Self-proclaimed pinnacle of the world? The audacity! How dared he presume that he had not earnt his rightful title fairly!

The nobleman's eyebrows had furrowed, he knew he had a certificate if his right of suxh a title. Paying those judges at the beauty contests so they could see reason had been well spent. But this overbearing brute before him now, had asked a question so dumb, that it left the nobleman at a loss of words. Ofcourse Aelios herself had a hand in his noble creation, how else would anyone explain his magnificent looks? He was sculpt in the image of a god.

"Oh you thickheaded, ill-mannered and poppycock induced brute. Of course Aelios had a hand in my creation. Perfection at it's finest. As for why the skies are dark can be two things, one being that Aelios is testing her chosen or the other is that some underhanded filthy barbarians and their bitch of a moon witch have attacked my goddess out of jealousy!" Ayel clarified, holding up on of his noble fingers as if making a very good point. Regardless if it were one or not.

"I am exquisite. You have that part right, perhaps your master taught you something that latched on. Hm. And my lotions and skin products are top quality. Unlike your parentage. Your father was likely a drunk mountain ape and your mother sone form of crossbreed of an oaf and a hag-witch!" He held out his accusing finger towarda Valthyr, that would surely show him the superiority of all things Aurelian.

The wicked barbarian then discarded his clothes, the disgusting fat pig! The unsightly unwashed ogre!

"Defilement of scenery! Cease your disgusting actions at once! I will not hesitate to make an example of you!"

The pale man spoke in a threatening, if not abit uneasy tone. He didn't want to put in effort to use his magic on some peasant, they were clearly beneath him. Despite how tall they were. Why were all these lesser creations of thw gods trying to pester him so? He was a lover, albeit a self-appreciating lover, but a lover no less, not a fighter. That was for more brawn and less brain people.

Ayel's mind quickly wandered to Flynn. He had been the perfect example of muscle and getting things done. Had his royal highness had been born a servant, he would have made an excellent butler. While Ayel had been pre-occupied with himself, a thing which often took both time and priority, that unsavory man which had disrobed had begun to assume his true form. He was seemingly planning to leap at his noble fairness, taking advantage of it's beastly blood no doubt.

The Marquess raised his hands in defense, but the other big brute. Igor? Izor? He could remember, had grappled the beast in a display of true uncivilized barbarianess and was actually proving himself useful.

Cutting wood? This lumbering oaf was a lumberjack. A dumb lumberjack. Perfect. Wait. Did he. Call him Marcus? That inbred insufferable-

He could use this oaf to cur down the surrounding forest and have the dim creature build a palisade to keep the noble secrion of Dawnhaven safe from the poor.

But he couldn't ponder on the plan as Persephone and Sya were both present and seemingly craved his reprimands.

'Those self-harming apes are embracing their own suffering! Sickly beasts!' He thought before lashing out.

"Be the better man? I am -clearly- the best man. Not just for Dawnhaven, but for making sure that my friend, the prince's future kingdom is not ruined by some jealous moon-worshipping hag-hugging apemen. And you will address me as Lord Raunefeldt you withering, wrinkly old sag-bag!" Ayel grit his teeth and pointed at Persephone. "Rest assured that the prince will receive my full report of this lack of respect shown to his childhood friend. You'll be hanging by the gallows at the end of the week. "

The nobleman's eyes narrowed. How dared they team up on him. Then again. He was a proud, strong and handsome man. They had to band together with their foul appearance and schemes to have a chance no doubt.

Then Sya had spoken to him, he felt uneasy as he beheld the unnatural abomination. But even more so, he had no idea what she were saying. Causing the man to squint and tilt his head slightly.

"What in Aelios name is this creature even saying? Shut your twin-tongued mouth! La la la! I am not listening!" Ayel reached up and tried to put his fingers into his ears.

"You are an abomination! A monster! It's a sin for you to even exist! Just you wait, King Auric will drive you all away back to the cave you came from!" He removed his fingers from his ears, still looking agitated, breathing heavily. Being upset was way too taxing on his noble mind. He was made for refined things after all, not speaking with these...animals.

@Beard Dad@PrinceAlexus@Fetzen

Gadez's ghostly blue eyes had followed Aliseth the moment he had come into view, the blond man couldn't help but smirk then softly chuckle as he heard what Aliseth had to say.

"Ahh, my favorite guessing game. Whose there? A fool's brother? A lost originator? A trapper? The heir of the Lunaris throne? Aelios replacement in the making? It could be anything or nothing. Well… ought not a guard to know about these things? Whom is kept in here and for what reason hm? Well, in your particular case… it can be excused as you've no doubt been quite pre-occupied lately." He said softly, his left hand wandering to rest by his waist.

"After all.. you were one of the five which walked off with the princess. Two guardsmen, a servant, a cat and a mangy mutt. I must say it is quite amusing to see that you've found yourself in here, after said princess were attacked. Is it because of your failure during that particular event? Or perhaps some other reason? Well, you did come across as... lacking, so I suppose it was inevitable that you would find yourself here. But the fault also lies with the princess who allowed such a thing to happen. We are all held responsible for our own actions to which there are reactions." The blond man traced his right hand through his hair, his eyes never leaving Aliseth. How Dawnhaven was spoiling him with visitors, and he had no tea to offer neither. What a pity.

"The chain of events which lead us all forwards. Destiny if you wish. It is quite different from fate, which is a belief that everything is pre-ordained and our choices doesn't matter in the end. As for my crime? Oh simply a promise of regicide coupled with something which keeps people from sleeping at night. Truth." He snickered as he allowed his own finger trace down his jawline.

"Better ask yourself, what has given you the audience with one such as I? Surely not your ineptitude? As for whom I be? A dear child bear many a name. But you may know me as Gadez. Good thing those bars are there to protect you from a being so frightful as myself. Might be wise to keep your fingers off those bars, you'll never know… I might bite. So what am I to call you? Guard dog? Zephyros seems to be permanently relieved. What a relief. Truly." He gave a taunting smirk, satisfaction on his face as he watched Aliseth.

@Dark Light

@PrinceAlexus@Dezuel

Aliseth

---

Town Jail

---

"-We are all held responsible for our own actions to which there are reactions."

"But are we?" Aliseth questions, a contemplative frown showing he didn't entirely agree. He open his mouth to say more and then spotted Daphne and closed it.

Fingers still lingering on the bars he thoughtfully adds.
"I noticed you didn't eat your cracker, how about the young lady gets you a meal fit for your station, some warm meats, some gravy and vegetables. Then maybe you will be less inclined to try bite me, although." He grins widely as he learns his forehead against the metal cage, steel slicing the air as he draws his blade. "I wholeheartedly welcome you to try."

With that said, he turns his gaze to Daphne and gives her a nod, eyes growing serious as he patiently awaits her to follow out the order. After a further moment he pulls away from the bars and continues to pace.
"Gadess, can't say I've heard the name before. Perhaps that is because no one speaks of you. As for what brought me here, let's just call it... destiny.

His eyes were no longer on the prisoner, but casually cast down to the floor. His feet more precisely, his heavy boots seemingly of more interest.

"Which king do you plan on killing?" he asks with a sudden casual lightness, like enquiring which book the prisoner might prefer.

_{Location: In the woods
Interacting with: Ivor (@Beard Dad)
Mentions: Sya (@PrinceAlexus), Ayel (@Dezuel), Flynn (@The Muse)}

---

At first, the giant wolf jerked and twisted his fur-clad head to try and see who had actually dared to grab him like that, but after the first surge of adrenaline (and anger) was over, he realized that there was only one who might have pulled that kind of thing off anyway. It didn't make Valthyr dislike it any less, but at least this Ivor guy had had the gratitude of telling about where they were headed to. At some point the wolf even started putting his feet back on the ground to help the giant support him.

And yet he still growled when released, showing off the set of teeth that could have snapped off a man's arm in one or two bites. Everybody had already seen him naked, so no hesitance to shift back to human for some talking due to that. The real reason why the druid waited for a few moments was because he'd lose all the protective fluff!

"You blithering..." What kind of word should he even throw at Ivor ? 'Idiot' sounded a bit too harsh now that he had had the entire, slow stroll towards the forest worth of time to try and think himself into the other man's position. Still it had to be something harsh because the sheer amount of blunders was just pretty obvious! "...anomalous... mountain!" The words were gurgled again at first, then slowly returned to normal. Sadly though, the freezing cold now crept in just as quickly and made his next words accompanied by mild shuddering.

"Do you even realize what you've done ? Do you really think I'd be such an idiot to sink my teeth into this malicious retard ? I merely wanted to cuddle him so he'd go away and stop pestering us, but now that I couldn't do that he will think that I wanted to kill him and yes, I am sure he will try and talk to the prince himself about this, his 'bestest friend'. He already tried that yesterday while it was me who helped protect this place from some blight born creature while looking for the killer of this elderly soldier!"

Valthyr could feel the temperature sapping his warmth. That happening to his feet for a day was one thing, but to his entire body was something entirely different and a lot, lot worse. Was it even more cold today than before ?

"Who thinks will make Sya's chair once I am in jail for something I didn't do just because the big mistake of carrying the idea of 'nobility' -- Valthyr committed to a quite vitriolic gesture at this point -- over to this place was made ? While it was meant to be the shattering of old, worn-out traditions that didn't age well otherwise, of course! I find that rather disappointing, you don't ? And now this Ayel has all the time to throw insults at Sya as well by the way because neither you nor I are left to just force him to stop by means he will understand. Great!"

By now, the decrease of a certain environmental parameter had reached Valthyr's reproductive organs which made him try and shield them by crossing his flat hands in front of them. He had not really been shouting before, but from this point onwards it became increasingly difficult to even just understand him through all the shaky movements.

"You could have had at least the idea of taking my clothes along with me, then I would not have to do the woodcutting completely naked and have the most infernal cold afterwards. Not to mention that walking around naked in town will make me a laughing stock at best and a complete idiot on average. Now will you at least just wait for me to get that tree over there down ? Yes you could probably just tear it down but what am I going to do with a piece of shattered trunk ?"

