herself to do up the buttons. Her arms bent back in ways which were almost unnatural, with both hands able to touch every spot of her back and begin doing up the buttons.

Giving her privacy, Zeph returned to the kitchen and dropped into his chair, leaning over the dress spread before him on the table. He flexed his fingers a few times, trying to loosen the lingering stiffness, then picked up his needle again and went to work.

The next fifteen minutes were a quiet and focused blur, losing himself in the motions, the faint crackle of the fire providing a meditative ambiance. He worked methodically, double-checking each stitch, smoothing the fabric, carefully measuring and adjusting as needed. Occasionally, his mind wandered to her earlier words—I cannot express how helpful this has been. An odd mix of pride and unease settled in his chest. It wasn’t often he got to use his skills for something like this anymore.

Unbidden, his thoughts inevitably wandered to his late mother. He could still picture her sitting by the window in the family shop, the sunlight catching on the thread in her hands as she hummed softly. Those memories felt distant, almost dreamlike, but the motions he now went through brought them closer, like echoes from another life. It was odd how natural it felt, even after so many years, though the ache in his hands reminded him he was no longer as practiced as he once was.

Finally, he tied off the last stitch, gave the panel one last inspection, and set the dress down with a quiet exhale. It wasn’t perfect—not by his family's standards, anyway—but it was good. Solid. Functional. And, he hoped, beautiful enough to make Nesna feel like herself again. Plus, it didn’t hurt to have a blight-born on your side. Maybe when she got hungry, she’d remember that he had provided her with this service.

He stood, stretching his back and rolling his shoulders, before picking up the dress and heading back to his room. Stopping in front of the closed door, he raised a hand and gave it a gentle knock. “Nesna? The dress is ready now.” After a moment, he leaned against the doorframe and added, “Oh, and, uh… did the other garment fit okay?”

“I believe so, but if I might trouble you, I’ve never fitted clothes on my own before. The tailor always told me whether it fit and I abided, comfort or not,” she began, pausing for a second, “Granted, I think it’s comfortable. Certainly better than the rips. Ah, why don’t you see? It’s hanging to my calves and not sheer; I can’t imagine it’s any more improper than my imposition and bathing here.”

Nesna pulled open the door while stepping back. Nesna gestured to her hips with a frown as she continued.

“This—this tail of mine!” she sputtered, seemingly catching herself before cursing, gesturing to other parts of her as she spoke, “It’s—do you see what it’s doing? My old one was a sleeping garment—much looser than this one. But now it’s in the way. Do you imagine we ought to cut a hole for it or something? It—ah—I can’t decide whether it’s worse for it to be a bit form-fitting here or to have a tail out. Because, well, I suppose it fits me everywhere else.”

Nesna offered a half-smile half-grimace as she then gestured to her torso. The shift was quite conservative, well-fitted to her chest but offering little detail beyond the curve there indicating that she did, indeed, have some amount there. It curved slightly inward for her waist, having clearly been tailored to her at some point so that it would be flattering without being particularly tight. Just above her hips, it started to get tighter, and then hit the widest point where the fabric, relatively loose elsewhere, seemed almost fully taut.

“But what do you think?”

As Nesna opened the door, his gaze immediately drew to the shift and the way it hugged her body in all the right ways. Modest, but undeniably flattering. The faintest mischievous smile tugged at his lips as he met her eyes, words spilling out before he could stop himself.

“I think you’re right—you should take it off.”

His smirk grew slightly as he held her gaze, entirely unashamed of his comment, though her glowing sets of eyes quickly brought him back to reality. She was blight-born. Not exactly a wise choice. A wiser man might have considered the implications, or the danger. Then again, when had he ever made wise choices? What he was currently doing was proof enough.

Nesna looked back at him in a confused silence. Her expression oscillated between an awkward little smile, a tight-lipped frown, and a blank, confused expression as she asked herself if she had indeed heard him correctly. After an awkward moment of her composure breaking, Nesna pulled it together, resolving to act under the assumption that she’d misheard him. What would “Take it off” mean in these circumstances anyway?

Before Zeph’s thoughts wandered too far, he stepped into the room and moved around her, eyeing the shift once more—though with a more critical eye than before. His eyes flicked to where her tail strained the back of the shift. Despite his “best” efforts, his gaze lingered briefly—not just on the problem at hand but on her form beneath the garment.

Finally, he nodded, “I see what you mean. It’s not bad, though—it fits you well. But if the tail’s making you uncomfortable, then cutting a small hole for it is no problem.”

Circling back around to face her, he offered the dress. “Why don’t you try this on too? Decide if you’d like to make adjustments for it as well.” As she took the dress from him, he turned to leave. “I’ll grab my scissors in case you decide to go for it,” He said, slipping out of the room.

In the kitchen, he sifted through the cluttered table, picking through sewing tools until he found his fabric scissors. For a moment, he thought of his grandfather—how the old man had always approached his craft with an almost sacred detachment, professional no matter the situation. Zeph smirked faintly to himself. Professionalism was all well and good, but where was the fun in that?

