The Muse

Realms of Sun & Shadow

Collab between @The Muse and @c3p-0h

Previous Day

Sometime around 1am | Location: The Royal Home

Part V

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

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

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

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

Ruined. That's what he was.

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

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

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

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

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

But Flynn had asked her to stay.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Amaya’s eyes drifted open.

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

I’ll stay. As I always have.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t see it.”

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

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

"She must know that. Give her time.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wanted. Amaya was wanted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Realms of Sun & Shadow

Collab between @The Muse and @c3p-0h

Previous Day

Sometime around 1am | Location: The Royal Home

Part III

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It had cost her everything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But not forever.”

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

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

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

It hurt too much to lose.

“I –”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Forever.”

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

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

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

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

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

Realms of Sun & Shadow

Collab between @The Muse and @c3p-0h

Previous Day

Sometime around 1am | Location: The Royal Home

Part I

---

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

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

Reaching the bottom step, he stilled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But she swallowed the thoughts down.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he hadn’t thought to include Amaya.

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

“It won’t happen again.”

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

He wanted her involved.

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

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

The silence stretched. The night only grew longer.

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

"It was a mistake."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Amaya kissed him and set herself aflame.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Realms of Sun & Shadow

Location: Alchemy Chambers

Eris stirred, her body aching as she slowly awoke, heavy blankets wrapped around her like a protective cocoon. Every muscle throbbed with exhaustion, the aftereffects of healing the Princess still weighing her down. Even with Ranni’s help, the strain had been immense, leaving both of them utterly spent. Amaya had been healed, though. It had been worth it.

Her breath came slow and steady, her limbs reluctant to move as she blinked open tired blue eyes. The world beyond her window was swallowed in a never-ending storm of heavy, drifting snowflakes. The moon’s glow was muted behind thick, unbroken clouds. The air in the room was cold despite the warmth trapped beneath the covers, and Eris barely had the strength to move under their weight.

Her eyes flicked toward the bedside table, where her journal lay open, pages filled with hastily scribbled notes. She blinked slowly, once, twice, struggling to piece together the fragments of her memory from the night before. It was all hazy, disjointed. She knew she left the royal cabin to find that guard—Charlotte Hawthorne—waiting for her amidst the snow. Charlotte had gladly walked her back to the Alchemy Chambers, but during the walk over… her mind had faded, memories getting lost along the way.

Her gaze lingered on the journal for a long moment, her thoughts sluggish, her head beginning to throb with the steady formation of a headache. A quiet groan escaped her lips as she shut her eyes, pulling the blankets over her head and curling in on herself.

Just a little longer.

But the thought was fleeting, and guilt crept in almost immediately. There was still so much to do—things to study, people to check on, problems to solve, a journey to prepare for. She couldn't lie here forever, no matter how heavy her limbs felt. With a weary sigh, she exhaled against the fabric of her blankets, knowing she couldn’t afford the luxury of staying in bed. Not today. Not ever.

Slowly pulling the blankets away from her face, Eris pushed herself upright, wincing as an ache traced its way from her palms to the back of her neck. Her gaze wandered back to the journal on the bedside table, and after a moment’s hesitation, she reached out and picked it up.

She didn’t remember writing them, but it must have been right after she returned from the royal residence—scrawled through the haze of exhaustion while the memories were still fresh. The pages detailed the healing process, noting the presence of ice and psychic magic in the Princess, and on Ranni’s troubling lack of control over the psychic abilities she must have gained through her transformation.

“Thank you, past Eris,” she muttered, begrudgingly swinging her legs out from under the warm cocoon of blankets and planting her feet on the cold wooden floorboards. With a shiver, she grabbed a soft, fuzzy grey blanket and wrapped it around her head and shoulders like a makeshift cloak.

She padded out of her room, moving slowly toward the living room. The air was freezing, and she needed to stoke the fire to return warmth to her weary bones.

As she rounded the corner, Eris froze, her heart skipping a beat at the unexpected sight—a figure sprawled out on her couch, buried beneath a heap of blankets. She gripped her own blanket tighter, breath catching as her eyes flicked to the familiar shield propped up against the couch. A strand of dark black hair peeked out from beneath the covers, and recognition set in.