Presenting his rear end towards Ivor for the lack of alternatives, Valthyr tried to get to work the best he could. His hand ploughed through the snow in search of anything that felt like a rock, but his fingers were turning numb so quickly that first few items he dug up were nothing but dirt falling apart. He then finally found a small rock and slammed it into the tree's bark. Never before had he cared less about a permit to do what he'd do now. The carvings started to glow in a dim, violet hue almost as quickly as he made them. He formed a circle around the tree's stem, but at an angle.

Then there was nothing left to do but wait. Very impatiently. The druid sat down onto the ground were some loose bushwork still clang to life, then tried to make himself as small and huddled up as possible. "Do me a favor and give me back that fur that Ayel tossed at me. I disapprove of you repaying your life debts by grabbing me throughly enough that I think you owe me something!"

Meanwhile, the first suspicious sounds could be heard from the tree. Beneath the carvings, the wood appeared to deteriorate in a very thin layer across the trunk.

"Just wait, it'll slide off and topple over by itself at some point. Can talk about that kind of magic later if you wish..."

Nathaniel looked down at the gem resting in Eris' palm, his hand raised up placing his palm under the back of her hand. There was a hint of curiosity in his gaze, then his gaze lifted up to meet Eris. ”It's a beautiful looking gem. But something is off.” he paused, brow furrowing. ” This gem is well cut, whoever left it perhaps they took it to a gem cutter. Not to mention since they left it in care, it'll likely have magic purposes…

Nathaniel smiled slightly Apologies for the ramble. But that requires knowledge of that sort of thing.

“If there is magical purpose to it… I can’t seem to feel it.” Eris said softly, staring down at the gem, brows drawn in thought—barely registering the warmth of Nathaniel’s hand beneath hers.

These days, it was hard to tell whether her magical sense was faltering due the disappearance of Aelios… or simply from her own exhaustion.

Or, perhaps, nothing was wrong at all and there was truly nothing there to feel within the stone.
Still…

She closed her hand around the gem and slipped it back into her coat pocket, fingers brushing against folded parchment hidden within. Something she hadn’t noticed sitting underneath the gemstone until Penelope had lifted the stone to test for enchantment traps.

In her quarters, under candle light, she’d read the note with Penelope. Then again. And again.

The handwriting itself seemed to be feminine—albeit rather messy.
But the content was… the musings of a madman. Or perhaps an imaginative writer.

It contained a vivid account of someone touching the gemstone, paired with sketches of strange runes in the margins. Two Eris recognized. The rest were entirely foreign.

Neither she nor Lady Rovella had felt—or saw—anything upon touching the stone. And neither knew what to make of the note.

It was… something. And someone had left it specifically for her, unwilling to be caught.
But why—and who?

For now, Eris felt it best to keep the note to herself.

With her hand still closed around the gem in her pocket, it warmed against her palm as she spoke again.

“Perhaps the stonemason might know about the type of stone it is,” She murmured to herself in thought, stepping past Nathaniel and returning to the hearth. “It seems valuable… strange to leave it behind.”

Nathaniel turned as he watched Eris walk past him, he could tell what she was doing, he saw that gleam, that spark of intrigue that causes the person's thoughts to rapidly collect. Amongst the other sages he worked with in Aurelia. The only thing to do was wait.

Bit by bit, her thoughts began to spiral—obsess. The instinct to retreat rose quickly. To isolate, to lock herself away in the upper quarters of the tower where her private collection of books, herbs, potions and lab equipment could keep her company.

But etiquette held her in place.

She turned to face Nathaniel and Nesna, hands still buried in her coat pockets. “Well… would either of you like some tea while we wait for Guard Hale and Hawthorne to return? I should prepare some for them. It’s so dreadfully cold…”

Nathaniel was caught a bit off guard by that question. He thought that would involve something to do with this gemstone. Certainly not tea. Perhaps there was something a bit more. His eyes kept on Eris then on Lady Rovella. Nathaniel had some knowledge on what kind of character she was.

”Tea would be nice, thank you. Likely when the others come back they'll need a hot brew of tea to help chase the cold away.”

“Yes, yes please,” Nesna seconded.

Eris offered a small smile, already stepping toward a kitchen nook tucked just around the corner. Opening a cabinet, she retrieved a tin of dried leaves—begrudgingly choosing not to use the last drop of her magic to brew it this time.

“This gemstone that was left behind, was there anything else? Something that could be used as instructions? It would seem rather redundant to give someone an objective without the guidance or knowledge of how to use it.”

Eris faltered, nearly letting the tin slip through her fingers. She bit her lower lip and stared at the water as she filled the kettle.

Lying had never come easy. Goddess, she hated it.

But it was for the best… right?
The note could be nothing and then she’d gone and worked everyone up for no reason…

“Instructions…. no…” she said after a pause, voice thoughtful.

It wasn’t a lie. The note didn’t read like instructions of any kind. It barely even made sense.
And thankfully, she’d managed to avoid directly answering the true question.

“You think they left it to give me an objective? To…. use it?” She leaned back to peer around the corner, meeting his gaze curiously before disappearing again behind the wall and returning to the tea.

A few moments later, she made her way back to the hearth, kettle in hand. Quietly, she set the kettle onto an iron hook over the fire and watched as the flames licked at the bottom.

“Perhaps it’s…. symbolic?” she murmured, considering his idea. “Or… a gift?”

She cringed at the idea, shaking her head. That had to be wrong. What an odd way to receive a gift, if it was.

Burying her hands in her coat pockets, she let her fingers brush gently against the smooth, faintly warm gemstone.
With the way it’d be left for her, it felt less like a gift… and more like a warning.

Her eyes lifted to Nathaniel, studying him—perhaps for a moment too long as her mind shifted through thoughts.

He was meant to be her counterpart. A fellow Sage, highly accomplished. Someone to lessen the burden of it all. And so far, he’d tried. He’d sat beside her and helped plan out the expedition, scribbled lists by candlelight, and asked thoughtful questions.

Guilt settled heavy in her chest.

Maybe it was time she let the other Sages help her. Maybe she owed him a chance.

Her eyes shifted to Nesna—still standing politely off to the side, wings tucked closely to her body. Despite the blight-born’s perfectly pleasant demeanor, unease still remained sharp in the back of Eris’ mind. Deliberately, she’d been keeping her distance the entire time, careful not to pass within arms reach.

“Nathaniel… ” Her voice came softly as she returned her attention to him, expression unreadable. “May I speak with you… privately? For a moment.”

Nathaniel paused momentarily as his gaze shifted to her, his eyes locking on hers, then he nodded to her. “Of course Eris.” he said softly to her.

“Lead the way.”

_{Location: Outside the Temple of Seluna (Before the tree of remembrance)}

---

---

Even as Orion approached her, Céline’s eyes remained fixated on the freshly carved name. Her ear was the only acknowledgement, twitching outward reflexively to the crunching snow. His footsteps fell just a few paces short behind her as he resumed his place as her vigilant steward. She wondered if others felt his presence to be an omen with how stoic his demeanor was. How his eyes, almost gargoyle-like, pierced through the very soul. Even now, still feeling as little from him as she did, Céline felt no doubts about the enigmatic soul who took her under his cloak. His words, however, did give her pause.

As he finished speaking, she turned her head towards him, truly looking at the man and considering him. What had Orion been before he became a lightborn? Was he of nobility and always had been an advisor? A leader? Did he make enemies and if so, who would want him to disappear? Before she could speak, Elara began to approach from the other side and requested Céline’s knife to add another name. WIthout hesitation and an encouraging nod, Céline respectively over the blade and watched as the name Lena was carved into the bark.

Unfortunately there was little time to appreciate it as another disturbance nearby caught everyone’s attention. A red-headed woman had fallen nearby, more than likely slipped on the ice. Instinct directed Céline to help this woman, but Orion was on her faster, ready to render her aid. Fortunately to her relief, upon inspecting the woman from a distance, her pride seemed far more damaged than her body. This was only made more evident as the maiden quickly rose to her feet only to lower herself back into prostration.

The anxiety emanating from this woman was palpable, strong enough to make Céline wonder if Orion could feel it too as he seemed to shift uncomfortably. The whole situation reminded her of what he had said to her earlier that morning about titles and polishing egos. It was ridiculous enough to elicit a light-hearted laugh, one she tried to stifle behind a gloved hand; rather poorly. She didn’t feel alone though, she could almost hear laughter beside her, and as she turned her gaze towards Elara, she realized the voice was not her own.

The blightborn processed Elara’s emotions, somewhere between happiness and melancholy; not quite bittersweet, but fragile as a rose. It seemed whatever was there was too much for the young woman though as she stuffed the memory down with abandon. It felt like the equivalent of packing a bedtrunk haphazardly, unsure of where to put the memory, just so long as it was out of mind. Who had caused her such pain? Was it related to the name carved on the tree or were they still here?

Céline wasn’t left to ponder it for long as the sound of two more pairs of boots began to approach their entire group. Two soldiers, one from each nation, first approached Orion, undoubtedly with some kind of important business. Then the two made their way towards the rest of them, directing their attention towards Elara and announcing they were to be her new chaperones. Given the severity of everything that happened yesterday, it was warranted, even the stares Céline was receiving from the guards. Fortunately her guide doubled back to save her one last time before saying his farewells.

As Orion’s crimson eyes fell on her, Céline smiled and nodded, “I imagine we will as well.” she paused, staring at him, she confirmed she still felt no doubt about him, no hesitation that he wouldn’t offer recourse. “Thank you, for being such an amiable and informative guide, I look forward to our next meeting.” Turning her attention towards the two handmaidens she asked, “If you’re heading back to town, perhaps I could join you, seeing as my guide has been whisked away,” her gaze wandered over the two guards, “Assuming your guardians hold no objections of course.”

