c3p-0h

Realms of Sun & Shadow

Collab between @The Muse and @c3p-0h
_{Location: Outside the Jail}

Part IV

---

For the briefest second, shock and concern flickered across Flynn’s face as his eyes fell to Daphne. By all accounts, she’d been one of the more pleasant Lunarian’s he’d dealt with. Hearing such a boorish, impulsive threat from her would’ve ranked low on his list of expectations.

Gadez, on the other hand…
Flynn’s expression hardened, eyes shifting back to the blond — his “brother.”

Every word the man spoke dripped with utter hubris. Baffling, but expected. It was clear that the man believed he held the key to all of life’s mysteries, if only the rest of them were clever enough to understand it.

Ahead of Flynn and Amaya, the knights subtly shifted. Eyes locked on Gadez, blades poised, waiting for a command. The air grew heavier, pulled taut as the Prince quietly considered the man’s question.

On some things, he and Flynn could agree. The clergy was a threat. And apprehending him could waste valuable time in pursuing Aliseth, who, at the moment, posed a much greater danger. But, for all Flynn knew, Gadez was stalling — buying Aliseth time to escape through the back of the unfinished jail. Because, of course, Gadez could never be bothered to respond to a simple question with a straight answer.

“Enough.” Flynn finally said, voice low but sharp. “You threaten regicide and presume I should let you walk free?”

Green eyes narrowed, Flynn’s frustration began to bleed through the widening cracks in his restraint. “For someone who has the answers for everything — can't you see that we aren't chasing prophecy? I am doing quite the opposite by being here at all.”

A sharp voice in the back of his mind scolded him for wasting breath — and time. Gadez didn’t deserve the dignity of a reply, and time was a luxury they didn’t have.

Flynn’s gaze shifted to the knights, leaving no room for another lecture. “Secure the—”

A blood curdling scream ripped through the air, echoing from within the prison. Flynn stiffened, hand tightening around the pommel of his sword, eyes snapping to the jail door.

Ice bloomed across the earth.

Frigid and consuming, winter stretched through the courtyard, consuming whatever it could reach in a thick layer of crystalline white. In an instant, it climbed up, up, up the legs of all who stood there, encasing them up to the knee. In the center of it all, Amaya stood frozen. She alone was untouched by the eruption of her wild magic.

She’d been a still figure as the scene had played out, words filling the air, covering her like a blanket of snow. But her mind had raced, her heart had pounded frantically as each movement of those around her, each new declaration, new action, had trapped her. Amaya’s eyes never left the quiet prison door — until Daphne had ordered her to stay protected, to flee, before casually speaking of her own death as though it was a foregone conclusion. It was too familiar, an echo of a nightmare she was still living through.

‘Your Highness, run!’

A spray of crimson painting the snow with death and iron.

Fear so potent, she could taste it.

Another corpse laid atop a cold table, cloaked in black.

Another piece of her heart, beautiful and precious and vulnerable, stepping forward to place himself between Amaya and a whispering threat.

A scream — an anguished, dying wail that she’d hear in her dreams over and over again, tearing through her flesh and bone like fangs, until it pierced her heart.

But this wasn’t a dream. Amaya was awake. And death was all around her, coating her world like ice.

---

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

Realms of Sun & Shadow

Part I

Collab between @c3p-0h and @Dezuel
_{Location: The Road Between the Jail and the Inn}

---

Anora tilted her head to the side and blinked her eyes to Tia, it took her a moment to understand that the woman before her was either a mute or had sworn an oath of silence. Quite the opposite compared to that man she had spoken to earlier in the jail.

The noblewoman adjusted her posture slightly and made a courtesy motion to Tia. Her hair momentarily fell over her eyes, casting shadows over it. A priestess and a stonemason? That was an odd pairing. Like her dear brother sharing company with anyone not of noble heritage, except his aide Faldrin of course. But... that was a special case.

"A priestess? My sincerest apologies for obstructing you~ Afraid there is nothing you can do for me. However the very sad man currently held within the jail, he could use some light in this hour," Anora said softly, raising her head to look into Tia's eyes, her blue eyed gaze fierce, yet her smile gentle. Her dark hair moving away from her face as a breeze passes the trio by, the strands of blonde hair in her bangs flickering, like golden fire, as the petals of snow fall down. The priestess met her gaze, her eyebrows drawing together in fresh concern.

"We all need a light in these dark days until the dawn comes~ If mister Azkona here would be so kind as to lead me to the royals residence here, that would be marvelous~. I shall wait there for the Prince if he is not already there~." Anora said in a determined manner, placing her free hand at her waist and with the other around the grip of her umbrella. She did want to find and speak with Flynn, but she also did not trust that scruffy scoundrel looking stonemason. He was surely a bad influence on her, then again... she had just now directed the priestess towards the jail where... that other man were. No doubt she would be able to handle him as he was all locked up.