“Charlotte?”

---

_{Interactions: Charlotte @SpicyMeatball}

Realms of Sun & Shadow

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_{Current Moon Phase: Waning Gibbous | Current Weather: 20F (-6C), heavy snowfall, complete cloud coverage | Current Time: 10am}

---

---

Overnight, the snowfall grew heavier, blanketing Dawnhaven and the surrounding forest in a thick layer of white. Storm clouds moved in, swallowing up what little light the moon could offer. As the snow continued to fall, snow piled upon rooftops and buried the paths carved through the streets, erasing footprints as quickly as they were made. Though the wind remained gentle, it never relented, carrying a biting chill that settled deep into the bones of those caught outside too long.

Amidst the storm, the guards retrieved the unidentified body from beneath the boulder, carrying its disfigured form through the snow-laden streets to the temple of Seluna. There, it was laid alongside the fallen guard from the blight-born attack. Judging by the victim’s clothing, they presumed he belonged to her and would see him off in accordance with Lunarian tradition.

As people awaken, Dawnhaven is quiet, muffled by the weight of snowfall and lingering dread that the blight-born attacker remained unfound. Though the streets had been reopened to citizens, security tightened. Heavier patrols swept the streets, and checkpoints stood as quiet sentinels, their watchful presence a constant reminder of the danger still lurking.

Realms of Sun & Shadow

Location: Northwestern Watchtower > Royal Residence

Eris exhaled a quiet laugh at Charlotte’s introduction, her lips curving into a small but genuine smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Hawthorne. But please, you may call me Eris. Truly, there's no need for such formalities.”

Hearing the familiar Aurelian accent in Charlotte’s voice struck something deep inside, a quiet ache she hadn’t realized was there. Home. She hadn’t known how much she’d missed it until now, standing beside someone who felt familiar in the smallest of ways. It was ridiculous, really. Charlotte was a stranger. And yet, something about her presence already made Eris feel a little lighter, as though the grip Aliseth had held over her had begun to fade.

But then came the reminder. They still hadn’t found the blight-born who attacked the Princess.

Eris’s heart sank, the weight of reality crashing back onto her shoulders. She wasn’t home. Nowhere near it. She was in Dawnhaven, surrounded by death and danger, with the pressure of the world’s future pressing suffocatingly against her chest. She'd wanted this. She'd asked for it.

Refocusing, she gave a stiff nod and turned to lead the way, shoving her hands deep into her coat pockets. Her fingers found Tia's hairpins once more, absentmindedly toying with them as she attempted to ground herself. Tension slowly coiled around her heart all over again—constricting, stabbing.

As they walked, silence stretched between them, but Eris wasn’t sure she had the energy to fill it. Her thoughts pulled her in too many directions at once. Her mind too full to think about asking Charlotte menial questions about herself. Eris' mother would have scolded her for the lack of poise, the lack of noble grace. Dawnhaven had clearly sucked out all her manners.

As they neared the royal residence, the door suddenly swung open. A guard rushed out, voice urgent as he addressed the one standing watch at the entrance.

"Where did the fuckin' S—" His words cut off the moment he spotted them, and relief washed over his face. "Oh, thank Aelios."

Eris hesitated for a moment, glancing between the two male guards nervously. Had they been waiting for her long?

"Miss Hightower. Please, get inside." One of them said, holding the door open for her.

Turning back to Charlotte, she gave the taller woman a small but deeply grateful bow. “Thank you for the escort, Miss Hawthorne…. and for…” Her words trailed off as she straightened to meet Charlotte’s steely blue eyes.

“For what you did.” A faint smile touched her lips as she held Charlotte’s gaze for a beat longer. Whether or not Charlotte would understand what she meant didn’t matter, though, a small piece of her hoped she would.

Without another word, she turned and entered the royal residence.

The guard holding the door looked at Charlotte, giving her a firm nod of acknowledgement. "Good work." he simply stated, before disappearing inside with Eris, shutting the door behind them.