Returning to the bedroom, he leaned casually against the doorframe, just in time to see Nesna pulling the new dress up. His gaze followed the fabric as it settled into place, and this time, his smile softened into something more genuine. “It looks great,”

“Thank you,” Nesna responded, with a clear hint of skepticism lingering in her voice. As she contorted her arms once again to do up the buttons above her wings, the dress revealed itself as the more stylish garment. The thick velvet fabric, a vibrant peacock-blue in color, offered a sharp contrast to the white linen shift it was covering. Although even more thorough in its coverage, the dress did pull in a touch more around the chest and in the waist than the shift did, giving a better impression of Nesna’s shape other than the fact that she did, in fact, have hips.

Nesna did a little spin once she finished buttoning herself up, and then placed her hands on her hips.

“I grant you, the more that I think about it, I feel as though my wings also ought to have sleeves or something—they’re appendages just like arms. But then that, and the tail—I think sleeves would look silly on them, nevermind getting in and out of things.” She clicked her tongue, sighed, and added, “Oh, I’ve taken enough of your time already. I think my tail out would look sillier anyway. And I don’t want to trifle with this any more anyway; it’s probably unwise.”

Nesna held her hands up, admitting defeat, “Yes, I can have someone else take a look at it if it keeps bothering me. Maybe I can have, oh, a bit of extra fabric in the back added to future dresses or something. In the meantime, I’m sure I’ll stretch it a bit. I think it looks fine, right?”

There was a clear noncommittal inflection in Nesna’s voice, as if she was as much trying to convince herself out loud as she was communicating her thoughts to Zeph.

“It’s beautiful. It suits you.” Zeph said with a nod, his tone warm as he assured her. His gaze lingered for a moment as he studied the dress, imagining what she might have looked like in it before her transformation.

Pushing himself off the doorframe, he added, “If you change your mind, there are a few tailors in town who are skilled enough to handle more serious alterations.” He paused and added with a slight smirk, “Though I’ll warn you, they’re not me. Tailoring isn’t my day job, but hey, I’m versatile.”

Turning away, he strode back to the kitchen and set the scissors down on the cluttered table. Beginning to tidy up the tools into organized piles, he called back to her, “Can I escort you back to the tavern? I’m headed that way. Probably should get back to work before they realize I’m gone again…” His voice carried a hint of humor in it, though his tone grew more serious as he added, “And I should help with whatever is going on with the Princess…” He shrugged, then paused, glancing back down the dimly lit hall to meet her eyes.

“If I were you, I’d stay inside the tavern until that gets sorted… just a bit of advice.” He hesitated for a beat, considering his words. “Kane seemed pretty keen on pinning you as a murder suspect…” He frowned, unsure of what had come over his brother in arms. Aliseth had never held love for blight-born, that much he knew, but Aliseth’s actions earlier felt far too aggressive.

So far, there was no real evidence that would point at Nesna being the killer. From Zeph’s perspective, she didn’t seem like the type. She didn’t carry herself like a murderer—no fidgeting, no shifty glances, no odd or unsettling comments, no signs of the guilt he’d learned to spot over the years. Then again, he’d be a fool to underestimate a blight-born. Perhaps she felt no guilt at all. People had surprised him before—he’d learned the hard way not to judge a book by its cover—and now he knew better than to assume innocence based on feeling alone.

Still, until someone brought concrete proof, he wasn’t about to throw her in a cell. That wasn’t how he operated, and he’d be damned if he let baseless accusations dictate his actions. He had always marched to the beat of his own drum, no matter how much trouble it seemed to get him in. For now, he’d keep his guard up, but Nesna wasn’t his enemy. At least, not yet.

“Just be careful.”

Nesna did up her shoes and then followed Zeph into the kitchen. She looked at him with a warm, if melancholic smile, not unlike the one she had given her dress when she offered it to him. She said nothing for a moment, then spoke. Her tone was soft, as it had been before, but carried a greater steadiness and confidence. Nesna stood taller than she had before, carrying herself with some semblance of the pride she must have once had.

“You are nothing but a blessing. I would be happy to go to the tavern, if only you might indulge me for a moment,” she offered, “I must insist on treating you—if not now, then some other time. Oh! And if I might be so forward, please do help me pawn another pair of nothing-earrings so we can get your commander a gift or something, so as to apologize for the inconvenience and make sure you aren’t in any trouble!”

Nesna drew two small circles in the air with both hands as she spoke, bringing her bags floating in next to her. The bag she produced earrings from floated in front of her, and from it she pulled a fresh pair of gloves and a pair of golden studs.

“Do you imagine these little things should be enough to get him something decent?” she asked while pulling on one of her gloves.

He shook his head with a light smile, raising his hands in gentle refusal. “You’re generous, but I can’t accept,” he said, his voice warm but firm. “It’s better if my commander doesn’t know I took you here, anyway—trust me.” he said with a quiet chuckle. He’d surely get put on stable cleaning duty if Valkov ever found out about all the niceties one of his soldiers had provided this woman (creature) with.

“Besides, that old bastard doesn’t deserve anything that nice.”

Grabbing his helmet from where he’d left it, he tucked it under his arm and walked to the door. “You can repay me by not causing any trouble here, alright?” He glanced back at her for a moment before swinging the front door open and holding it for her, the cold night air creeping in.