She felt a sudden weight in her chest and core, she felt guilt. She was sending the priestess to a horrible place, and then tricked the awful looking troublemaker to escort her. Well... it was more like keeping everyone safe. Anora just had to look at Elio to know he was trouble. Perhaps it was time she told her brother about one of the things bothering her as well, as it had before she even boarded the caravan to Dawnhaven. He had to know. He deserved to know. He was still her brother after all. Ayel. But this was something she couldn't tell Flynn, not yet at least.

Anora stepped forwards and held out her elbow towards Elio, already expecting him to take up her request. She didn’t notice a dark eyebrow arching over firelight eyes. Someone was about to be in very dangerous company. But who?

Tia blinked at Anora and her proffered arm, trying to reorient herself back here, in this snowy path, instead of worrying about Gadez (Sad? He was sad? That didn’t sound like him at all. There was a certain… doureness to him at times, but all of Tia’s memories of the man — few as they were — were filled with an air of mischief and surety. Even when Dyna had arrested him, there’d been that spark in his eye… though, of course that might’ve just been the remnants of the Champion’s dazzling magic blinding him.

Regardless.

Was his incarceration really going so poorly that it’d affected him so?) because worrying simply wouldn’t do anything at the moment.

So instead of thinking (more) about Gadez and his ghostly blue eyes, Tia refocused her attention on the young noblewoman before her. She seemed little more than a girl, beneath her frills and lace, though still taller than Tia. Dark eyes caught on her mismatched hair as a winter breeze tugged at the weight of Tia’s new braid. Curiosity pricked at her along with… an odd warmness. A hesitant softness.

Pulling her gaze from the girl’s odd hair, Tia gave her a gentle smile, lips parting —

“Afraid my services are spoken for.”

A low, smooth voice rolled through the air like honey down a spoon.

Tia blinked again, eyes darting up to Elio.

Stance relaxed and casual, smile easy, he looked down at Anora with a gaze that was far too sharp. Tia’s eyebrows drew together as she raised a hand slightly — it wasn’t necessary for the mason to escort her, if Anora needed assistance. Their walk had been… amiable, but the prison was only a short way down the path if Tia remembered correctly. Maybe she’d even walk with more confidence if she wasn’t worried about yet another witness to her clumsiness.

“But if you’re that thirsty for company,” Elio continued, voice dipping low. Tia’s eyes went wide as the air beside her suddenly emptied and Elio took a single long stride into Anora’s space, a scant few inches left between them. “Guess the Priestess and I already had our fun.”

Tia’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. ‘Already’?… They’d had a chat and he’d been very helpful, but he hadn’t yet finished escorting her to her destination.

“I could make time for you,” he murmured as a large hand lifted, fingers brushing along the hair framing Anora’s face.

Heat shot to Tia’s face as she finally caught up and registered the way he wrapped his voice around the words — what they implied. Her brain tripped over itself trying to reorient in this new reality.

Tia nearly dropped her notebook as her hands shot out to grab at his forearm and tug it back towards her. It didn’t even budge. Somehow her cheeks only grew warmer as her brain filed that information away.

Blinking wide eyes up at Elio, she found him looking back down at her, expression neutral and eyes dancing with light. A stuttering heartbeat passed. Elio raised an eyebrow at her expectantly.

Elio had been kind. He’d braided her hair. But he was clearly too playful and too forward, and Anora was too young for games like this, even if Elio didn’t mean it.

And… in the unlikely event that he did mean it…

All Tia felt was the regret of running away from the hot springs that morning. She’d left Nyla alone with that man when it’d been her responsibility as caretaker of the temple to make sure she remained safe.

Tia’s gaze darted between the mason and the noblewoman and she blurted out the first thing that popped into her mind.

“I’ll get lost.”

Anora's blue eyes set on Elio, her dark hair moving in the wind, the blonde bangs flickering like a torch in the dark. The noblewoman's face had remained still and neutral the moment the mason had brushed along her hair, but her porcelain exterior showed no reaction. Her insides however did and she gave a soft smile, her eyes momentarily closing as if she were feeding an animal in her home at the Sunfire capitol. The priestess was indeed not a mute, but Anora couldn't help but feel that Tia was no doubt nervous. Like the books she had spent time reading in her youth, this was clearly a damsel in distress if she ever knew one. But there was no prince here to save her from this particular scruffy looking dragon.

Anora's eyes flashed open again and she raised her leg slightly and then aimed to dig the heel of her boot right into the top of Elio's one boot, her folded umbrella moved from its resting place on her shoulder to pointing directly towards Elio's jawline, a sharp steel tip protruding from the umbrella top.

"Make time?~ You didn't even shave, shall I help you?~ Fair warning though, I am no barber, I might slip~ You are hereby relieved of duty, mister Azkona~ Get behind me, miss priestess~ Flynn tolerates no brigandry or scoundrel behaviour on his people~" She said in a stern but oddly playful way, the golden ring on her finger shimmering from the light of a nearby torch. A smile began to form on her lips as she waited for Elio to react. The blonde bangs flickering over one of her blue eyes. A familiar feeling in the air.