---

_{Interactions: Charlotte @SpicyMeatball}

Realms of Sun & Shadow

Location: Northwestern Watchtower

Eris’ breath hitched as a firm grip curled around her wrist, guiding her hand down to her side. Her blue eyes snapped up in surprise, meeting the piercing gaze of a dark-haired female clad in Aurelian armor. Completely focused on Aliseth, Eris had hardly noticed the other guard approaching. She held the woman’s gaze, momentarily stunned. The woman’s expression was unwavering, yet there was empathy in her eyes. And a silent command to stand down.

As the woman released her grip, Eris’ attention lingered on her for a heartbeat longer, her pulse pounding in her ears. The gesture was a kindness, yet it left her feeling lost and helpless. As though her very purpose had been stripped away. It was her duty to de-escalate conflict—to bring reason where tempers flared.

Wasn’t it?

“I—” The word barely left her lips before it caught in her throat. Her protector had already turned away, her shield rising as she faced Aliseth. The moment had passed, leaving Eris adrift in the wake of something she couldn’t quite name.

Then the ground shifted.

She barely had time to react before the cobblestones rolled like waves beneath her feet, instantly sweeping both her and the Aurelian guard apart. A startled breath escaped her as she stumbled, her hands snapping out instinctively to steady herself against the tide.

Her eyes settled on the stone mason as he moved forward, unbothered by the earth he commanded. He moved between the two women like a force of nature, magic thrumming through the very ground itself. He didn’t spare them a glance, didn’t slow his stride. His focus was set entirely on Aliseth, and the air between them tensed like a bowstring ready to snap.

Eris felt magic build and crackle at her fingertips, cold and sharp, instinct screaming at her to prepare—to intervene. But her feet felt rooted in place, even as the ground settled. Her heart pounded as Elio’s fist rose, and she braced for impact.

But the retaliation never came.

Instead, an eerie stillness settled between the two men. Silence stretched unbearably, taut and electric. She flicked her gaze between them, breath caught in her throat. Waiting for the inevitable snap.

Eris bit her lower lip as her eyes darted to the Aurelian guard, an unspoken question lingering in the air. Should they interfere? Magic still hummed within her, eager to be unleashed, to freeze them both in place before it escalated further.

But then, Elio lowered his fist, and she exhaled a quiet breath.

His features were tight with frustration, but his voice, when it came, was low, edged with something deeper than just anger. Something Eris wasn’t privy to, but she could hear it in his tone. Could see it in the way he looked at Aliseth.

As Elio began to walk away, she watched him go, a mix of emotions tangled in her chest—relief, wariness, curiosity.

Just as she was about to turn her attention back to Aliseth, Elio’s gaze caught her. Amber eyes met blue in a way that felt different. A fleeting glance, barely enough to register, but it sent a jolt through her. His stare burned through her, sharp and assessing, leaving her feeling exposed. Heat rushed to her cheeks and she quickly tore her eyes away, desperate to focus on anything else.

She didn’t have time to dwell on it. Aliseth’s voice rang out—sharp, bitter, taunting. Anxiety coiled in her chest all over again.

Silently, she willed Elio not to turn back, her eyes locked onto his muscular back as Aliseth hurled insults his way. ‘Just keep walking…’ she thought, ‘Please…’

To her surprise, Elio continued away and something washed over her. Beneath all the bluster and fire, he had chosen restraint today. He had been provoked, but he had not struck.

She would remember that.

Pulling her gaze away from Elio’s retreating form, her attention shifted back to Aliseth just as he finished instructing the Aurelian guard to accompany her instead. Relief unfurled in her chest, as if a thorned vine loosened its grip around her heart. Aliseth had made her entirely too uneasy.

Still, she couldn’t help but wonder, did Aliseth truly have the authority to command this guard in such a way? Their armor alone revealed their allegiances to different nations. Had the guards already settled their ranks among themselves? Perhaps it was a matter of seniority. The woman looked younger than Aliseth—maybe she did fall under his jurisdiction.

When Aliseth gave her a parting bow, Eris returned it with a small, polite nod, murmuring a soft, “Thank you, guard Kain.”

Taking a steadying breath, she closed the small distance that had formed between her and the Aurelian woman due to Elio’s magic. The cobblestones no longer shifted beneath her, yet her steps still felt unsteady.