---

_{Interacting with: Orion, Elara @Qia}

Eyes the color of torchlight scanned the stones in the path, measuring the seams between them, checking for inadequacies, gauging the smoothness of the surface that they created together in a web that connected all of Dawnhaven. Elio catalogued all the little details out of habit — but they weren’t truly where his attention lay.

The soft, almost hesitant crunching of snow signaled an approach. A hazy shadow darkened the stones under Elio’s watchful gaze.

The Priestess.

Elio cast his eyes up to her and almost expected her to flinch away — she was such a meek little thing, shivering in the cold.

But she didn’t flinch. She didn’t look away. No, instead the quiet Priestess held his gaze, nervous but watchful. Elio let the silence drag out between them, let the weight of his attention press on her like layers of sediment. He didn’t bother to hide the way he looked her over, eyes trailing over her features. The softness. The way her cheeks and nose went pink in the cold. The heavy, oversized robes they’d wrapped her in.

The long rope of hair that now draped over her shoulder, shining and golden with a small black tie at the end.

Her slender fingers tightened nervously around the book and pen she’d used to communicate whenever she lost confidence in her rasping voice.

Elio looked lazily up her body again, finding those dark eyes. They widened slightly, her cheeks growing darker.

She was so sweet that Elio could feel his teeth rotting. Or at least she acted sweet. She was still clergy, and there was still that rumor/propaganda piece about her saving some brat from certain death, but she seemed so… naive. Ill-equipped to handle the Lunarian chill and shadows, the flash of teeth and blades lurking just beyond the edge of what was visible.

Obedient, too — she’d blithely followed him, a much larger stranger, into a dark alley so he could… fix her hair? She’d bought that? Granted, Elio’d used flimsier excuses to get someone alone before, but his partner usually knew what game they were playing and how it would end. But this one… she flinched like a rabbit whenever Elio let his touch get a little forward. Even more bizarrely, she’d almost seemed to relax into the moment, the tension melting away bit by bit from her slim shoulders when Elio had actually begun to braid.

She was a soft touch. Soft hair, too — hair that was pale as the sunrise, when Elio was fairly certain Ember Islanders exclusively had dark hair. Maybe her blood was mixed like his.

It’d all been a little too peaceful. So, if Elio wasn’t gonna get a fuck, maybe he could pick a fight — just to see what got her worked up.

Aurelians could be a tedious bunch — prim and proper, too quick to hide behind ideals or courtesy when shit could just be dealt with by laying a fucker out. That blindingly golden Champion had been a shining example, letting Elio talk all the shit he wanted while she locked down her annoyance and tried not to stomp away.

He’d expected the Priestess to wilt in his hands when he decided to get a little mean — or maybe she’d finally drop the act and finally show off how lordly and sun-touched she was in the face of her methods and ideals being questioned.

But instead… something interesting happened. She did whither beneath his prodding questions at first. But then she’d argued. Stood her ground, with her notebook and pen — she’d even used that frail little voice of hers, shattered by whatever she was hiding beneath that scarf.

The thing that caught him most off guard though, was that she’d apologized to him on behalf of that precious Church of hers. And then…

The Moon has had the sky to Herself for over a year now in Lunaris. Are Her people better for it?

He saw her words in his mind — he could almost hear them in her wispy voice.

She stood before him, lit by the golden haze of torches as snow drifted gently around her. After a long moment… the corner of her mouth twitched up in an awkward, shy smile — like an offering.

Elio huffed out a breath, his own lips curling up slightly as he raised an eyebrow.

So, maybe the little sunspot was more than a pair of big eyes and golden robes. Or maybe she was just a useful idiot for the Church who actually believed in what she was saying.

Either way… not quite what he was expecting from a High Priestess of Aelios. And Elio just loved discovery.

So what’s got your heart bleeding for a man accused of treason?

A voice like a bouncing bell lilted through the air.

The Priestess beside him jumped before settling herself. Elio drew a lazy gaze to the source of the noise.

It was that woman — looked to be little more than a girl, really. Flouncy and bright as champaign bubbles, with mismatched hair, and in a much better mood than when Elio had seen her this morning, all but fleeing from the prison.

She’d been to see Gadez. Apparently the meeting hadn’t gone well.

Elio briefly entertained the idea of adding ‘attempted treason’ to his arsenal of seduction tools, before remembering it would be pointless to add any more because he was already naturally stacked.

Then this Anora asked about Astaros because of fucking course. What, another tryst? Some noble girl chasing after him? Her name rang a bell, but that was mostly annoying — if he only vaguely remembered a name it likely meant the person attached was more irksome than entertaining. The last Elio had seen, Astaros had been lording over his cold little wife as they left the Commanders’ tent and headed into town, but he didn’t feel much like sharing that yet.

He managed not to roll his eyes as he looked back to the Priestess, who —

Seemed very uncomfortable suddenly. Well that was interesting. Her cheeks lost some of their color as her shoulders drew up like a startled cat and she looked back at Anora with wide eyes.

She just stared for a bit, watching Anora as Elio watched her. Then she seemed to realize that the silence was stretching on longer than was polite (Aurelians) and blinked back up to Elio — like she was surprised he hadn’t answered for the both of them yet.

Elio raised an eyebrow.

The Priestess snapped her eyes back to Anora and seemed to remember that she was the one with ‘authority’. Elio idly watched the way the light shifted across her braid as she brought up her notebook to write. If nothing else, this one was at least interesting to watch as she tried to navigate conversations in shy, perplexing ways.

She seemed to pull together some semblance of clergical dignity as she straightened out her shoulders and lifted her notebook with a polite smile that struggled to meet her eyes.

I apologize, but I haven’t seen him today. Was there something I, or the Church could assist you with instead?

The Priestess glanced up at Elio like she was suddenly remembering something.

Or perhaps the stonemason here, Mister Azkona?

How sweet. She remembered his name as she offered him up as a potential sacrifice.

Elio’s lips curled into a relaxed smile with cutting edges as he cast his gaze over Anora.

---

_{Interactions: Anora Raunefeldt @Dezuel}

Somewhere around the woods to dawnhaven.
A horse wagon sped along the woods on the path leading to dawnhaven. Its conductor, a grizzled man in his fifties named Gunther drove his horses like mad, whipping the reins again and again. A dirty lantern hung around the wagon front shining a weak cone of light upon the road ahead.
He passed a ruined wagon without paying any mind, such sights had become frequent as the number of blight born abominations increased.
"Accursed creatures, but don't worry my dear Selina, father's coming. Soon we'll meet again."
The conductor was originally a lunarian farmer born in a small village near Durantel, as is the case for most such communities, life was unpleasant but they held on, forming close, tight knit communities to help each other survive winter.

When news of the blight first spread most villagers paid it no mind for their kingdom was strong, they had delt with Aurelian invaders for centuries how could they not face a mere few monsters? Oh how wrong they were.
As news of the blight crept closer people begun to leave, at first a trickle then a torrent. Entire villages became ghost towns but not their village. They had toiled the land for centuries and where still far from the blight, furthermore they were near Durantel. Surely the royal forces stationed there would look out for them?

In the depth of night on a Saturday night doom would fall upon Gunther's village as a horde of bligh-twisted ravaged through the area. Their mere palisade proved useless against them and soon they where overrun. The man only surviving after being buried in the cellar by burning debris.
It took him three days to dig himself out at which point all was gone. The town, his house, his wife and his children.

Yet he still lived, fleeing to Durantel and finding opportunity as a minor merchant. Buying goods and selling them on his horse carriage all the while spending whatever he saved to seek his family.
After years the goddesses finally smiled upon Gunther: His loved ones still lived and had even taken up residence in the new town of dawnhaven.
As the man drove down the road A strange figure stepped out of the woods and right in front of the racing horse-cart. When Gunther finally reined in his frenzied horses he was fifty steps away thus only saw the being's shadowed figure in the dim moonlight.
Heart racing, the driver drew an axe as the figure came close:
"OY you out there, who are you and what are you doing this late in the woods?"
The shape didn't stop but continued, as he stepped into the lantern light the merchant saw that this was no blight born monstrosity but rather a man dressed exclusively in purple carrying a two swords: One massive on his back and a smaller blade at his waist. He didnt recognize the stranger's blades but they where no lunarian devices.
The stranger's face was pale but distinctly human, he made an awkward smile as he spoke:
"Why so grumpy? I am only a wanderer seeking their path, say? Dawnhaven's that way right?"
Pointing towards where Gunther would be heading.
"... yes?"
"Oh praise the lady, I've been running through these woods for days searching for that damned place, but enough of that. See ive worked up a mighty hunger from all the running and such I would like to buy something for you."
"...Ok?" he tentatively agreed, his merchant instincts smelled the opportunity for profit but The stranger's next words raised all his hairs on its heads.
"See I would like to buy your blood, not that much of course just enough to have my fill afterwards you shall be rewarded, continued the sword demon as he pulled out an assortment of Solaris and lunarian coins, it is a really simple th..."
He didn't get to finish as an axe split the air to where his skull was a moment before.
"MONSTER!!!, Foul abomination, become in the name of the moon least i take off your foul head!, BEGONE."
"No no no, you misudner..." the stranger tried to reason as another swing split the air this time towards his arm.
The cautious old man was gone, rather replaced by a creature which knew only fury.

Yet in the next instinct, as the merchant sat mid swing, before Gunther even realized, silver light shone fast as lighting followed by his headless body hitting the ground.
In his last moment of consciousness all he would hear was the stranger giving a long sigh....

"Why are they always like THAT, whispered Arthur Vorlein in an annoyed tone, we aren't monsters you know? Well to be honest we are mostly beasts... I didn't even want to kill this ooonnnee."

He bent down and picked up Gunther's severed head, its expression stuck in perpetual shock.

"See this is why next time.. You. Listen. First., spoke the purple swordsman to the head, If you had you would have been alive to see your wife husband or whatever."
"Now, this one's gonna have to clean his clothes, get rid of evidence, kill the horses... horses, wait come back!."