Flynn was family to her, she couldn't allow this ruffian of a man walk around and seemingly enthrall young women. While Tia was certainly older than her, she had a particular look and behaviour about her that made Anora feel obliged to aid her. She had something about her that made the young noblewoman think of her own birthmother, how she had appeared in one of the old paintings that her adoptive mother had not thrown away. While her birthmother didn't even have the same coloured eyes, hair, skin colour or facial structure. There was still something there. She couldn't quite place it. But she knew that whatever nefarious plan this mister Azkona was up to, she would shut it down. As true as her name was Anora Raunefeldt.

Realms of Sun & Shadow

Collab between @The Muse and @c3p-0h
_{Location: Outside the Jail}

Part II

---

Snow fell in the empty space between them. The distance was short. They stood closely enough together that Amaya had to crane her neck to look up at him — closely enough that she could feel the edge of his warmth, radiating out from him even in this storm she’d wrapped around herself. The cold made her muscles stiff and aching. But she couldn’t look away from him.

She could still feel the burn of his hand around her wrist, a shock of heat cutting through her wrath.

Images flashed in her mind — she imagined turning away from him and calling Knight Kain outside again. Amaya could feel the wicked blades her magic would make, even now tearing at the inside of her, restless and eager. They would pierce through her skin, her wrath made solid. They would tear through him, her frozen blood mixing with his as Amaya screamed in rage.

And as her attacker, her tormentor died, it wasn’t Kain’s face that looked back at her.
It was her father’s.

Ice crept through her. Amaya ripped her eyes away from Flynn’s, gaze unfocusing against his chest. Shadowed green and gold filled her vision. The winter world blurred around her.

Another tear slipped down her face, following jagged, frozen tracks.

“I…” Her voice was a pale breath, wrapped in inescapable cold. It was small — she was small, trembling and helpless against the pull of her own magic. Her emotions. She was a stunted creature of pain and grief and anger. Frost pierced her from the inside out. Amaya could feel the weight of it all pressing against her, burying her, suffocating her.

She thought maybe she was imagining the ghost of Flynn’s warmth — a treacherous, hurtful thing.

“Please, Flynn,” she whispered. She still couldn’t look at him. The words tore slowly against her throat as she tried to force them out. “Be very careful what promises you make to me.”

He offered so many — spoke them easily, as if that act alone made them true.

That her father would never touch her again.
That she wouldn’t live with the fear and torment that had defined so much of her life.
That he would be a partner, rather than a keeper.
That he was hers.
Forever.

Each one was another cord tangling tightly around her heart. If he pulled too tightly — if Amaya let him wrap himself around her, if he melted her ice and left her with nothing but shattered walls and burning heat, if she raged and bit and pushed until she finally gave him enough reasons to leave —

The tear completed its slow path down her cheek, pooling against her jaw. Its trail glittered over the lines of ice against her ashen, bloodless skin.

“Amaya…” His voice was steady only by pure force of will.

A beat passed as he braced himself—holding together the pieces of the dam she chipped away at with each trembling word and crystalline tear. The storm she’d summoned bit into his skin, sinking past layers of clothing, but the cold wasn’t causing the ache that rippled through him.

His gaze remained fixed on her face, watching snow gather in the dark strands of her hair. His hands yearned to close the distance, but he kept still, as if any sudden movement might shatter them both.

“I’ll die trying to make sure you never live like that again. I promise you that.”

His words sank into her frigid skin, her aching muscles, burrowing deeper like there was nothing that could keep them from reaching her heart. She let out a shuddering breath as the teardrop, unfrozen, finally fell to the ground.

Around them, the four Aurelian knights stood silently, spread out in a loose half-circle, watching and listening.

The brown-eyed guard was the first to lift his gaze from Amaya, scanning each of his comrades. One by one, their eyes flicked between Flynn and Amaya, then to each other—an unspoken understanding passing between them.

The soft clang of shifting metal cut through the air as they lowered themselves to one knee, careful not to slip on the ice that had solidified beneath their boots. Amaya flinched at the muffled sound of steel — glinting armor and swords in their scabbards, the familiar crunch of soldiers stepping through snow. The sounds jolted through her and Amaya spun, brushing against Flynn with the movement. Warmth. She barely registered it. Didn’t think to pull away. Instinctively, Flynn’s hand reached out, hovering just behind her back—poised to steady her. But before making contact, he hesitated, and dropped his hand back to his side.

Amaya’s frost coated mind was too frantic as she blinked rapidly to see —

Flynn’s guards, Aurelian seals emblazoned on their golden armor.

Heads bowed, their voices came firmly in unison:

“By oath and honor, we are your sword and shield.”

Amaya’s voice died in her throat. Her swirl of thoughts and emotions and magic stilled. She could only stare at the four men at the edge of her storm, kneeling.

To her.