"Thank you," she said again, this time directed at the woman, her voice quiet but sincere. A small, hesitant smile crossed her lips. There weren’t words to fully express what the woman had done for her—how much that simple gesture had meant. Did the guard even realize? Likely not. Eris herself still wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about it. She only knew she wasn’t supposed to feel relieved about being stopped.

Her gaze flickered once more to Aliseth, his form vanishing into the dark, then to where Elio had disappeared down the street in the opposite direction. It felt safer already. Exhaling, she turned her gaze back on the guard and offered her hand. “Eris Hightower, Lead Sage of Dawnhaven.” Her name felt strange to say aloud after the tension of the encounter, but formality called.

With a small motion, she gestured to the royal residence behind them, its presence a reminder of where she should have been all along. “Guard Kain was to guide me back to the royals before… well, before this happened.” she paused, suddenly feeling awkward and foolish. “But I—I can make it back myself. I wouldn’t want to disturb you, if you have other duties.” she trailed off, glancing toward the large home in the distance.

It was right there. A short walk, maybe only five minutes away. She could manage.

"I was only trying to distract by asking him to continue escorting me," she admitted, her voice soft. “But really, it’s okay.”

She glanced toward the street again, then back to Charlotte, as if testing the logic of her own words. “It’s not like I’d be nabbed by a blight-born in such a short walk… with all the guards around… right?”

She meant it as a light hearted joke, to call herself out for having child-like fear. Or at least, she wanted to. But as the words hung between them, she wasn’t so sure.

---

_{Interactions: Aliseth @Dark Light, Elio @c3p-0h, Charlotte @SpicyMeatball}

Realms of Sun & Shadow

Location: Royal Residence

Flynn hesitated by the door after stepping out, lingering in the dimly lit hallway. Doubt gnawed at him—was he making the right decision by leaving them alone? He wanted to stay—wanted to make sure Amaya was all right, to keep Elara in check. But his sisters had always just needed time. Surely, Amaya and Elara would be the same. Given space, they’d work it out between themselves. They’d come around.

Exhaling softly, he nodded to the guard stationed outside the door before descending the stairs, his boots heavy against the wooden steps. Reaching the front door, he pulled it open, the cold air biting at his face and stealing away the last traces of warmth Amaya had left there.

Outside, an Aurelian guard stood in gleaming silver and gold armor, turning at Flynn’s arrival. The man inclined his head in a respectful bow.

“Your Highness,” he greeted.

Flynn returned the gesture with a nod. “Any updates?”

The guard’s expression remained hidden behind an expertly crafted helmet, “Nothing yet, but the entire force is combing the area. Lunarians included.” He gestured toward the outskirts of the forest, where torches flickered between the trees, casting long shadows as the soldiers scoured the terrain.

Flynn’s lips pressed into a fine line. The news was disappointing, but he tempered his frustration. His gaze drifted down the pathway leading into town, where darkness swallowed the road.

“There is one other matter,” the guard continued. “A prisoner has been taken in—thought you should know.”

Flynn’s attention returned to the guard, brows lifted slightly, waiting.

“A man was arrested for treasonous words against the crown,” the guard elaborated. “One of the champions of Aelios detained him.”

That caught Flynn’s attention.

The guard hesitated for a beat before adding, “I hear it was a…. puppeteer? Apparently he held a show at the Eye earlier?”

Flynn sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Of course. The man had been brave enough to insinuate treasonous words right to Flynn’s face—of course he’d be even bolder in front of others. Flynn would have to deal with this at some point, but not now.

He gave a small nod of acknowledgment. “Thank you.”

Stepping back inside, he paused before fully closing the door. “When the Priestess and Lady Hightower arrive,” he instructed firmly, “send them up immediately.”

The guard bowed his head in acknowledgment then resumed his watchful stance, scanning the dimly lit streets. Flynn closed the door behind him and exhaled, steadying himself.

For a moment, he lingered in the entryway, his mind racing. What if they never found the creature who attacked the princess? His heart clenched at the thought. Surely the guards could track the creature… couldn’t they?

Suppressing the building anxiety, he moved toward the living room, where the fire crackled in the hearth. The warmth was welcome, but it did little to ease him. He grabbed a nearby log and tossed it into the flames, watching as embers curled upward. He took his time, letting the minutes stretch to give Amaya and Elara more space upstairs, but his thoughts spiraled.