Yelled the swordsmen at the horses but evidently they didn't listen. Another moment later they froze then fell apart into four neatly cut halves.

"See now even your horses are dead because of you, at least I get a feast.. lets see here brain, eyes, heart, lungs, liver... ah you are still watching? Goodnight."
Said Vorlein as he dug out Gunther's eyes with a small knife.

…

The single eye of Sya Leela was glaring at Ayel and she looked over to see the Lady who had made her allie in the event by sheer body language be equally Seething with a dark mood against the man. The noble man was was enraging and had managed to annoy everyone from Ivor to noblewomen and more it seemed.

“The Moon goddess …” Persephone annoyance had been fueled further by the insult to her religion and his general attitude. He was aiming to insult everyone and everything and he thought himself beyond all consequences and such matters. His best friend the Prince…. Maybe the Prince should choose better friends.

“Obviously you are not going to act like your own noble station… If that is so, I am Lady Persephone, Mistress Sya would like me to raise a protest on behalf? I can send a letter of protest about his insults to your character." She turned to Sya, a Blightborn and it seemed they were in this together after all, a very unlikely alliance of the two against Lord Ayel. These people she had devoted much of time to combating but in this case she was smart enough to see when you had to find allies when they came and not ignore an opportunity.

Sya had the great urge to swing her tail with for full force into Ayels ribs and send him flying, feeling the muscle she could probably shatter his ribs and cause him to need a healer, that urge was rising until she heard the older Lady choose to fight him at his own game. Oh that was Devious, attack his ties to his so called best friend and make him a problem for the Prince…

“I came from a proud community, a proud Auralian Borderland Clan.” Sya said with a harsh tone and if looks could kill, he would probably be killed in 3 afterlifes. “vou is the monster zere. Vou have no honour worth challenge and I pitty viur wife… she buy many toys… or ave bad sex” Sya said with a heavy turn of her accents and a shake of her head.

“I vould agree with vour kind offer.” Sya said to Persephone as she nodded respectfully and tugged at her arm. “Zis ao called man iz not worth vy energy.”

The gentle pull on her arm, Persephone calculated that anger would give him more than treating like a bug. They would attack his ego and status, sense of self as she without dismissal pulled Sya away with a gentle hand on her arm. The woman moved silently , almost scary how Sya moved without a single noise or scrape on the stone. Her control must be excellent.

Sya seemed to understand and followed as they found a spot the two women could pause as Sya dangled bright blue scales into the water. Persephone knew what she had to do, sadly cutting her own soak short sighing as she rested her own feet into the hot waters. Persephone may not feel comfortable about blight born but Lord Ayel was… a joint enemy and one she had a personal dislike of. “Il go, my horse is outside, I can quickly get pen and paper.”

“van I vil make sure you and your husband have vood vine tonight. Red, white…” Sya said as a way of a meeting in the middle. The two were very different sides but they could find a workable middle ground.

“Red, deal.” She did a rather difficult thing that went against her normal thoughts but offered her hand and was accepted. They made an agreement, Sya knew how to play the game. If only she had recruited a woman like that before she got turned by the dread blight.

Persephone got up with a sigh, her feet loved the heat but she rose and made way to the changing area leaving the cheerful innkeeper to bathe in the heat. “Il hold you to that.” She said you Sya as she rose and made a heading to get dressed and quickly act before Ayel could set the tone.

…

dressed at a rapid pace she moved towards her horse, where she might have pen and paper… She had no spare then the pout office and a guard.

Persephone had a plan to go run with.

@Dezuel

Lord and Lady Coswain

Gate House Life.

Door Dash lol

“Who the fuck was that new guy?” One of the Lunarian guards wiped his sweat off, the older soldier had enough rank he waited for him to vanish into the armoury first, old but fast and their squad leader had gone all out against the newcomer.

“Oh, wait. I reckon I saw him at the Palace when I had gate duty for a short time.” The other scratched his head and put helmet atop a barrel thinking and deciding he might need to tidy his beard up. “Yeah, Not many blades like that.” He said recalling the place they came from was lost to the blight.

“Damn, makes sense… This place is getting busy, used to be…nobody, now we got Lords and more turning up” He said thinking back, the town was growing fast and their work was growing a lot busier It seemed as more arrivals made way to the gates in need of shelter, opportunity it just Blightborn with no place to go. He had seen multiple charters about, even as business owners and taking Leadership positions.

“Least we not saps who got jail duty.” He laughed as they stood to stop by and get some rations. Stopping by the Eye was not possible today as they had been on duty later.

“True, come on I'm hungry” One guard got up and headed with his comrade to get a meal, the rational stew was not Sya's but it was good enough. Hot, and had meat in it.

…

“Good as we can do short notice my lord, we patched it up in the short term, long term I will rebuild part of it but will hold. The Armourer inspected the damaged breastplate with its repair, not his best and greatest work but it would suffice and protect a lot better than a hole.

“Thankyou, best I can ask for.” Lord Coswain knew he would have to make allowances and Hector might be able to improve it some more but at least it was repaired. “For your troubles.” He gave the man a coin for his trouble, not needed but it never hurt to keep the armourer sweet.

“Il Try to get some stuff in, it's hard with supplies being snowed in.” He said, the weather hard turned lately and it would harder and slower to deliver goods.

…

Heading out Coswain strapped his repaired breastplate in place, the visual mark of the battle with the blight beast clear.

“Movement at the road” came a call from someone running a message and Coswain decided to head to the main gate, it was rather more alert and careful than before, people looking for a killer more than an inspection of goods and people. Things had gotten a lot more dangerous. Everyone had hoped they were safe, hoped they had some kind of safety and could live normally…sadly not.

He made his way to the main gates and the road, if no one else was going to he missed it fell to him regardless of his unsure status among the town's guard ranks… This place it seemed you just stepped up and did what you could.

The gates tall and made of timber were solid, even a bit rough and ready due to the speed they were erected and people had not the time or inclination to further refine them with the little details yet. But solid would suffice for now. “One of you, fetch someone, anyone who normally clears newcomers.” He ordered the guard, unsure of the procedure he ordered guard to get someone who did.

“Stranger, who goes there. You in the cloak. Give Thy name and approach the gate light.” Lord Coswain called out from the upper battlements, neither hostile or kind, just a demand to present oneself and to try and judge the newcomer. “What Brings you to Dawn Haven? Need answers before we let you in.” He asked and kept able to duck behind the cover if someone made a move to throw weapons, send arrows or to charge their powers.

You never could be too careful?

Mentions
@TimelessParagon@The Muse

[color=ec008c][/color][color=ec008c][/color]

“Stranger, who goes there. You in the cloak. Give Thy name and approach the gate light.” Lord Coswain called out from the upper battlements, neither hostile or kind, just a demand to present oneself and to try and judge the newcomer. “What Brings you to Dawn Haven? Need answers before we let you in.” He asked and kept able to duck behind the cover if someone made a move to throw weapons, send arrows or to charge their powers.

You never could be too careful?

Gatehouse

The wanderer slowly walked towards the gatehouse and into lanternlight before looking up to see who called him.
It was obviously some sort of high ranking captain judging by his armor, lunarian in making at that, the plain design sold it, yet A rare thing nonetheless for plate fared poorly in the cold. The man's greying hair indicated he was no doubt an experienced veteran.
It didn't matter, Aurelian, Lunarian whatever. He had travelled both and the people where more similar then they believed: all cried for vengeance and all bled the same red. Still, he pretended to show distain in his answer:
"Farrion of Xaarla, I seek to add my strength to the future king of this continent, his majesty the prince Astaros"
"I was a blademaster, quite skilled if you ask those who faced me, albeit they might not be able to answer"
He finished with a slight chuckle, speaking fluently with his Xaarlan accent, even using the native colloquialism for sellsword.
That captain might not buy it, get angry but who cared?
He was no longer Arthur Vorlein, sword demon of Durantel, The hundred man killer, rather merely Cull Farrion, a sarcastic but loyal sellsword of far of Xaarla.
"Ive travelled far to seek this place ever since the holy sun went out, ive bene marching for over a day, freezing me bollocks off the 'ole time. Now yall gonna open the gates or not?"

Aurora Halliwell

Eye of The Beholder
At the Inn

---

After Aurora gave Sya the ointment, Sya quickly placed the promised payment in Aurora's hand. Aurora smiled and said, “Thank you for your business! Just let me know when you need more. Bye!” She grabbed the folds of her dress, making a small curtsey before standing straight once more. Fiddling with her corset, she found a small, hidden pocket, and with ease, she placed her payment inside it. Then she turned and made her way toward the door.

Before leaving, she ensured her clothes were fastened and fully covering her since she knew it was cold. She went through what she needed in her head, then realised she was missing something. In a few strides, she grabbed a couple of fresh red apples from a fruit bowl, one full apple and a handful of apple slices, then she left the inn, walking toward the stables to see her majestic steed, Storm.

Upon arriving at the stable, Aurora quickly made her way to Storm. “Hello, my beautiful girl,” she said as she looked at her beautiful horse. Storm, who was on the far side of her stall, gave a neigh of excitement, then trotted over to Aurora, who had only just closed the stall’s gate. Aurora only just managed to wrap her arms around Storm when she nuzzled into Aurora with her big nostrils, tickling Aurora's neck. ”Good morning to you.” Aurora spoke between giggles. Storm let out a snort, followed by a series of tapping one of her front legs on the floor as if in response.

Aurora pulled away from the embrace of her horse and reached into her satchel, pulling out the whole apple from before. With a flat palm, the apple rested on it. “I got you a treat, here you go.” After Storm devoured the apple, Aurora took off her satchel and hung it on the gate, making sure to be careful not to break the bottles in it. She then walked over to the small shelf in the stall. There, she picked up a brush and a small stool from underneath the shelf to help her reach all parts of Storm’s coat.