The moment stretched. All she could do was stare, awestruck, as she tried to make sense of what was happening. The guards didn’t move. The snow still fell — but it wasn’t quite so frenzied as it spun through the air. It dusted against their shining armor, small snowdrifts growing in piles on their shoulders and bowed heads.

Ice still crept beneath them, expanding outwards. Crystals climbed, edge by edge, along the bottom of their boots.

Amaya halted it with a breath.

She stared at the ice, now still. Her lips parted in stunned silence as she waited for it to move again, to creep out of her control and build and grow. But it didn’t. There was no frenzied pull, no tendrils lashing against her grip. The ice was still there though — still coating the courtyard and flurrying around her, even if it’d slowed. It still claimed her hands, her cheeks, every fault and risk and shameful failure she represented on full display.

And still the guards bowed to her. Still, they didn’t move.

Flynn, his warmth, his solidity against her back, didn’t say a word. There were no more promises or commands.

They were waiting for her.

The realization cascaded through her. Something surged, overwhelming and irrefutable as the tide. Another tear slipped down her face. It tripped and flowed over trails of ice, finding the curve of her jaw.

Amaya had always understood how to play a role. It’d been just minutes ago that another had kneeled before her, and she’d slipped into what was expected — what was necessary to hide and protect herself, to keep him at arms length but appeased.

But all her careful words failed her now. There was nothing to hide behind, no mask to slip into place — not when they’d seen her unravel and known the storm she carried like a second heartbeat. Not when Flynn was still against her back.

Her lips parted. No sound came out. She couldn’t speak, her own nerves damming her throat. Doubts flashed through her mind — that this was simply a display, that they would eventually regret this, that she was too small and stunted for whatever they hoped of her now. A mask was all that Amaya was meant for, and that’d been stripped away.

…What was left?

As if taking them in for the first time, Flynn’s gaze swept over the knights.

He’d heard those words—by oath and honor—countless times before, but never directed at anyone outside of Aurelian royalty. He hadn’t ordered the vow, yet they’d sworn it to her all the same. Given it freely.

What he saw in their faces wasn’t blind obedience, but choice. A quiet, deliberate decision to follow his lead and stand for Amaya as passionately as they would for their own. To lay down their lives for her. To place their faith in a fragile bond still being forged between two leaders born worlds apart.

Amaya took in a slow, stuttering breath. The guard directly in front breathed out in time with her, a small cloud drifting into the night air.

Her voice was frail under the weight of the first true authority she’d ever held.

“Rise.”

As they stood, their attention lingered on Amaya for a few heartbeats before sliding back to Flynn. He met the brown-eyed guard’s stare and gave a subtle nod—a silent thank you, his eyes heavy with gratitude he did not yet know how to voice.

His gaze shifted back to Amaya. Her cold form was within reach. Close enough to draw into his arms, if he only dared to move. The urge clawed at him, tightening sharply in his chest, causing a single finger to twitch involuntarily at his side.

But he held fast. Her earlier words bound him as surely as chains. And yet the overwhelming need to be near her burned just as fiercely.

The two warred within him, heat and ice locked in stalemate. And he stood suspended between them, trapped in her gravity—utterly frozen.

When he spoke, it was barely more than a whisper.

“What is your choice, Amaya?”

Her eyes fluttered shut.

His voice was the same — she was back on that couch, surrounded by him, holding herself so still against him, as if to move would be to risk shattering. Flynn’s voice brushed like the ocean breeze along her skin. Close, quiet, it narrowed her world to just the space between them, as he whispered…

“Stay.”

A plea. An offering. A hand, warm and callused, cradling her cheek like she was something precious. Like she was worth holding.

The winter air bit at her.

When her eyes drifted open again, they found the guard standing directly in front of her. He met her gaze steadily. Patiently. And for a moment… Amaya thought she saw something soft as the torchlight flickered in his eyes.

She looked to the other guards — three men who looked at her just as he did. Waiting for her.

The ice along the ground had halted its steady crawl. The snow still fell, but gentler now. It floated through the air in easy paths, no longer frenzied and wild. And when a final tear dripped from Amaya’s chin, it splashed onto the muddy path below, soaking into the cold earth. Only the remnants of her magic remained — the places that the ice had claimed as an extension of Amaya’s fury. The courtyard. Her body. Her teartracks.

She’d always been better at freezing than thawing.

Words trapped themselves in her throat.

Slowly, carefully, Amaya turned her head to look back up at Flynn. It was a struggle to move even that much — to not curl in on herself, her muscles tight and trembling with the cold. When she found him again, his tired eyes, his tense jaw… he was so close that Amaya could hear the steady rhythm of his breath. She could see the way the light shifted in his shadowed eyes as he met her gaze. Flynn looked down at her, green eyes darker, heavier, more tired than she was used to seeing them.

But the gentle sea held her all the same… even if he seemed so very far away now.

Regret and guilt surged through her. They mixed with dangerous, painful longing. Amaya had placed him there — far away. It was all she ever seemed to do. Push, and snap, and freeze, until she made herself unreachable. What had Flynn ever done to deserve that?