As Nesna stepped outside, Zeph followed, closing the door behind them with a quiet click before locking it. Walking alongside her, he headed toward the tavern, his gaze lifting to the sky where snowflakes drifted down lazily, vanishing as soon as they touched the ground.

"I'll let the Prince know you've arrived when I can," he said, his eyes still on the sky. "He likes to personally interview every blight-born who comes to town. Something about making sure they’re... civil enough, I guess." He shrugged lightly, glancing at her with a half-smile. "You’ll be fine, though."

Nesna let out a subdued chuckle and looked at Zeph with a gentle smile. He had been so kind to her, for seemingly no apparent reason. But it obviously wasn’t any sort of trap—it couldn’t have been. No, what all of this must have been was some strange welcome, impromptu, but genuine. Had guards in fact been selected on the basis of decency, or was Zeph simply a gentleman amongst brutes? No matter—his escort was welcome all the same. Nesna stuffed the earrings back into the appropriate bag as she guided them alongside her.

“If you say so,” she conceded, “I’m so terribly rusty, but talking to you has been excellent for warming up…

By the way, I want to apologize for my outburst earlier. It was improper of me to be so…harsh in my response to your fellow guard.”

Zeph chuckled softly at her words, his breath visible in the air. "He’s had worse thrown at him. He deserved it, anyway." he said lightly, though a flicker of seriousness crossed his face as his gaze shifted to the road ahead. "It wasn’t right how he was treating you—murder suspect or not."

He glanced at her briefly before continuing. "He’s not usually like that." Zeph sighed, his steps slowing for just a moment as his thoughts turned inward. "Seeing another soldier die… It shakes you. I’m sure that’s what’s got him on edge."

A pang of guilt hit him, but he pushed it aside, refocusing on the road. As they neared the tavern, his brows knit slightly at the sight of the sparse guard presence. Only one soldier stood at watch posts, instead of the usual two-man shifts. He could guess where the rest were—headed toward the murder scene.

Nesna sighed. Her breath produced no cloud in the air. She turned to Zeph and seemed to think for a moment of what to say. Hesitantly, she gently patted him on the shoulder. Her expression was calm, if a bit grim.

“I—I understand. I haven’t seen a comrade-at-arms die, but I have seen my own funeral,” she commented, her tone strangely serene, almost parental, “I must imagine it’s at least as difficult…

Now, before I forget, if you ever do think it might be helpful, I should tell you that I’ve a knack for psychic magic. If the memories of who did it are anywhere in his head—if he saw them out of the corner of his eye or something like that—I may be able to pull the memory up. I’ve done such things to myself many times. The Princess is still my liege, after all.”

Nesna pulled her hand back from Zeph and offered him a sympathetic smile.

Zeph glanced at her hand on his shoulder, then raised a brow at her mention of psychic magic, the faintest flicker of intrigue crossing his features. Turning his gaze back to the road ahead, he gave a small nod.

"I’ll ask Aliseth if he’s open to that." he said, though deep down, he doubted it. Aliseth’s reaction to Nesna earlier was proof enough that he’d probably resist the idea. Still, it wasn’t something he’d dismiss outright. Silently, he hoped for the best case scenario—Aliseth had done as he was asked and found a Psychic user to prod his mind already.

"Thanks for the offer." he added as they rounded the corner to the tavern. The music and hum of conversation drifted through the air, the patrons inside still blissfully unaware of the lurking danger. Candlelight danced in the frosted windows of the tavern, casting a soft glow onto the snow-covered ground outside.

"Here we are." Zeph said, gesturing to the front door with a small smile. "It was a pleasure, Nesna. Remember to stay out of trouble for me." He winked playfully before opening the door to let her enter.

“What a darling place!” she exclaimed, “And a gentleman you are indeed!”

Nesna beamed, clearly enjoying the treatment. She turned to Zeph and offered a quick curtsey.

“I could not have hoped for a better welcome,” she cooed with a keen grin. She squinted her right eyes and lifted her left eyebrow, almost imitating a flirty expression, “I’ll behave myself, you can be sure of that. But I surely wouldn’t take offence to you checking up on me some time~!”

Realms of Sun & Shadow

Location: Elara's Home

Flynn barely waited for Elara to open the door wide enough before slipping past her, his eyes laser-focused on the room beyond. His heart pounded as his gaze landed on Amaya, curled up motionless on the floor. Relief and dread battled for dominance within him. She looked so small and fragile, a stark contrast to the fiery strength he knew she could possess.

For a breathless moment, fear gripped him, imagining the worst.

Without sparing a glance at Elara, his boots echoed softly on the wooden floor as he swiftly crossed the room. Dropping to one knee beside Amaya, his usual composure dissolved, replaced by something raw and unguarded.

His movements softened as he brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, gently tucking it behind her ear. Cupping her face in his hand, his thumb traced a tender line over her cheek as he studied her features, his heart clenching at the sight of her vulnerability. “Amaya…” he murmured, his voice low and barely audible over the crackle of the fire.