She returned to Storm and began brushing her beautiful light grey coat. “Good girl! Look at all the dust and hay on you. Have you been rolling in the hay again?” Aurora laughed as Storm responded with a cheerful neigh. Once she had brushed Storm clean, she turned her attention to the horse's mane and tail. She carefully brushed, cleaned, and braided them, taking frequent breaks to remove strands of hay and bits of dirt from the hair.

After grooming, she took some food from the storage box outside Storm's stall. Aurora placed the food in the trough and added slices of apple that she had brought from the inn. Finally, she filled another trough with water. When she finished her tasks, she left the stall and said, “See you soon, girl.” She gave Storm one final hug before heading towards the town to begin distributing the medicine, remedies, ointments, and clean bandages she had prepared for some of the townsfolk, the guards, the church, and the jail.

---

Aurora slowly strolled through the streets of the small village. Although the pathways were cleared of snow, it was still lightly snowing, and she realised it wouldn’t take long for the paths to be covered again. Each step echoed her excitement and anticipation. As she wandered through the charming stores, she purchased a variety of items, including fabrics, herbs, apothecary books, and a few home goods. She kindly asked the shopkeepers to arrange for delivery to the inn where she was temporarily staying, knowing that soon, her new home would be ready for her to move into.

As she left the last store, her thoughts drifted to the house awaiting her. There were still a few repairs that needed to be addressed, including a broken roof and other minor damages caused by the snow. Then, she remembered that she had been told the renovations would be completed shortly. A warm smile spread across her face at the thought of personalising her own space, imagining how she would decorate each room to reflect her tastes and dreams. The thought of filling the home with furniture she had brought with her brought her a sense of belonging and excitement for the new chapter of her life.

While daydreaming, Aurora accidentally bumped into a man. She quickly looked up and apologised, and made sure that he was fine before continuing on her way to a small home where an elderly couple lived. Upon reaching the house, she knocked on the door and waited for someone to answer. A moment later, a middle-aged lady answered the door. Recognising Aurora, she welcomed her in and led her to a seat that was close to their fireplace. Aurora flattened her skirts before sitting down.

“Hello, Mrs Hawthorn, are you and Mr Hawthorn doing well?” Aurora asked. The lady smiled and replied, “Hello, Aurora. We’ve been fine. Give me a minute; I'll get my husband from the other room.” With that, she went to fetch him. A few moments later, the middle-aged couple returned together, and Aurora said, “Hello, Mr Hawthorn. I have the ointment for your knee pain.”

While waiting, Aurora recalled what Mrs Hawthorn had told her about her husband. She explained that Mr Hawthorn works as a guard, performing tasks that range from patrolling the area and standing watch at guard posts to assisting the citizens of Dawnhaven by shovelling snow from the pathways. A couple of weeks ago, it was Mrs Hawthorn who approached Aurora at the inn, specifically asking for her by name.

She mentioned that her husband had slipped and injured his knee. Aurora quickly gathered the supplies she needed. Upon arriving home, Aurora assessed the man’s knee and determined that there was no fracture or break; luckily, there was only a sprain. Aurora heard the door squeak; she snapped out of her thoughts.

Upon seeing Aurora, the man smiled and slowly made his way to his cosy chair near the fireplace. His limp showed he was struggling, but he didn’t let it stop him. “Hello, Aurora,” he greeted warmly. “Thank you for bringing my ointment. You arrived more quickly than I expected.”

Aurora smiled and placed her bag on her lap, and began rummaging through it. After a few seconds, she pulled out a bottle of ointment with a small tag tied around the rim that bore the man’s name. “Here it is,” she said, standing up to hand it to him. Once he had it in his hand."Could you please lift your trouser leg so I can see your knee?"

Mr Hawthorn nodded and lifted his trouser leg while Aurora knelt to assess the area. She noticed that the swelling had decreased and the bruising looked improved. "Well, the bruising appears better, and there is less swelling. You still need to make sure you rest it." With that, she stood up and sat back down in her chair before continuing the conversation.

"Mr Hawthorn, please continue to apply the ointment four times a day: in the morning, at lunchtime, during dinner, and before bedtime. Use only a pea-sized amount each time. Massage the ointment into the area until it is no longer visible. Have you been doing the exercises I suggested?"

The man looked at Aurora and said, “Yes, I have been doing the exercises you suggested, and they seem to be helping. I have also been given a few weeks off duty, so I will try to rest my knee as much as possible.” He then turned to his wife and asked, “Honey, could you give Aurora the agreed amount?” Mrs Hawthorn walked over to Aurora and handed her a small pouch containing the payment. “Thank you, Aurora,” she said.

Aurora took the pouch, placed it in her bag, smiled and replied, “No problem, Mrs Hawthorn. Just let me know when the bottle is running low, and I’ll make you another one.” She placed the small pouch in her bag, fastened it, and stood up. As she made her way toward the door, she said, “I hope you have a lovely day, and I’ll see you both soon.” She opened the door and proceeded to her next destination. After a while, she arrived at the Aurelian guardhouse.

---

---

_{Location: Eastern Gate}

---

---

Captain Darius Holt arrived within moments, two younger Aurelian archers at his back, their boots crunching over packed snow as they ascended the battlement steps. Coswain’s voice carried across the wall, but Holt barely spared him a glance. He was sure the Lunarian noble knew how to command a wall, but here, Holt made the calls.

When the newcomer stepped into the light and named himself a blademaster of Xal’ara, Holt’s jaw tightened.

Xal’ara. The Desert Jewel, they called it. An ancient city of stone, half-buried in sand, blessed by the relentless heat of Aelios. To Holt it was little more than a nest of vipers—beautiful from a distance, poisonous up close. Even the Church could not cleanse the rot from its streets.

Still, anyone hardened by that place often came out sharper than most. Dangerous steel, if it could be turned the right way.

And Holt had to admit—this one did carry himself like a blademaster. The stance. The way his eyes measured every guard in sight. Dangerous, yes, but if he were pledging himself to the Prince, then perhaps useful too.

“You’ve marched a day,” He said, voice flat. “Then you can stand another minute.”

“Plenty come to Dawnhaven claiming loyalty to His Highness,” Holt went on, his gaze fixed and unblinking. “Some mean it. Some don’t.” He studied the man for a few silent beats, searching for the tell.

“Still… A blademaster of Xal’ara could be valuable. Dawnhaven needs every sword it can get.”

Finally, Holt gave a sharp nod to the men below at the winch. The timbers groaned, the gates opening slow and heavy. “You’ll have your chance to prove yourself.”

He motioned Farrion through. “Head to the tavern in the square. Eye of the Beholder. You’ll find warmth and food. Your name goes on the list. When there’s a home to give, you’ll be assigned one. Until then, make do at the Eye.”

One hand resting easy on his sword hilt, his brown eyes never left Farrion as he approached the threshold.

---

_{Interactions: Coswain @PrinceAlexus, Arthur @TimelessParagon}

Persephone moved through the temple at pace as she felt frustrated, Ayel had thrown her day off again. This man was a pain and terror… Could he let people be? Could he let people not have to deal with all his arguments and desire to do everything the hardest way possible. “Too much sun went to his head.” Persephone thought and reached her horse, petting its solid neck, thick muscle and long hair that helped protect it from the cold.

“Come on Agmar, let's go.” She pulled her way up and grabbed the reins with a gloved hand to protect from the cold.

“Easy, easy.” She said and the horse stopped playing about and she then began to move to trot slowly away from the temple's main doors. One day she was going to have to find a way to lock up Ayel so they could have one peaceful day.

She efficiently through the town weaving her way past at a steady pace as people were beginning to wake up and start the day. It was practically empty when she headed out but they were now beginning to start their day to day business.

“Make a hole.” She called out as someone was standing in the middle of the wider path just looking at the town square, she held the horse tighter and pulled up before he moved with a grunt and stood to the side. Weird. But Dawn Haven was a strange place. Gloom Haven maybe? Gloom it was always gloomy.

…

“Hey, I need paper, ink and a runner please. Miss Sya Leala wpuld also like this sent.” Persephone said as she took a spot near the desk where she could write the letter on behalf of the Inn keeper. The Inn keeper, why was she the one she was allied to? Oh a blightborn but it seemed she was the one who seemed to carry weight in this town. They had to adapt to the new methods and new factors at play.

“Thanks.” She said and wrote quickly, neatly and with purpose, each line was crisp and exactly placed. Every single character was perfectly chosen even with the lower quality paper and cheap ink… Some things could not be helped.

“Signed. Persephone…” She said as she finished the letter with a florist and placed her ring to some heated cheap general use wax that signed her house's seal on the letter. Maybe not the largest or most powerful but she was a Lady. Persephone was not going to let her be talked to like some slave by a man not worth anything more than a pile of horse shit. Least that could be used as fertiliser.

“Send it to the Prince Please, urgent if possible and please use a reliable courier. Send the second copy to Lord Orion Nightingale.” She said handing an extra coin over to the man at the counter. The letter was sent, signed and sealed with a simple wax but it was done as properly as she could manage here… that was all she could do right now to tackle the problem.

…



...

@The Muse@Qia

Lord and Lady Coswain

Gate House Life.

Door Dash lol

Lord Coswain let the captain do his thing, it was his job and he knew the protocol and had the less fun part of being the one who had to make the call on letting them in / sending them away.

He waited on the battlements as two other guards arrived in matching armour and just rested his hand on the wooden walkway that covered the gates. Rough hewn like everything here… solid but it was Unfinished and maybe they would get round to it if still alive later anyways…

An Auralian mercenary blade master, it was another way of saying sell sword if he recalled correctly, highly trained and meant to be professional Warriors vs just basic line troopers. But a lot of people could claim to be a lot of things they were not. He walked right but did you really when tested was another question.

“Il walk him up, Sya has a few rooms left. If that's ok with you.” He said to the captain pretty sure he would not mind at all and happily hand that duty off, letting him and his men seek shelter behind the gate behind the cover with a brazier to keep some warmth in their bodies.