How could he better protect the town? How could he protect Amaya? What was one man to do against beings they barely understood—beings infinitely more powerful than them?

His hand raked through his tousled blonde hair as he stared into the fire, lost in thought. He needed to speak with Orion.

Minutes passed before he finally turned to leave, but as he reached the living room entry, nearby footsteps echoed down the stairs. He paused, glancing toward the staircase just as Elara appeared, stone-faced and formal as ever. She descended quickly, her posture rigid, and without a word, she swept past him and out the front door.

Flynn frowned as his gaze followed her. He hadn’t expected her to leave. Elara had rarely left Amaya’s side in the months they’d been here. What had shifted?

His gaze lingered on the closed door for a moment before he finally turned, ascending the stairs. The guard still stood outside Amaya’s door, standing at attention as Flynn approached.

Reaching for the doorknob, he froze at the sound of the front door opening again.

Flynn exchanged a glance with the guard before stepping toward the banister, peering down to see who had just entered.

---

_{Mentions: Elara/Orion @Qia, Amaya @c3p-0h, Gadez @Dezuel}

Realms of Sun & Shadow

Location: Northwestern Watchtower

Eris stood frozen, her breath shallow as she strained to hear the muffled voices coming from the watchtower above. The first voice, a woman's, was unfamiliar, but the second, a man's voice, carried with it a distinct, rough edge that she recognized immediately.

Elio, the town’s mason. A man built like the stone he carved.

Her interactions with him had always been brief, but every single one of those had made her feel...flustered. It wasn’t just his towering stature or the way he dominated every space he entered. It was the way he seemed to enjoy making her uncomfortable. As if he took pleasure in watching her squirm.

Her hand rose to her chest, fingers trembling as she pressed them against her racing heart. Her feet still wouldn’t move. Couldn’t move.

She watched as Elio approached Aliseth with an intensity that sent a wave of dread through her. The look in his eyes was different than any expression she'd ever seen on him before—dark, cold. She bit her lower lip as Elio tapped his fingers against Alisesth’s head, her heart suddenly feeling as if it had stopped.

For a second, her mind raced. The Princess had gone missing on Aliseth's watch? It wasn't just his friend who had been involved in this? But then Elio met her eyes. She held her breath, unable to tear her eyes away.

Then, without warning, Aliseth struck. The punch landed squarely on Elio’s jaw, and Eris gasped, her eyes widening.

The shock jolted her out of her frozen state, and before she could even think, her body moved forward without hesitation, instinctively falling into the role she had played all her life—the peacekeeper.

Her magic surged to life like a sudden storm, coiling around her fingers, rippling outward in a sudden, chaotic rush. The wind bent to her command, swirling around her hands, lifting snow in wild, twisting spirals.

A burst of air slammed into both men, pressing against their chests, not with violence, but with undeniable force. It held them upright, driving them backwards and sending them sliding several feet across the snow-covered ground. They remained on their feet, but separated, the path between them fully cleared of snow by Eris’ intervention.

She stood between them now, breathless, palms raised to both of them. Her heart thudded against her chest, wild and erratic, but her voice cut through the chaos with surprising clarity.

“Stop this!" she pleaded, her eyes locking onto Aliseth’s. She could feel the pulse of her magic still flowing through her fingers, though the air that had wrapped around the two men had subsided.

“Please,” she continued, her gaze softening slightly as she searched his eyes. Where had the man gone that had been so kind to her? “There’s no need for this…”

She lowered her hands, turning her body to fully face the guard who had been both her savior and her captor only moments ago. “We should be working together,” she added quietly. ”For your friend… right?”

She took a small step towards him, her gaze unwavering. “Please, just…” She paused for a breath, trying to calm her unsteady heart. “Just take me back to the royal residence.”

Only slightly trembling, she reached out a delicate hand towards him. “Please, Aliseth?” she whispered, her hand hovering in the air, waiting, offering him the connection once more.