For a moment, Flynn simply knelt there, his shoulders hunched, his head bowed as he looked over her. The flickering light of the fire cast shadows across his face, deepening the lines of worry etched into his brow. His mind raced with questions, but he forced himself to focus on the immediate—on the steady rise and fall of her chest, proof that she was alive and not teetering on the edge of life and death.

When she stirred, pressing her cheek against his palm, the tension in him eased fractionally. He exhaled shakily, a small, fleeting relief washing over him. His hand lingered there for a moment, caught between his desire to hold her and his fear of causing her discomfort.

Finally, he carefully withdrew from her, his fingers curling into a fist against his knee as Elara began to speak. He looked up at her, gratitude flickering in his eyes. “Thank you, Elara.” His voice carried genuine appreciation, but it was clear his thoughts were still consumed by the sight of Amaya.

His mind raced, cataloging the possibilities of what could have happened. The blood Kira mentioned still vivid in his thoughts. He glanced back at Amaya, the room falling quiet, save for the fire’s soft crackle, as Flynn surveyed the rest of her body.

Finding a dark stain of blood on her sleeve, his jaw tightened, green eyes narrowing. The sight of it sent a jolt of cold anger through him, the gentleness of his expression completely replaced by a fierce protectiveness for his wife.

“What happened?” He asked sharply, his voice low but taut with tension. “Who’s responsible for this?” He gestured to the stain on her sleeve, brimming with quiet anger.

---

_{Interactions: Elara @Qia, Amaya @c3p-0h}

Realms of Sun & Shadow

Location: Eye of the Beholder

Alone again.

Breathing in deeply, Nyla leaned her back against the door that led into the tavern, where Aldrick had returned more than fifteen minutes ago. With her head tilted upwards, she watched stars twinkle across the sky, and slowly released her breath.

Aldrick had comforted her, but something hollow still ached in her chest. Gripping at her heart and twisting at the most inopportune moments. Her hand instinctively brushed over her heart, as if she could physically ease the weight. She closed her eyes, taking in another steadying breath.

With a subtle shift of her head, she felt her horns scrape across the wooden surface of the door. Her brows instantly knit together, disturbed by the reminder of their presence. Holding her breath, she clenched her jaw before exhaling softly, opening her eyes to the night once more.

Alone. That’s what she needed to be. Though, preferably where the cold didn’t seep into her bones.

Straightening, she focused on the delicate threads of magic coursing through her body and began carefully pulling at them. Slowly, the illusion of her human form wove itself back into place. Aldrick had accepted her—Dawnhaven likely would too—but she didn’t. She couldn’t. Not yet. This thing was not her. It didn’t feel like her skin.

She sighed with relief as the illusion settled. Though the strain of upholding the facade weighed on her, this appearance felt right—safe.

Pulling the tavern door open, she stepped inside, warmth and noise rushing over her. Holding her head high and pulling her shoulders back, she attempted to appear more confident than she felt. Luckily for her, she had been practicing for this role all her life.

Returning to the main room, Nyla’s eyes scanned the room, drawn instinctively to Aldrick. He weaved magic into melodies and drew smiles from the crowd with effortless charm. She paused for a moment, a faint smile touching her lips as she watched him in his element once more. His attention was fully engrossed with the crowd, just as it always had been.

As a waitress hurried past with a tray of drinks, Nyla deftly swiped a glass of red wine, the action smooth and clearly not the first time she had done it. She sipped as she maneuvered through the packed room, her gaze darting over the sea of patrons in search of the front desk. If she wanted to be alone, she’d need a room first.

Eventually, she found it near the front door, though it was unsurprisingly unattended. She figured the inn was likely short staffed, and any employees they did have probably had their hands full at the moment. So she waited, leaning a hip against the desk, crossing her arms and holding her wine glass, her eyes flicking back to Aldrick. Letting the music fill the empty spaces in her mind, she sipped her drink to maintain her buzz.

Several minutes passed before anyone noticed her. When a brunette waitress with an armful of dirty glasses hurried by, Nyla stepped forward to catch her attention. “Excuse me,” she said, her tone polite but firm enough to break through the crowd noise.

“Sorry,” Nyla said, offering a sheepish grimace as she gestured to the tray of dishes. “I was hoping someone might help me rent a room?”

“Of course,” the waitress replied with a quick nod. “I’ll grab Miss Leela for ya.”

“Thank you,” Nyla said with a small smile as the woman rushed off.

Leaning back against the desk, Nyla’s gaze returned to Aldrick’s performance. She swirled the wine in her glass, the smooth hum of his melodies distracting her from the persistent ache in her chest. For now, she let herself sink into the moment, content to wait.

---

_{Mentions: Sya @PrinceAlexus}

Realms of Sun & Shadow

Location: Forest

Flynn's jaw tightened as he listened to Ayel's hurried whispers, his patience thinning with every conspiratorial word. Though Ayel’s suspicions were laced with paranoia, Flynn couldn’t entirely dismiss them. The illusionist was certainly unusual, and his presence at the crime scene was undeniably convenient—and suspicious. But a cat? Killing with such precision and strength? It seemed unlikely. Ayel’s eagerness to spring into action without concrete evidence was reckless and Flynn didn’t have the luxury of indulging wild accusations, not with so much at stake.