What had Amaya ever done to deserve the gentleness in his eyes, even now?

There was the soft thump of her heart. Stillness. Another heartbeat.

Her fingers at her side twitched. She could barely feel them, beyond the arc of pain they sent through her hand and up her arm. It made her freeze, muscles tensing as she took in a small, sharp breath. But she didn’t look away from Flynn. She couldn’t.

He was so far… but only inches lay between them. Amaya had never known how to cross distances, how to reach for someone. But she was learning. Slowly. Clumsily. And from the first moment they’d met, when Amaya had only been a furious fool in her wedding gown, Flynn had always, always, reached for her with an open palm. Waiting for her to reach back.

She could cross this meager distance for him.

Amaya let herself hesitate for a moment — a heartbeat filled with worries and doubts, hissed reminders of every painful lesson she’d ever learned — and reached back with icy fingers towards his hand. She barely touched him, too nervous of the harsh chill that would seep into him. But in that hesitant brush of her cold, clumsy hand, in the winter blue of her eyes, was a silent, nervous question. An apology. An offering.

Flynn’s brows drew together in a swift, nearly imperceptible movement, as he braced for her to recoil.

The dam he’d spent decades building cinched tighter, knotting painfully inside his chest.
Relentless waves continued to crash violently against steel, threatening to wash it all away.
And still, he didn’t dare move.

His eyes hardened as they held her gaze—confusion glimmering in the shadows.
White knuckled, he clung tight to a reflex taught to him long ago: be blank, be unshakable, let nothing in.

If he didn’t react, he didn’t cause another reaction. Didn’t invite more pain.

But even after several silent beats, she stayed. Breath after breath, she held his stare. The weight of it pressed against him, sending hairline cracks creeping into what had always been unyielding.

Now, eyes locked with hers, that steel softened against his will. Made aluminum. Bendable. Breakable. Vulnerable.

He let his eyes drift over her face again, seeking a moment of relief from the unraveling he knew he couldn’t stop.

Wet trails shimmered along her cheeks and jawline. He wanted, desperately, to wipe them clean. To hold her close and kiss the warmth back into her lips. To tell her everything would be alright—even if he couldn’t promise it.

Finding it just as difficult to look her over, his gaze dropped to her hand barely touching his.
No longer covered in frost, but still trembling.

Another crack formed. Another ache. Another longing.

He lifted his eyes back to hers. The dam shifted, a fracture widened.

Cautiously, he reached for her—fingers tentative as they slid against hers, almost afraid to fully claim her. The frigid contrast of her skin against the warmth of his own sent a shock through him, but he didn’t flinch. His touch lingered, soft and searching, a silent question woven in the way his eyes held hers—unsure if he was allowed to cross the boundary she’d set only moments ago.

Amaya’s heart pounded in her chest as she watched the emotions flash through him, almost too quick to catch. There was that same realization she’d had the night before — that for all his surety, his stubborn hope and warmth were not unending. Flynn was guarded. Careful, distant, and controlled…

He had walls to call on, too. Ways of protecting himself. It was all heartbreakingly familiar.

Flynn was waiting for Amaya to hurt him. Again. But he didn’t pull away.

Twin lances of regret and shame pierced her.

“You said partners,” came her broken voice. Her throat constricted painfully as she moved her fingers against his, curling slowly despite the ache — a tentative answer. She tried to swallow, watching for any sign, any warning to his reaction, as if she could outrun a tidal wave if only she saw it early enough.

“…Still?”

The word was as fragile as everything else that lay between them.

Flynn let out a silent, painful breath. His warmth betrayed him as it fogged in the air. He peeled his gaze from hers, letting it fall back to their hands.

The heart he thought had stopped was suddenly thunder in his ears. The dam he’d formed around it was crumbling. Each jagged piece of metal cut as it fell, stealing his breath—stripping his control—leaving him bare.

He ran his thumb gently along the outside of hers.

He didn’t know her.
Could he ever?

She didn’t know him, either.
Could they ever truly be partners?

He recalled the rage he’d seen boiling in the shimmering pools of her eyes. He’d seen it countless times before, but never in her. Did she know how to quell it? Did she want to—or care to? Would she prefer to let it claim her? What kept her from becoming her father?

He thought of her stubborn defiance—something he’d found endearing in the past. He thought of her reckless readiness to throw herself into danger, without a thought for those who might be terrified to lose her.

She wasn’t a partner.
She was an independent storm of fury and anguish, waiting to be unleashed.

But he hadn’t been much of a partner, either.
Today, they’d tried.

He thought of her last night. Cast in the firelight. In his lap, against his chest. Fragile and soft, like she’d never been held before. Then, without warning, ice cold and razor sharp—pushing him away whenever he got too close.

“I don’t begrudge you your happiness, Flynn.”
The words still rang in the back of his mind—a painful reminder that time and time again, she’d shown herself to be selfless. Despite it all. Frustratingly, terrifyingly, selfless.

Would he have done any different than her today? Or yesterday?