---

_{Interactions: Aliseth @Dark Light, Elio @c3p-0h, Charlotte @SpicyMeatball}

Realms of Sun & Shadow

Location: Northwestern Residential Area

The closer Elara and Eris drew to the royal estate, the thicker the guard presence became. Kira slowed her pace before eventually stopping altogether, unwilling to get caught up in their increasing activity. Pulling up her hood, she melted into the shadows of the treeline, trying to keep out of view. She had no interest in lingering near the royals’ home, but she remained long enough to watch Elara slip inside with the Sage—long enough to ensure nothing else lurking in the dark took notice of her first.

Only then did she shift, moving into the quiet residential streets to position herself on the opposite side of the estate.

Leaning against a tree near a flickering torchlight, Kira settled into her post. Hidden in plain sight, she made no effort to conceal herself—simply another figure taking a rest in the cold. She watched the guards fan out in disciplined patterns, carving paths through the deep snow, and lighting the edge of the forest with lanterns that sent shadows scattering. It was an impressive display of order, but one Kira had no interest in being part of. Not anymore, anyway.

Snow gathered atop her hood as time stretched on, layering itself over her as she stood motionless. Her breath remained slow, steady, visible in the frigid air.

After some time, she saw the Sage re-emerge in a rush. Kira tracked Eris' movements as she rushed toward the town square, her urgency plain. For a moment, curiosity tugged at her. Whatever was happening beyond the estate’s walls had set Eris moving with uncommon speed. But she let it pass, remaining in place, content to let Hightower reach her destination alone.

After a few minutes, the sharp sound of three alarm bells pierced through the still night air. A warning. A summons to find shelter.

Kira wrinkled her nose in distaste. The sound was a clear sign that she should probably get inside—lest the guards take notice of her lingering presence and start asking questions. The thought of being interrogated was a mild nuisance at best, but there was another thought, darker and more primal. ‘And if they came alone?’

An easy snack. A chance to satisfy the thing stirring, irritated, beneath her skin.

She shoved the thought down before it could take hold. Instead, her gaze remained locked on the royal residence in the distance. Something rooted her here, something far less dismissible than idle curiosity. Instinct. Hunger.

She had let her meal slip into that home, and though she had no intention of acting on the impulse, the knowledge of it held her in place. The predator inside was still awake, still aware, waiting to see if its prey would return into the night. Patient as ever.

Time continued its slow, steady march, and Kira remained, still as a statue. She watched not only the estate, but everything. She tracked the guards movements, the paths they created, the orders they followed. With every passing second, she committed their routes to memory—not out of necessity, but habit.

Hearing movement, her eyes flicked to her right. A guard, trudging through the snow, pulling someone along by the hand. Kira focused, narrowing her gaze. It took only a second to recognize the figure in his grip. Lady Hightower, returning not longer after she had gone.

Her brow lifted slightly. Eris’ heart was hammering in her chest, an anxious rhythm that carried across the snow. Odd. The Sage had always been skittish in Kira’s presence, but never like this.

‘Something’s wrong.’

Kira didn’t move, didn’t reveal herself—just observed, quiet as the shadows themselves.

The guard released the Sage once they reached a watchtower, stepping away and leaving her behind. But Eris didn’t move. Didn’t run. Yet, Kira could still hear her heart pounding frantically.

Her fingers twitched at her side, but her attention split the moment she heard a door open.

Her head snapped toward the royal residence. Elara.

Kira’s brows pulled together. She hadn’t been inside long, and yet there she was again, stepping back into the night. Kira tilted her head slightly, watching as Elara seemingly dismissed her guards.

A slow, disappointed exhale left her lips. Sending them away was foolish.

The predator stirred, unfurling like a shadow across her mind. Malicious excitement poured into the hollows of her chest, filling all the empty space that Elara had carved.

Her entire nervous system sparked to life, but Kira remained unmoving, almost afraid to take a single step away from the base of the tree.

Her gaze darted between the two situations before her. Eris and the guard. Elara and the darkened path leading away from the royal estate.

Her eyes found Elara once more. Pupils dilated. She took a step forward.

“Oy, you heard the bell?”

Kira went still, a sharp spike of anger cutting through her. Slowly, she turned, her fiery gaze locking onto the guard who had dared to interrupt her. She said nothing, only seared him with a glare that she wished could have reduced him to cinders.

“Get inside. That’s what it means. What you hanging ‘round for then?”

---

_{Mentions: Elara @Qia, Aliseth @Dark Light}