He glanced at Valthyr briefly, his gaze narrowing as the man stated he’d transform into a wolf and promptly disappeared behind a tree. Turning to Ayel, Flynn leaned in, lowering his voice.

"Keep an eye on him," Flynn murmured, his words firm but quiet. Rarely would he trust Ayel with anything of importance, but if there was one thing Ayel could be relied upon for, it was his eagerness to tattle on others. "But we need evidence. And Ayel…" He fixated on the noble with a hard stare. "Do nothing without my say so. Understood?"

"Let’s focus on finding the Princess. That’s our priority."

As a massive wolf emerged from behind the tree, Flynn instinctively tightened the grip on his sword, his muscles coiling with tension. The beast's sheer size alone was nothing short of imposing—large paws, a coat of thick grey fur, and sharp, glinting teeth visible for only a moment as it turned its gaze on Ayel. This—this was something he could believe capable of delivering the brutal wounds they'd seen.

For a fleeting moment, he expected the wolf to spring at him or Ayel, its transformation nothing more than a ploy to lure them into a trap. But then the creature's eyes met his own and shook its head, holding onto the human-like traits of the man who had transformed.

Flynn exhaled slowly, his nerves settling though not entirely banished. Either this man truly sought to help, or he was playing an elaborate game to delay them. Either way, Flynn had to press forward.

Without a word, Flynn adjusted his grip on the torch in his other hand and pushed forward into the snow-laden trees. His eyes quickly scanned their surroundings as they moved, every shadow that the torchlight cast drawing his attention. Behind him, he could feel the wolf’s steady presence, its soft footfalls barely audible despite its size. Flynn said nothing, letting the silence stretch as they trudged onward, hoping that Ayel would do the same.

---

_{Location: Forest > Northwest Residential Area}

---

Kira’s gaze followed the direction the Royal Guard indicated, her body moving before her mind caught up. If the Prince might be that way, then that was where she needed to be. She didn’t spare the guard another glance, though her senses remained sharp, picking up on every shift of his weight behind her.

When he asked about tracks, she hesitated, glancing at him over her shoulder. For a fleeting moment, she debated sharing what she knew, but the thought quickly passed. Trusting him wasn’t an option. Royal guards were too often enforcers of the crown's whims rather than protectors, their loyalty tied only to Jericho’s orders.

She had been the same once—which was precisely why she knew better than to trust him. She wouldn’t have trusted herself either.

“No,” she said finally, her tone flat. It wasn’t a complete lie—she hadn’t followed tracks exactly, only the sharp metallic scent of blood lingering in the air. He didn’t need to know that.

As she turned her attention back to the forest, her steps faltered only a few feet away. Something cut through the stillness—a distant noise, faint but steadily growing louder. She stopped, her entire body going still as she listened, trying to decipher between the noise of the guard behind her and this new unknown source. Her eyes darted to the perimeter, scanning the darkness for any sign of what approached.

“Heads up.” She said, turning her head just enough to catch the guard’s attention and gesturing towards the woods, her voice hushed. While she didn’t trust him, she wasn’t about to let them both be caught off guard if this turned into a fight.

She braced for the worst, expecting the blight-born the guard had mentioned to emerge from the shadows, her hand moving to the dagger strapped to her waist. But as the noise of footsteps grew closer, she realized she recognized the scent carried on the wind.

“The Prince.” She alerted the guard matter-of-factly, though her hand still rested on her weapon. She could easily identify the Prince after so many months working with him in the Alchemy Chambers, though he moved with a group that she couldn’t recognize.

After a few minutes of what would have been eerie silence to the human ear, the faintest flicker of orange light weaved through the trees. A torch.

Flynn’s steps slowed as he caught sight of two figures in the distance, silhouetted against the moonlight. His heart quickened as he strained to see through the darkness, but as he moved closer, he recognized a familiar pair of glowing orange eyes that locked onto him—Kira Rykker.

Relief mingled with suspicion raced in his mind. Had she somehow been the blight-born behind this chaos? Over the past two months she had been fairly composed in his presence, though it wasn’t hard to imagine her snapping. At times, the way she looked at the Sages was unnerving.

Narrowing his eyes, he approached cautiously, Ayel and the wolf-man trailing close behind. “Miss Rykker.” he called out, his voice steady but clearly on edge. As he stepped closer, his eyes shifted past her to the armored figure—the Royal Guard who had arrived a week prior. “Lord Coswain.” he acknowledged, confusion flickered across his face as he looked between them. “What are you doing out here?”

As the torchlight flickered, it illuminated a face Kira recognized instantly—the pompous nobleman from the hot spring. Her lip twitched, annoyance bubbling to the surface. Was this man truly part of the Prince’s inner circle? The mere thought was irritating, changing her perception of the Prince. Typical royalty.

"I was looking for you," she said, choosing to ignore the man for now. "I have a message for you, but it must be read in private."

Flynn eyed Kira carefully, his gaze flicking to Coswain, noting the man’s lack of hostility toward Kira. If anything, the older guard seemed focused on their surroundings, scanning for potential threats rather than preparing to detain her.