“Il escort you to the Inn, you better have gold because the owner does not give credit to newcomers or be prepared to pay in labour.” He shouted down as went down to join the lower gate and walk the man up. His armour was not as pristine as it had been especially with the battle damage repair and blight born talons. Lunarian gear could take some punishment though and be repaired instead of outright replaced.

On the ground he got a sense this man might just be what he said but looks had been deceiving before and a soldier who looked like a half starved runt had beaten a tank of a man before, spirit was not always about size.

“Its not too far. If you want to send the Royal Lodge a letter of introduction, there is a post office too. Lodgings first and peobbly a hot mea.” He said as he waved down the road to the glowing lights of the town, burning candles, brazier and fire pits like the Inn hand never ceasing.

It was something to do, and moving helped keep you warm.

@The Muse@TimelessParagon

A violent thought struck like lightning.

Blood hitting the wall. Splattered across the table. Dripping warm between Kira’s fingers. Her old friend’s body crumpled in a pool of crimson, lifeless and still.

Kat’s hands were soft in hers, fingers still loosely intertwined with one another.

In one swift motion, she could drag her across the table.
Slip a dagger free. Drive it into her throat.
End it now.
Flee Dawnhaven.
Flee Lunaris.
Disappear and hope they’d eventually stop looking.

Maybe she’d even be doing Kat a favor. Severing blood magic wasn’t easily done.

And if they were watching through Kat's eyes… then they’d already seen what Kira had become. Her appearance hadn’t changed much, but her eyes, her fangs—dead giveaways. Blight-born. A brand she couldn’t hide.

They wouldn’t just want to find her.
They’d want to kill her.
Or worse—return her to her place alongside the King and put her back to work.

Jericho hated blight-born, but what about the ones he could control?

Her fingers curled tighter into Kat’s—nails pressing into flesh.
But… she hesitated.

Dawnhaven was meant to be a refuge.
Jericho had sworn not to touch the blight-born within its walls.
Could the Sun Prince’s protection still extend to her?

The King couldn’t just drag her out without challenging Flynn—and possibly all of Aurelia.
Could he?

Her grip softened.

“Care to share a drink with me?” she asked, nodding to the small bottle of Sya’s alcohol.

Within Kat’s palm, Kira tapped out her own message.

Your thoughts. Safe?

There was no doubt in Katherine’s mind that her life was currently held in the balance of Kira’s thoughts. While it was the first time she’d felt it directed at herself, she’d seen the cold look of calculation in Kira’s eyes before. She knew Kira had the ability to end her life without so much as a whisper of sound, and she knew that it would be over before she could even think to react.

And yet, a large part of her still believed there was a lingering trust between them.

“I’m not sure the people of Dawnhaven would appreciate one of their priestesses drinking in plain sight, but the thought is appreciated,” Katherine let a warm smile sneak through, this time a bit more genuine. The faintest hint of a smile tugged at the edge of Kira’s lips in response—sincere, but guarded. As Katherine spoke, her fingers moved with a practiced rhythm as she quickly replied in secret.

For now, yes. She paused for a moment, glancing around the room. Blood magic is weak now. Inquisition still far away, in the capital.

While she could still feel the presence in her mind, it was oddly quiet. It was a relief for the moment, but silence was rarely a good thing when it came to her superiors.

Kira let her gaze drop from Kat’s face, focusing once more on the coin sitting between them.
It was a small relief, she supposed, that Kat’s thoughts were still her own.
For now.

The Inquisition were experts in their craft. They both knew it wouldn’t last forever.
Which meant Kat remained firmly on the wrong side of the fence.

The feeling wasn’t exactly unfamiliar.
Growing up, they’d had a tumultuous relationship. Often pitted against each other during training, they’d been forced into rivalry. Both of them desperate to prove their worth to masters who demanded nothing but excellence.

Eventually, though, something shifted. Regardless of the competition for survival, they’d been able to find common ground.

Kira still vividly remembered that summer night. Finding Kat stretched out on the palace rooftop, hands tucked casually behind her head, quietly watching the stars. The same spot Kira had snuck off to countless times before.

It was the first time they’d spoken like humans. Not tools. Not spies.
They’d forged something there. A strange form of friendship, built outside the cold stone walls of the palace, whispering to each other under the rare warmth of Seluna’s night sky.

Kira’s eyes lifted. A thought sparked.

She possessed blood “magic” now, too—technically. The very thing the blight had granted her that she now loathed… but could it be used to sever a blood tie? Replace it with another? Or would she only be forcing two unwelcome parasites into Kat’s mind?

Her gaze flicked to Kat’s jugular, then back to her eyes.
She shoved the thought down.

“Right… I nearly forgot how boring you could be.” She teased, giving Kat’s hand a gentle, deliberate squeeze—lingering in the hold.

Kat was likely the closest Kira had ever come to a best friend.

But she couldn’t afford to treat her like one. Not now.
Never again—not while she remained tied to the King.

A dull ache coiled tight inside her chest. Then, slowly, she pulled her hand back—severing their connection, abruptly ending their coded exchange.

For both of their sakes.
The less Kat knew, the better.

Immediately, she felt a familiar cold slide back into place. A piece of armor snapping into position. A shell of ice wrapped tight around her body, smothering that fragile ache—detaching her from the weak sentiment of friendship. Making distance where warmth had tried to live.

“I didn’t realize it was you I saw with that body yesterday.” She mused, leaning back in her chair, recalling seeing a disheveled Priestess from afar. “Did you see the attack?”

Kat felt the same shift in the air as Kira’s hand withdrew, warmth fading from her eyes. A hint of disappointment lingered in her gaze as she let a moment of silence blanket them. The only person who held any familiarity from her past, pushed away because of the passenger that tormented her mind. She felt the distrust as quickly as the lump in her throat grew, but quickly blinked away any indication of tears welling in her eyes before shaking her head.

“No, I just heard a scream, she swallowed hard, looking down, “By the time I arrived, whatever had transpired was done and gone.” As she spoke, her tone quickly returned to one of rehearsed normalcy. Whatever emotion she’d felt was quickly shoved aside, replaced with the same fakeness that Kira had returned to.

It was almost like looking in a mirror. While Katherine was no match for Kira in combat, the two were trained practically side-by-side in manipulating social interactions. Kat could see every bit of it on display before her, just as she had no doubt that Kira could see it from her side.

Kira was treating her—perceiving her—as an enemy. And Katherine couldn’t blame her.

But Goddess, did it hurt to see.

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that I didn’t see you watching. She paused for a moment in slight realization, her eyes lowering a moment, “How much did you see?”

Kira glanced at the bottle of alcohol on the table, her mind drifting back to the gruesome scene from the night before. The overwhelming scent of blood had drawn her from across town, relentlessly pulling at her senses.

She hadn’t dared to get closer.

“I s—”
She stopped short, eyes lifting to meet Kat’s. Another flicker of hesitation.

They already knew she was blight-born.
That didn’t mean she had to tell them (Kat) what type.

“I didn’t linger for long.” The response was safe. Vague.
Not truly an answer.

She shifted in her seat, then reached forward and slid the coin toward her side of the table, studying it curiously. “I hear they still haven’t caught the culprit.”

A pause as she inspected the coin.

“Shame.” The word came dry, devoid of empathy.

Losing herself in thought, she turned the coin over in her fingers. Worn, you could just barely make out the face of young Auric Astaros on one side of it. Specks of dirt, or blood—or both—lingered in the crevices.

After a few breaths, she flicked it into the air and caught it cleanly in one hand.

For a moment, she didn’t move.
Just stared blankly at her closed fist.

“It’s nice to see you, Kat.”

She turned her hand over and opened it.
Heads.

With a soft clink, she set the coin gently back on the table, then slid it across the surface toward Kat. “Keep it.”

Her hand withdrew. Her gaze lifted, holding Kat’s in silence.

She watched the way the candlelight danced shadows across her beautiful, deceivingly delicate face. Memorizing her friend _(enemy) like it might be the last time she’d get the chance.
She’d already decided that it would be.

Pulling her gaze away, she reached for the bottle, tucked it into her coat pocket, and began to rise from her chair.

“I’ll see you around, then.”

She didn’t mean it.
She had no intention of coming near Katherine again.

Katherine saw the signs, the movement that was too fluid, too intentional. It was a retreat, as much as it hurt to see it.

Without hesitation, Katherine’s hand shot out, fingers curling around Kira’s wrist, gentle but firm. Kira froze solid under her touch. Eyes of fire snapped to hers—lethal, unblinking.

A silent warning.
A promise of violence.

“I’m not your enemy, Kira.” Her voice was quiet, almost fragile beneath the surface.

Kira’s heart pounded like thunder in her ears.
Adrenaline surged.

Her master’s voice whispered in the back of her mind. A scoff. A laugh.
How silly it was, to befriend someone. To care.

A familiar path presented itself to her. A fork in the road.
She’d chosen friendship once.
Like a fool.

In the stillness, Katherine felt the weight of the crumbling connection between them on her chest, one that grew fainter and fainter like a candle burning the last measure of its wick. She hadn’t expected kindness or trust, but something about Kira’s demeanor, about the way she looked back at her, cut deeper than Katherine had prepared for.

She knew why Kira no longer trusted her. The two were cut from the same cloth, both honed to be silent weapons to the King. The robe she wore and the amulet that adorned her neck did little to hide the shadow of the Inquisition that trailed behind her. A sign most wouldn’t even think to look for, but that Kira would know for certain.

Trust faltered easily when both hearts were trained to listen for lies.

“If nothing else, know that.”

Kira ripped her wrist free from Kat’s grasp.

“No,” She hissed through her teeth, eyes narrowing. “You only brought the enemy straight to me.” Her voice was low, meant only for Katherine—seething with rage.

And something she hadn’t fully felt in two years.
Fear.

“I was supposed to be dead.”
She was supposed to be free.