She wasn’t her father. She couldn’t be.
And he wasn’t his.

His eyes found hers again.

“My feelings haven’t changed.” he breathed, sliding his fingers between hers and curling fully, pulling her hand into the heat of his palm.

“Partners.”

Something released in her chest, sudden and overwhelming – it was like she was emerging from behind the prison wards again, a force as terrifying as her magic filling her body and making her whole.

Relief.
Fear.
Warmth.

Flynn.

He took her breath away.
Amaya still had something to lose – a future grief not yet met.

The shallow cuts she’d gouged into her own palm stung as the cold leaked away. Sensation slowly returned, and little by little Flynn’s hand didn’t feel like a wildfire against her own. The pain gave way to something softer as he held her, even if the rest of her still trembled.

“Then the choice is ours,” she corrected when she found her voice again. Amaya finally looked away from his eyes, down to their twining, mismatched hands. She curled her fingers securely around his, mirroring his grip.

Pressing her lips together, she let her gaze drift further down, to the ice covered path below them. Remnants of her fury glittered like glass in the moonlight. There was that potent shame again, the fear of her own glacial wrath. Firelight danced along the surface of the ice, staining the surface red. It stilled her. Beneath her skin, restless magic flickered and stirred.

She thought of the guards surrounding them – the weight of their gazes. Heavier still, the weight of their oaths, binding them to her.

“I don’t want anyone else hurt,” she murmured – even as something dark and cold whispered to her, asking if she wasn’t sure that one would deserve it.

Another promise Flynn couldn’t swear to her, though every fiber of him wanted to.
He studied her silently, absorbing another surge of helplessness that rolled through him.

What he wished he could promise to soothe her worries… he wasn’t even sure it was what he truly wanted. Kain—the blight-born, whoever he was—deserved death. In Aurelia, the blight-born’s fate would have already been sealed. Death would have been a mercy.

He knew Amaya’s father would agree, which caused him to hesitate.

Flynn didn’t wish to prolong the blight-born’s suffering, but that ember of anger inside him hadn’t been fully extinguished.

The blight-born had attacked Elara and Amaya. Violated her. Killed two royal guards. Impersonated one. Made a false oath and tried to manipulate her. For what purpose?

The thought made him sick, but he’d done his best to force it down. Focus on the present. On her.
His fear for Amaya’s life alone had kept the fire at bay.

“I think we should alert the Commanders.” he suggested softly, lifting his gaze briefly to the knights who still watched intently, before returning to her.

“The more support we have, the less likely we’re the ones to get hurt…” he paused, searching her face for the same defiance he’d seen moments ago.

“Unless… you think otherwise?”

Amaya’s expression held in place as she stilled reflexively. Volkov’s face flashed in her mind, his shadowed eyes as he watched her through the crack of a closing palace door. A flood of warnings filled her, lessons hard-learned, shouting at Amaya to not trust the old Commander — to guard and hide herself away, to reveal nothing that could be delivered back to her father like a bird carcass between the teeth of a smug cat.

“They should know,” she managed.

It wasn’t about her, it wasn’t about her, she fought to remind herself as she shoved the fear down. Cold crawled up her throat in protest. She tried to swallow around it.

“But that might take more time than we have.” It sounded pathetic, like wishful thinking to Amaya’s own ears. Impractical. Selfish. Gritting her teeth together, she forced out a slow, clouded breath as her hand curled tighter around the anchor that was Flynn.

There were more at risk than just her.

“Using his psychic magic… drains him. It’s like he withers away.” She’d seen it yesterday. She’d seen it starting again today. He wore a different face now, but the effect was the same — the lengthening shadows beneath his eyes, the deepening hollows of his cheeks as he tugged at stray threads of her emotions, searching for what would finally make her unravel. The memory sent a chill across her skin and up her spine. “I think he’ll need to feed soon.” Amaya could still hear the deafening boom of his voice in her mind, a discordant chord reverberating down her veins, as he coated himself in Sir Abel’s blood.

And Amaya had just watched him walk into a closed, secured building with two magicless humans who didn’t know he was a threat.

The cold snapped through her as she looked at the prison with wide eyes.

“We can at least have support on the way, if we’re engaged sooner.”

Flynn’s eyes lifted to the brown-eyed guard ahead. No words were needed. Just a steady look, a small nod of his head. The knight straightened, gave a brisk nod in acknowledgement, then turned on his heel and hurried toward the Commander’s quarters. Amaya listened to the fading crunch of his steps and tried not to hear the echo of palace marble under his boots.

Down one guard, Flynn’s gaze swept over the remaining three. Men he didn’t fully know, but they’d loyally shadowed him for months. Men who bore their oaths with honor. Men who likely had families waiting for them. Families they’d only ever see again if Flynn could find a cure… and kept them alive long enough to return.

Fear circled, whispering all the ways he might fail them. Fail Amaya. Fail the world. The crushing weight of responsibility pressed hard against his chest. Familiar, yet more suffocating than ever. He tried to brush it aside. Fear twisted choices, froze action. His father had taught him that much. A leader who bent to fear would always be broken by it.