For a moment, Flynn considered her words, but just as he opened his mouth to ask a question, a voice—not his own—slithered into his mind.

‘I found your Princess.’

His head tilted slightly, his eyes closing as a sharp, invasive pang shot through his skull. Kira was prying into his thoughts, uninvited. When he opened his eyes again, they locked onto Kira, who stood with a neutral expression, her fiery orange gaze meeting his, entirely unfazed, as if nothing had happened.

He furrowed his brow, irritation rising. How dare she enter his mind without permission. And damn him for not better protecting himself against it. Before he could voice his protest, the voice returned, cold and direct.

‘She’s with her handmaiden. But I was only meant to give you the message.’

His jaw tightened, resisting the urge to wince at the intrusion this time. His focus stayed on Kira, whose expression showed no hint of guilt or apology for her invasive telepathy. His eyes bore into hers, trying to gauge her intentions, though she betrayed little.

Flynn took a steadying breath. There was too much going on—too much to explain—but he couldn’t dismiss her now, not after that message. Exhaling, he glanced at Coswain once more, searching for any sign of hostility. The man, however, seemed uninterested in their exchange, his attention still on the forest and its shadows.

"Lord Coswain, I’m aware of the situation at the temple and the missing Princess." Flynn broke the silence, addressing the guard. "This wolf is no ordinary animal—he’s an illusionist, offering his help. Perhaps he can assist in tracking the feral blight-born." He said, gesturing to the creature beside him.

He turned to Ayel, his gaze hardening. "Ayel, I think it’s best you get to safety. The blight-born is still out here, and it’s dangerous." Hopefully, Ayel would listen. Though Flynn didn’t particularly enjoy the man, he didn’t really want to see him headless in the snow either.

Then, without waiting for more questions, Flynn nodded toward Kira. "Let’s talk," he said curtly, stepping toward her. She fell into step beside him, her eyes meeting his with an unreadable expression. He led the way, veering northwest, away from the group.

Once they were far enough from the group and the sounds of the forest had swallowed up the noise of the others, Flynn stopped and turned to Kira. "Explain yourself." he demanded, his voice laced with irritation.

Kira smiled slightly at the Prince’s ruffled feathers, something she had yet to see from him. She continued walking, her steps steady despite the situation’s urgency. “Patience, patience, Your Highness.” she said, her voice almost teasing as she glanced back at him. The Prince glared, but fell in step beside her once more.

"I tracked a blood scent, and it led me here." She gestured toward the road that led towards a neighborhood. "It belongs to the Princess. She’s with Elara, in her home."

Flynn’s heart dropped at her words, the shock sinking in that the blood Kira had tracked belonged to Amaya. A surge of panic shot through him, and his mind spiraled with the worst possibilities.

“Fuck.” He quietly cursed under his breath, fear quickly replacing the irritation he’d felt moments before. His thoughts raced—what had happened to her? How badly was she hurt? Was Elara also hurt? He didn’t have time to stand here and wonder.

“Thank you, Kira,” he said quickly, his voice tight with urgency. Without another word, he sheathed his sword and took off, running toward Elara's home, the cold air biting at his lungs as he pushed himself faster. Every step felt like it could be too late.

---

Nearly ten minutes later, Flynn reached Elara's door, breathing slightly heavier than normal from the run. The cold air stung his face, and his heart raced against his chest, but he barely noticed it. He didn’t bother to knock gently, pounding on the door a few times.

“Elara!” he called out, his voice carrying through the stillness of the night. "Open the door. It’s Flynn."

---

_{Interactions: Ayel @Dezuel, Valthyr @Fetzen, Coswain @PrinceAlexus, Elara @Qia}

Realms of Sun & Shadow

Location: Northwestern Residential Area

Kira’s fiery orange eyes narrowed with irritation as the older man corrected her—Royal Guard—his voice sharp and filled with authority. Demanding respect she didn’t feel for him—respect he hadn’t earned from her. She let out a sharp exhale through her nose and sneered, ‘Some good this royal guard was.’ she thought, dangerously close to saying it aloud, if only to anger him.

She had met many men such as him. Had likely passed him in the halls of the Lunarian castle as a child. They were always the same. Always self-righteous, unaware of the lethal weapon they loved to look down upon.

The audacity to ignore her question about the Prince’s whereabouts in favor of his self-important title grated her. Still, she kept her pace steady, closing the distance cautiously, but not so close as to come within striking range of the blade in his hands—the very same blade she remembered slicing through the shadows in pursuit of her. Yet, his expression gave no indication of recognition.That was for the best. Another situation where she had been forgotten, but this one served her well.

That familiar heat welled in her chest as she clicked her tongue, words spilling out before she could stop them. “You know,” she said, her voice tinged with a sarcastic sweetness. “A man of your age really should have better manners when a lady asks you a question.”

It was risky, maybe foolish, but her usual control slipped under the weight of hunger. The guard’s attitude only pushed her to look over the edge and test the waters. As soon as the words had left her lips, she wished she could have taken them back. Not for the possibility of angering him, she didn’t care, but for the embarrassment of losing grip on her carefully calculated exterior. She had been trained better than that, though she had never had much patience for disrespect, something that had been drilled into her from the moment she stepped into Lunarian territory.