“I know!” Katherine’s voice raised for a single instant before she caught herself, emotions flaring inside. A moment of silence passed, before she spoke again, her voice now soft and low once more, “I know.”

Katherine raised her eyes back to Kira’s, looking past the ire that had risen within, “Whatever shadows come looking, they’ll find me first—not you. I will make sure of it.”

The words left her mouth softer than she expected, yet beneath them she still felt the steel of her resolve. She wasn’t sure if Kira would hear the promise in her voice or only the echo of a veiled reassurance, but Katherine hoped that the sincerity of it reached Kira. Though there was no certainty that it was a promise she could keep, there were no lies in her words.

Something twisted painfully inside Kira’s chest. She had never been inclined to protect Katherine, but this—
She swallowed the feeling down, buried it deep.

It wasn’t an if they came—it was when. And they both knew it.

She stared at Katherine, listening to the unsteady rhythm of her heartbeat. The shallow breaths. Watched the way the candlelight seemed to illuminate the desperation—the sincerity—in Katherine’s eyes.

But they were nothing, if not fantastic liars.

“Let them come.” She held Katherine’s gaze, a challenge burning in hers. “Don’t get in the way.”

She turned, hesitating for a brief moment, then said coldly over her shoulder:

“Don’t come near me again, Cricket.”

@The Muse @PrinceAlexus


"Oye My thanks mate, and Don't worry, ive got money" Yelled the sellsword at Holf above the gates while shaking a small purse. It wasn't his of course rather belonging to that carriage driver a few days back. He had more money of course but those where hidden deep in his waist pouch.
However it seems he was wrong ,despite his experience, on the guards as the grey veteran appears to be unused to his duties, holding only ceremonial authority while this other man held responsibility at the gates.

But still, he was in. As otherwise he would have to infiltrate the town. He had a plan of course: find a secluded cave then capture some patrolmen under the guise of blight born attacks. Preferably two then extract information out of them until he could take one's identity.
The swordsmen was glad he didn't need to use that approach as it would prove messy work, worse he didn't know the extent of this town's strength. If by misfortune some Aurelian paladins where present the situation could degenerate in an instant.

The pair walked down the main road of dawnheaven with that old fellow chatting about some notable features of the town, including a crude clock tower being constructed nearby. With a clockface expecting to be delivered soon. The soft snow crunching under their boots as the town bustled around them. The light of braziers flaring across his purple garbs attracting some curious stares from onlookers.
More guards where stationed here, far more than would be typical for a town this size but perfectly suitable for a prince's entourage.
Vorlein played them no mind as they continued, passing a post office.

Soon the image of a pub appeared in their sight: A rustic style three floor construction with a sign depicting a giant eyed creature (bad taste, thought Arthur). It wasn't very busy this time of day, whatever day still meant, with a few men crowed around a communal brazier either engaging in idle chatter or eating.
When he saw the bar maid(the owner but this guy doesnt know) Vorlein understood at once the all eye symbolism which made him chuckle slightly. Seems like this girl was the bar's star attraction...

But whatever, food came first, thought the sellsword before approaching the bar, grabbing an available stool.
" 'pound of roasted meat n'pound of bread, the white stuff will ya?, add in a pint o' ale too for measure.""This friend's buying.", he said with an amused grin while pointing towards the greying man in armor beside him.

Footsteps and the clatter of armor filled the air as the Aurelian knights began to shift—no longer keeping careful watch over every movement Daphne and Aliseth made. They returned to their horses, giving Amaya and Flynn a small bit of space, falling back just enough to allow a semblance of privacy.

Flynn’s gaze lingered on Amaya—her trembling hands, the way her eyes were still fixed on the prison door, the flurry of snowflakes that pulled inward around her body.

Slowly, cautiously, he reached out. His fingers brushed lightly against hers, unflinching against her icy numbness—an invitation, if she would take it. Her fingers curled sharply away from him as she gasped in a silent breath.

“Amaya,” he said softly, his voice low enough to keep the question between them, “what’s wrong?”

It was enough to send cracks running along the tenuous control she held over herself. Her magic surged, throwing itself against her borders, the storm tumbling over itself and rolling in at last. She couldn’t feel her hands beyond the painful chill that seeped into her very bones — but she knew the ice, that arctic flower blooming from the cuts she’d gouged into her own palm, was growing.

Her eyes snapped shut.

Amaya tried to cut herself off from the world — from the storm that raged, and the memory of blood misting through the air, and those dark eyes.

His hollow expression as he measured all the ways she’d failed.

His voice gently holding Elara’s name.

His open palm.

Amaya tried to breathe, but could only manage another small gasp. The sound shattered in her throat and she clamped her mouth shut like she could keep it from escaping. She was shaking. She couldn’t stop shaking. It came from somewhere inside her, deeper than the cold, more chilling, as it sent tremors from her frigid hands, up her arms, to her shoulders, claiming her lungs and heart and spine like conquered territory.

She shook her head, a pathetic, stubborn refusal — of Flynn, of the raging force of her magic, of —

My snow dove…

“I —”

She was cut off by the shards of her own breath, too quick, too shallow. Her frozen hand snapped over her mouth, the ice sending a shock of cold through her that pierced through the growing haze of her emotions.

A flash of pain struck through Flynn’s heart at the sound of her. It splintered through his chest, shot down his spine, and severed the last thread of hesitation that had been holding him at bay.

Without thinking, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close against his chest. One arm curved protectively around her back, the other gently cradled the back of her head. She stiffened in his hold.

Her cold bled through his layered clothing like water through cloth, but he didn’t flinch.

“It’s okay…” he murmured, watching the pale fog of his breath drift in the air above her. “Just breathe…”

Fractured and crumbling, Amaya felt the deafening crack in her composure as his voice rumbled through her.

His arms were too solid around her, made her too small, he was too close —

Icy hands snapped up to push him away.

Amaya couldn’t be held together — couldn’t breathe and be warmed. She’d be devoured by her own blizzard if she tried to contain this. She wanted — she needed — to turn her own walls to rubble and bury the boulders and dust in a cloud of snow and hail. She needed to expand, and disperse this raging energy so it didn’t sit so heavy and dense in her bones, threatening to freeze her solid every time she tried to move.

She needed to cover the world in ice.
No, not the world.
Just one man.

“Don’t touch me,” she hissed, as she tried to create distance. But her voice was frail. It tripped over her breath, which only grew quicker and more shallow. Another high pitch gasp tore through her. Amaya clenched her jaw tight, squeezing her eyes shut as she curled her arms around herself. A tear slipped out of the corner of her eye, freezing in place before it could even finish cresting her cheek.

Flynn froze, stiffening around her.

For a moment, he didn’t move.
His heart felt impossibly heavy, his chest suddenly hollow. His breath came slow and shallow, as if breathing too deeply might open a wound.

Then, slowly, he loosened his arms and took a step away.

He said nothing. His throat was tight, the weight sitting on his chest too suffocating.
But something solid slid into place—quiet, instinctive—hardening over his heart.

He stood tall, squared his shoulders, and buried ice-singed hands into his coat pockets.

His gaze flicked over her, taking in the way she held herself—frost clinging to the edges of her sleeves, trails of ice in place of tears, entire body trembling.

Completely collapsing in on herself.
Alone.

His attention lifted back to her face. Searching. Waiting.

Amaya felt the loss of him immediately, the chill rushing in to fill his cavernous absence. It bit and snapped through her body like a wild thing, forcing clarity everywhere it struck. Curling into herself, she winced at the pain stealing the breath from her body. Her magic wasn’t an indistinct storm, an intangible wall of white. It was sharp and cutting as a blade, precise as it sharpened itself around her —

Made her solid.

Another tear tumbled over the frozen track on her face, hardening into jagged crystals as it reached her chin.

“He —” she breathed out, but it barely met the air.

Images flashed in her mind. The blight-born’s haunted face. Sir Abel’s mangled corpse. Elara, terrified and desperate.

That open palm again, held out to her — snowflakes unmelting as they landed against cold skin.

“It was him.”

Amaya’s eyes opened. Snow cut across her vision, flakes frantically pulling through the air. Tear stained, barely holding herself together against the force of her own magic, Amaya finally allowed herself to look at Flynn for the first time since he’d exited the prison. There was another shock of pain when she saw how far away he was, the guarded way he looked at her. His green eyes sent another tremorous crack down her walls.

This was why she hadn’t been able to look at him before. He splintered her control with a glance, with warm hands and a low voice against her ear. Amaya felt any attempts to hide herself falling away beneath his tense, watchful stare.

But this time it wasn’t grief she laid bare, or fear, or regret.

It was rage.

“The attack.” She didn’t know if her voice trembled with anger or the cold. They felt the same. “It was him.”

Flynn held her gaze, absorbing the torrent of emotion he’d never seen reflected in her eyes before.
Yet he recognized it all the same.

The glass he’d once imagined her made of—beautiful, fragile, and delicate—had cracked.
And he’d stood too close when she'd shattered.

She wasn’t fragile.
She wasn’t delicate.

She was colder. Harder.
She was ice—so frigid it seared.
A breakable thing that had honed itself into a weapon.
A fury so sharp it threatened to carve her from the inside out.

Far from something to hold—or comfort.
Far from something he could protect.

His brows drew together, confusion etching itself plainly across his face.
“Who?” he asked, voice firm. “Kain?”

His gaze flicked past her, settling on the prison door.
Part of him tried to follow the thread of her meaning.
Part of him just needed to look away.

Bit by bit, her stare chipped at the protective steel that had silently slid into place around him.

He thought of Aliseth.
The reverence in his voice. His bowed head. The vow he’d made.
He thought of the morning he’d left Amaya in his and Abel’s care—trusted them with her safety.

If Aliseth had been a part of the attack…
Then this had been a betrayal from the start.

Something struck the steel in his chest.
A sharp heat bloomed behind his ribs.
An ember caught flame, burning against a wall of collected control.