These men were soldiers—the best of them. They’d known the risks when they took up the sword. When they’d marched to Dawnhaven. And yet Flynn couldn’t silence the gnawing thought that he was leading them all to an untimely end.

He shoved the dread down, locking it tight behind the same walls he’d used to hold himself together—crumbling as they were. He couldn’t let it master him. Not now. Action had to be taken.

His gaze returned to Amaya. Fear slipped straight through the cracks, coiling tight around his heart.

“We should get you to s—”

The prison door swung open. Flynn’s eyes snapped to it. Adrenaline jolted through him. He straightened, making an unconscious shift to draw Amaya closer into his side.

But it was only the squire. A quiet breath of relief fogged in the air.

“Daphne.” His gaze searched for any signs of visible distress. “Is everything alright?”

The heavy thud of armored boots cut through the air, ice cracking beneath each step. Flynn turned, noting the knights were already focused on the sound.

The Champion approached, her armor gleaming in the torchlight. The blight-born Priestess from the night before trailed quietly behind. Flynn could almost feel the dread loosen its grip over him, just slightly. Beside him, Amaya barely moved. Her eyes were still trained on Daphne as she catalogued the new arrivals. New risks. New weights pressing against her. She pressed incrementally closer into Flynn’s side.

“Champion.” He inclined his head, then glanced back at Daphne. “Might we have a word with you three?”

---

_{Interactions: Dyna, Ranni @Queen Arya, Daphne @PrinceAlexus}

Realms of Sun & Shadow

Collab between @The Muse and @c3p-0h
_{Location: Outside the Jail}

Part I

---

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.”

Realms of Sun & Shadow

_{Location: The Road Between the Jail and the Inn}

Part V

---

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}

Realms of Sun & Shadow

Collab between @c3p-0h, @Dark Light, @PrinceAlexus, & @The Muse
_{Location: Outside the Jail}

Part I

---

Cadia.

The name chimed clear in Amaya’s mind – a border town just outside the capital, little more than letters on a map for most of Amaya’s life.

Until two months ago.

Stiff, coarse bedsheets. The smell of smoke and oil and sweat. Unpainted wooden paneling, worn smooth and dark with age. A hush that fell over the streets like a smothering blanket, when citizens saw their carriages approaching, with their many guards and supplies.

Amaya had sat alone on a bed in ‘the finest establishment in Cadia,’ with a guard stationed just beyond her door. She’d been kept isolated for much of the journey from the capital to Dawnhaven, like they knew she might try to flee with Elara if they ever had a moment alone together. Like she might freeze the foreign Prince solid, her newly christened husband, if he dared to approach her.

Under different circumstances, Amaya might’ve run to the window – gaze out over the little outpost town, watch the quiet bustle of the citizens, trace the outline of unfamiliar buildings, grasp at this rare opportunity to expand her narrow world, if only by mere inches. But she didn’t need to look out the window to know that there was a guard stationed on the muddy street below, too.

Filled with silent, tearful, terrified fury, a storm turned inward on herself, Amaya had remained in the center of the room. The damning ring on her finger had anchored her in place. Taking in the sights of Cadia seemed unimportant. Cadia didn’t exist, not in the face of Amaya’s tumultuous emotions creeping through the seams of the room like ice.

Looking up at the guard now – Daphne, with her violet eyes – a sharp regret filled her. The squire’s soft voice washed over her, unguarded and clumsy. But open. Honest in a way that made her wary and on edge, like some trap was being laid that Amaya hadn’t yet found.

She suddenly wished she’d run to that window afterall. Borne witness to the way her kingdom was crumbling, brick by brick, as Daphne described. Maybe this shame, this deep ache in her bones that felt older than Amaya would ever be, was simply another cunning weapon turned against her.

The shadows cast against the guard’s face darkened. Deepened.

That soft voice wafter over Amaya, gentle, scalding, piercing words of ‘trust’ and it was like a brand –

Amaya snapped back into herself, back to cold, polished marble, impenetrable and unreadable.

The snow fell in familiar patterns, crystal flakes twisting in the wind.

Looking down at the last bit of shredded meat between her fingers, Amaya suddenly felt sick. Her stomach, still nearly empty, curled painfully around itself as the dark color of the meat seemed to grow more vibrant, more visceral. She forced herself to eat it, if only to keep herself from dropping it into the slurried mud. Iron was all she could taste.

Amaya was off balance, a phantom weight missing at her side. She wanted to reach her hand out to the side, just an inch or two – just enough for the edges of her fingers to brush against Elara’s, the silent reminder that she was there and safe –

“Thank you for telling me,” she finally said once she’d swallowed it down without expression. Her fingers curled around each other, refusing to reach for emptiness. The jerky – the flesh, torn and shredded and bloody – sat heavy in her stomach. She tried not to think of it. Instead, Amaya focused on the smoothness of her voice, the stillness of her hands, now clasped together in front of the folds of her skirt.