Still, she closed her mouth, trying to hold herself back from another petty comment surfacing in her mind. He was irritating, sure, but now probably wasn’t the time for petty games. Even if it was in her nature to play.

Her gaze shifted past him, scanning the woods behind him for the help he claimed would follow. Nothing but the emptiness of the night stared back. It was just the two of them, the moon their only witness. Returning her attention to him, a stray thought flicked across her mind—how to take him down. She could disable him with enough effort, she had done it to other guards countless times, though it wasn’t the easiest of meal choices. Even with his armor, she could find weak points, slip past the steel—satiate herself. Who would know? Another feral blight-born was on the loose. What was one more death to add to the list? Who would miss him?

She swallowed the impulse with a deep inhale, reminding herself that she was no longer that sort of monster. A lie, most likely.

Finally, she straightened, her voice more controlled, though the faint ember of irritation remained. “I was entrusted with a message for the Prince,” she said firmly. “The Prince, and no one else. If you haven’t seen him, say so, and I’ll be on my way.” Her fiery eyes bore into his, waiting for an answer. Every moment spent here felt a moment too long.

---

_{Interactions: Coswain @PrinceAlexus}

Realms of Sun & Shadow

Location: Crime Scene

Flynn’s chest tightened as he surveyed the scene before him, his eyes falling first on the silvery symbol of Seluna and the lifeless body beneath it. His attention quickly shifted to the Priestess, her body trembling uncontrollably—not with subtle shivers brought on by the cold, but something more intense. Flynn recognized the difference immediately, a memory stirring of his younger brother, Elias, who had battled seizures and illness throughout his entire life. The Priestess shivered in a way that reminded him of how Elias would shake after coming out of an episode, utterly exhausted by it all. Not only that, but she was Lunarian, after all, and dressed well for the weather. Something wasn’t adding up.

His gaze sharpened, traveling the length of her frame. Her skin seemed almost sickly, even under the amber glow of the torchlight. His eyes lingered on the blood stain at her upper lip, his brows furrowing. It appeared to be the only blood on her, but it was odd nonetheless. She seemed ready to collapse at any moment, despite saying she had only heard a scream, and had not been part of the attack. There was a story here she wasn’t fully telling, but he resisted the urge to let suspicion creep into his expression, choosing instead to school his features into a neutral mask. He needed to observe. To think things through before acting.

As she gestured toward the northern woods, he noted the way that even her hands seemed unsteady, and his gaze eventually followed the direction she pointed. He studied the trail of footprints leading into the woods, his thoughts turning to Amaya—her magic potentially out of control, fighting for her life, possibly even injured—and his stomach twisted. He couldn’t let himself think anything darker than that.

Returning his attention to the trembling blonde, he remained silent, studying her closely as words tumbled from her lips. "Were you attacked as well?" He asked, his voice firm as his gaze flicked from the blood at her nose to her brown eyes, searching for clarity.

“Are you o—” his next question was barely out of his mouth when Ayel’s sharp voice cut through the air.

"Your highness, I cannot remain quiet any longer-"

Flynn turned sharply, his gaze narrowing onto his winded childhood nuisance. He could already feel the headache forming.

"Your highness… this woman is trying to deceive you! Listen to her, she shakes on her every word! A stutter! And we all know that is what liars do! Remember old Lord Jangharn in the capitol? He stuttered and he was found to be giving coin to the poor! Illegal charity is a serious crime. But this is murd- Well he looks to be Lunarian so I suppose it's more like slaughter.. but no matter! We should apprehend her and throw her into the holding quarters for safety! She could be one of those pestilence-ridden things conniving in secret! If it looks like a witch, it must be one! Your highness, I shall personally lead her to the holding quarters at your command!"

The way Ayel could twist things to play into his own self-serving narrative was truly an art form, a great feat that no one else could accomplish. Flynn felt the urge to correct him on Lord Jangharn—who had been arrested for funding an underground thieves guild, not a charity—but he held his tongue. Surprisingly, Ayel was not entirely wrong. Flynn, too, believed that this Priestess was attempting to deceive him, though he did not yet know for what reasons. And he wasn’t about to indulge Ayel’s penchant for hysteria.

He lifted his hand, open-palmed, a clear signal for silence. “Ayel,” Flynn said, his voice firm and laced with a warning. “Enough. Please. Be quiet.” The words carried the weight of strained patience, though he tried his hardest not to show how close he was to losing it. He took a steadying breath, his jaw tightening as he resisted the urge to speak through clenched teeth. “Let me think.”

As Daphne stepped forward, he listened to her vouch for the Priestess, his expression unreadable. She wasn’t wrong in her assessment; the damage done to the guard was most likely beyond human capacity. Yet, her words didn’t hold much weight with him. Flynn barely knew her, and this only furthered a nagging suspicion he had held since her unannounced arrival with Lord Coswain. Since then, he had carried a subtle distrust for her entire unit who had likely been sent by the King.