“What do you mean?” he asked, voice still quiet, but no longer gentle.

Devoid of the tenderness he so often gave her, he looked at her again—straight into the storm—and braced.

“That wasn’t Kain. It was an imposter.” Her voice was low as memories flashed through her. The same way hollow shadows carved themselves into his face the longer the conversation went on. How he veered wildly between derision and saccharine flattery.

What he’d called her.

But most damning of all…

“He tried to use psychic magic on me again.”

He’d been arrogant enough to try it, and careless enough to do it poorly. Amaya knew the disorienting pull of his magic — it perhaps would’ve worked, if he hadn’t tried to use Elara to manipulate her, assumed he would want Elara behind her instead of beside her, filling her with doubts and insecurities that Amaya would have no voice or knowledge in her friend’s protection.

But Amaya had been the one to tell Flynn that Elara needed to be guarded.

Elara’s safety had been Amaya’s concern for ten years, from the moment they’d met, the bruises around her neck barely healed. All Amaya had been able to smell was blood in the air, and all she could see was crimson against white.

That the blight-born would threaten Elara, dare to say her name to Amaya as he tried to manipulate her, just as her father had, while countless nobles and servants and guards like Sir Abel watched and did nothing…

Sir Abel who’d died screaming and bloody as he tried to protect her.

Amaya remembered the shape of his corpse on the table, the hate and grief that’d mixed so potently as she’d given him a piece of her mother — the only source of softness and warmth in Amaya’s childhood, now another corpse.

Her magic surged, ice spreading over the muddy path around her, a lifetime of anguish folding in on itself, intensifying into something destructive.

“He would’ve used blood magic if I’d let him touch me.”

Amaya took a step towards the prison, ice blooming around her step as she remembered the sheer hubris of that open palm held out to her, like she was his to claim.

Flynn swiftly fell into step behind her, a hand snapping out to catch her forearm—rooting her firmly in place. His touch burned, even through the fabric of her sleeve, a searing heat that pulled her back into her body.

“Stop.” The word cut sharp through the air.

He held her for a breath, then released her, the words she’d aimed at him still resonating in the back of his mind.

“You’re throwing yourself into danger. Again.”

Amaya spun in place, ready to snap that she’d been in danger her entire life, while he’d been attending meetings and playing with swords and galavanting with Nyla. But the words froze in her throat when she was again faced with him, and the distant way he looked at her.

His eyes locked onto hers—glittering, pale blue pools of rage that flooded his lungs and threatened to suffocate every sense.
Dizzying. Intoxicating. Dangerous.

The fury that lay there was no longer abstract. It was justified.

And if that hadn’t been Aliseth…
Then the true Knight was still missing—or already dead.

An image flashed in his mind: the mangled, unnamed corpse laid beside Sir Abel.
Something sharp tightened around his heart, as if part of him already knew the truth.

Behind him, he heard the guards quietly moving to attention—all of them watching, waiting.

“You’re sure?” he asked, voice quiet.

It wasn’t disbelief. It was confirmation.
A mistake like this could never be undone. They had to be certain.

Her gaze, full of fury and ice and every emotion she could never bear to stomach, didnt waver.

Beneath his boots, he felt the ground shift as her ice spiderwebbed outward, spiraling and connecting new branches of frost throughout the courtyard. Unbridled power, pulsing straight through the frozen earth.

“He’ll be weaker in there—but not like us.” Flynn shook his head and gestured to the prison, gaze briefly flicking to the door before returning to her. “He won’t lose all his strength, or his power. Not right away.”

He could still hear the tortured screams of blight-born echoing down brightly-lit stone halls.
The shuffling feet of Sages as they wandered from cell to cell in a maze beneath the palace.
The scribble of pencil on paper as they watched—cataloging each new reaction.

Flynn had never wanted to apply the knowledge he’d gained there.
But he couldn’t help but be grateful for it now.

“Let him think he’s fooled you, for now. He’s cornered himself.” Flynn pulled his gaze away from hers, air returning to his lungs as he settled on the prison door once more. “We need a plan.”

He paused, then took a step to the side—attention shifting to the guards.
“And more light-magic users.”

“No,” she whispered, voice small and sharp as a dagger, “we don’t.” They didn’t need more people at risk, more grief and blood and bodies.

She took a step towards Flynn, like a moth helplessly pulled by a burning flame, even as the ice crawled ever closer to the prison behind her. It claimed more and more of the landscape in search of something to consume — something to spend itself on, after days and months and years of being contained. The snow fell harsh around them, a growing flurry that she barely seemed to notice. Frost claimed her just as it did everything else, creeping up the skin of her wrists. “If he thinks he can threaten me again,” — threaten Elara, manipulate her, murder her people — “let him try it.” Let him bleed her, let him cut through layers of flesh and ice, let him kill her if it meant she could finally spend this frigid rage.

Flynn returned his attention to her, a chill slowly trailing down his spine as he held her gaze.
And stared. Utterly silent. Expressionless.

The steel that had wrapped itself around him cinched tighter.
Another layer.
This one familiar—this one chosen.

A conscious shift, locking down against an endless void of anger.

His gaze drifted over her slowly, deliberately taking his time, letting the silence stretch.

Her eyes—darker than they’d been that morning, when she’d looked up at him from the space between him and the couch.
Her lips—cold and purpled. Once warm and pliant against his.
Her jaw—streaked with frost, ice crystals glinting faintly.
Her neck, her collarbone—places he’d once wanted to bury himself in, drifting his lips along her skin.
Her waist—where his arms had wrapped warmth around her the night before.
Her legs—the ones she’d laced between his sometime in their sleep.
Her feet—stepping toward him now, like a threat.

And finally, the frost that snaked out from her boots in every direction—ice solid beneath her.

He didn’t know her at all.
And yet, he knew her all too well.

His green eyes lifted to meet hers again—the warmth of the southern sea meeting the unyielding arctic.

“And you intend… to do what?” His voice came quiet. Eerily calm, despite turbulent waves crashing violently inside his chest.

“Kill him?”

The question landed like a blow, splintering the hardened core of ice that’d been growing within her. Stray shards flashed in the fury of her eyes — doubt. Hesitation. Fear. Through the storm, Amaya glimpsed the haunting, inevitable reality of what she was threatening.

Death. Not just abstract destruction and vengeance, but blood. Bones and viscera. Ice on the ground and the scent of iron in the air.

And her hands the cause of it.

Blinking, Amaya refocused on Flynn, and it was like seeing him for the first time. Calm. Unflinching. No sharp edges in his eyes for Amaya to cut herself against — that used to infuriate her. Something built in her throat like a scream. Or a sob.

Amaya was suddenly aware of how very cold she was. The ice burned against her skin and she felt like she could barely move. She thought she might freeze herself solid right here, if only to give her wild magic something to finally devour.

“My entire life,” she whispered, her voice shredding itself on the broken pieces that’d lodged in her throat, “I lived at the whims of a man like him.”

Cruel. Vicious. Arrogant. Determined to make Amaya pay for every slight, with blood and despair.

“I was trapped. Tormented.” A fresh tear spilled out of her, burning an icy track down her skin. Amaya traced the pain of it as she held Flynn’s gaze. “And everyone else — people like Volkov, and the Priestess, and Sir Abel — they watched.” Pain bled into the anger, the burning bite of betrayal she felt at everyone who’d let her carry the weight of Jericho’s cruelty so that they might be spared from it.

“They helped!” Amaya’s voice broke on the accusation, damning the complicit, the enablers, who had allowed her to turn into this icy, desperate storm. She’d never said the words out loud before. Had never spoken the harsh, painful reality of her life into the air, never made it real and solid. It was another blade piercing her, sending waves of pain through her frigid body.

Tears slid down her face now, unending. Amaya looked at Flynn — so distant and calm and cold that it broke her heart. She was alone in the center of her own storm, ice layering over her skin like her walls she’d so desperately clung to.

“I can’t live like that again, Flynn.” His name was another shard of glass in her throat. “He cannot have me.”

Each shattered piece of her lodged into him.

Every word she spoke cut deep—slicing into the layers he’d tried to use to numb and temper himself with.
Like she’d always belonged there, beneath it all.

Though his body didn’t betray it, his soul reeled at the thought of all she’d endured. He detested every man and woman that had contributed to her suffering. He’d known her life had been cruel, but hearing the anguish in her voice sent fractures rippling through his chest.

He wanted to reach for her and—

Want.

Always wanting.

_{… and wanting}

_{… and wanting}

He didn’t move.
The frost creeping over his boots, claiming the edges of his clothing, went unnoticed.

Her overwhelming grief bled into him as he held her gaze—steady, aching with sympathy and sorrow for everything he knew he could never fix.

He couldn’t move.
His chest was still too heavy.
His emotions, too tightly contained. Stacking quietly behind a dam he’d built long ago.

He was stone against the storm.
Carefully distant, trying to avoid the path of destruction.
Trying not to become its next casualty.

When he finally spoke, his voice was curt.
Not cold. But firm. And honest.

“Then kill him.”

She flinched. Pain twisted behind his eyes.

“If that’s what it takes.”

His jaw tightened, breath fogging in the air between them.

“Then do it.”

It wasn’t permission. She didn’t need it.
It wasn’t condoning, either.
But he wouldn’t stop her.

After so much had been taken from her, all he could offer was choice.
Power.
Control.
An offering to not stand in her way of justice. That he would not become another name on her long list of bystanders, captors, betrayers and tormentors.

He let the silence stretch just long enough for the words to settle.
Then, more quietly—

“You don’t have to become like him to stop him, Amaya.”

His throat tightened, but his voice held strong.
He’d been fighting that same shadow for most of his life.

“He won’t have you.”

His eyes searched hers—softening. Shards of her fractured heart caught the moonlight in the pale blue of her gaze.

“No one will.”

It wasn’t meant for comfort. It was fact.
A vow.
A promise.
A future he’d dared to believe in.

“You never have to live like that again. Not while I’m alive.”