The way she put herself between Ayel and the Priestess didn’t surprise him. Of course the Lunarians would rally to protect one of their own. He just hoped that inclination would also mean keeping the Princesses best interests in mind. They’d want her safe too… right?

His gaze shifted to the Priestess again as Daphne began questioning her about Coswain, his eyes carefully watching her every movement. The Lunarian clergy were no less political or manipulative than the church in Aurelia, he knew. If anything, they were more dangerous. His fathers warnings of Lunarian subterfuge lingered in his mind, and he couldn’t shake the thought that this Priestess might have her own plans, plans that involved Amaya in ways he could not yet see.

Hearing one of the strangers speak, Flynn’s gaze reluctantly flicked from the chaotic murder scene before him to the man behind him—Valthyr. As he spoke, Flynn looked him over—a wild looking man, giant and towering over the entire group, ill-dressed, though not entirely appearing as someone from a barbarian tribe.

A faint crease between his brows formed at the mention of Valthyr not being blight-born, but nothing could have prepared him for what happened next. The giant man, who had been speaking so casually moments before, suddenly began to shrink before Flynn’s eyes.

His composure faltered for the briefest moment, hand moving to the hilt of his sword, but then, a cat—or something like it—emerged from the pile of clothing. As the cat approached and rubbed against him, he instinctively took a small step back. His initial reaction told him this man was blight-born, despite his earlier claim.

As the man shifted back into his human form, Flynn’s mind raced, searching for an explanation. If Valthyr was not lying, then this was a mastery of illusion magic. Only a handful of Sages had been able to alter their form so completely and that level of magic had not been seen for a century or more, according to the lengthy study of ancient texts he had endured. If this sort of magic was still obtainable, it was fascinating to say the least. Where had it been all this time?

Still, Flynn could not be sure that Valthyr wasn’t just lying—blight-born had many unique traits, with almost none of them sharing the exact same afflictions. There were too many variables to consider to take his word for it. Regardless, the stranger seemed to want to help. For now.

Flynn glanced toward the others in the group, taking a moment to assess their reactions before returning his focus to Valthyr. “I can provide you with something belonging to the Princess.” His suspicion lingered, though he couldn’t turn down the only offer that might actually lead him to Amaya.

”I would like to have this body, and what's left of the head. Sent back to the Alchemic Chambers. The other sages should be able to take some samples.”

Flynn’s attention snapped back to the murder scene, Nathaniel’s request pulling him back. His gaze flicked back and forth between Nathaniel and the body for a moment, realizing now that this stranger was a Sage who worked alongside Eris. His request to take it to the Alcehmy Chambers made sense, but something in Flynn’s gut told him it wasn’t as simple as that.

His mind drifted to the strict Lunarian funeral traditions, based heavily in spirituality. Lunarians were fiercely protective of their customs, especially concerning the dead. To allow a body—especially one as mangled as this one—to be taken for research would incite outrage, and Flynn couldn’t afford to add more fuel to the fire. The Lunarians were already on edge, the news of their Queen’s death still fresh, and this murder coupled with the missing Princess would only add to the tension. To add another offense to the already volatile mix could spark something dangerous.

His response was firm, his voice a bit colder than usual. “I cannot allow you to take the body,” he said, meeting Nathaniel’s eyes. “It is a violation against sacred Lunarian tradition.” His gaze flicked briefly to the Priestess, who looked as though she might pass out, barely registering what was going on. Whatever was going on with her, it would have to wait. Amaya took priority over all.

“The body will be taken to the temple. We will ensure that this soldier receives a proper send-off.” his eyes shifted to Nathaniel, “I need you to stay with the Priestess, help her get the body there. I trust you understand…”

Turning his attention, he locked eyes with Lord Coswain’s squire. “Daphne, stay with the Priestess as well. Protect them and assist in any way you can.”

Finally, his gaze moved back to Valthyr. Despite the bizarre circumstances surrounding the man’s transformation, he was now the only hope Flynn had at tracking down the Princess quickly—assuming he hadn’t been lying. “You’re with me,” Flynn gestured at the giant, still unsure of his name.

Reluctantly, he turned toward Ayel, knowing full well the complications of bringing him along. But Flynn could not afford to leave him unchecked. Not now. Not when everything felt as fragile as it did. Flynn would have to carry this burden, and keep Ayel close. “Ayel, I need you with me too.” he said, playing at Ayel’s ego by saying he was needed. Flynn knew all too well how to get the man to comply, which, at times, had made him feel guilty for the manipulation. But desperate times called for desperate measures…

Without another word, Flynn turned, signaling to Valthyr and Ayel to follow him as he began to follow the trail of footsteps leading into the forest. “Stay sharp.” he instructed as they trudged through the snow, it’s cold bite creeping up his legs. Shifting the torch to his nondominant hand, Flynn unsheathed his sword with his right, the cold metal a reassuring weight in his grip, ready for anything that might emerge from the darkness ahead.

---

_{Interactions: Ayel @Dezuel, Daphne @PrinceAlexus, Valthyr @Fetzen, Nathaniel @Echotech71, Katherine @SpicyMeatball}