Amaya looked up to the Lunarian guard she didn’t know (but she could, she could, she could – she could ask more questions, about her likes, her friends, her fears – she could search until she found those poisoned edges waiting to slice and infect her, hidden beneath gentle words – she could demand to know all the hurts she’d known and all the ways Amaya had already failed her and let Daphne curse her as the useless tragedy of a Princess that she was – she could she could tell Daphne not to die for her) and stilled when she caught her gaze again.

Blue eyes drifted down, away from the squire’s face. They found the Lunarian sword at her hip. Amaya could still taste the meat on her tongue – smoke and spice, beneath the sickening iron.

She drew her gaze forward again, back out over the snow, and into the distant winter forest.

“Desperation makes animals of us.” Even before the sun disappeared, before the blight, Amaya knew that Lunarian life had never been easy. She’d been effectively barred from any practical knowledge of the kingdom beyond the walls of the palace, but she’d long ago discerned that the people of Lunaris had only grown hungrier under her father’s rule. Amaya wasn’t a fool. She knew the kind of man her father was. Arrogant. Cruel. Unconcerned. “And there has been too much of it, of late.”

Daphne was unsure about the Princess. She had a feeling that what she saw might be layered, complicated and something that was far more than just something she knew and had been allowed to see?

Something was off but it was not her place to pry or dig, she was a Princess and hardly able to ask such questions. She, however, was her guard now and that meant she had a job to do while the Prince interrogated the man. This… Gardener…?

Everything was…complicated and Daphne was not the best at this kind of riddle. She could fight, she would not be a Squire if not. She could adapt and lead, but riddles were a thing that Persephone was working on teaching her to grapple with and solve. Riddle this was, a man who claimed to be a Royal yet was a Gardener, a Monk. A Princess who seemed to have layers, a Prince who took a vested interest and more. She really would have had an easier time just staying late and cuddling Katherine, but Duty called for all of them.

”We made it this far. Options are slim for a Cadian Foundling. I take what comes my way milady, all I can do.”

Amaya glanced at Daphne again out of the corner of her eye as the Cadian squire shifted with her breath.

“I will keep your confidence.” The words drifted between them on thin, hazy wisps. A simple oath.

Something seemed to loosen slightly in her chest. Her fingers didn’t grip at each other quite so tightly. Her heart suddenly seemed less loud. The constant buzz of magic beneath her skin seemed to quiet –

Only to thrash again as she realized it was steadying.

Daphne gave her a nod of thanks for the fact her words would be safe. She had little in common with the Princess, but she had respect. She did not have to make such an agreement but had and that was a small but welcome gesture.

Movement caught Amaya’s attention on the periphery. Her gaze, again sharp and quick, snapped to find the threat.

Fair skin. Dark hair. Familiar Lunarian armor. A guard –

The guard.

The rest of the world seemed to fall away. Amaya was on that snowy path again, magic wild, panic as thick as blood in her veins, as Sir Abel died in a spray of crimson and the remaining guard shouted at her to run –

And now here he was again. Stock still, staring at her with dark eyes, like he wasn’t quite sure where he was, either. Standing several feet away on the other side of the Aurelian guards and their sunlit armor, he may as well have been directly in front of her. The man filled the entirety of her vision.

It shouldn’t have been so stunning to see him. She’d known he’d survived, logically. She’d been too much of a coward to ask Flynn this morning, but the question had been answered at the Moon Temple, when she’d learned the attacker yesterday had claimed a civilian, rather than a soldier.

But the difference between knowing and seeing...

Amaya wasn’t breathing. Was her heart even beating? The only thing in the world that was true was simply –

“You.”

He was alive.

It had only been a matter of days since Aliseth last saw her, yet it felt like a small eternity.
He gazed upon her as if seeing her for the first time. Eyes lingering a little longer than was proper.

He had seen her first, so he had time to prepare, but all planning vanished when her eyes fell upon him. Those deep wells.

She was more beautiful than he could have remembered. A scale to which all other things would be held. There was an air to her, a poise and prestige that elevated her above others. She held a regal grace. Built not on merit, but by lineage, opportunity and the belief and expectations of others.

Unfair as it might be, it was life. It was order. Order that Aliseth had vowed on his honour to protect.

Daphne felt the moment change as she watched Amaya’s voice and posture change. Moving to the front, one hand on a blade as an older Lunaris Guard came up, Dawnhaven markings. The younger Squire kept between partly as her charge's response was…strange and she did not take chances when given such responsibility. One of the Aurelian guards glanced up from fastening his horse's reins to a post, brown eyes flicking first to the approaching Lunarian, then to the Princess, before settling on Daphne. There were four of them, but she had been tasked with the Princess’ care… so she took that role seriously. She knew the Lunarian was a Royal Guard, but she was trained to take no chances and to confirm before she assumed he was safe.

Not restricted by the jail she moved faster than she should and away from its dampening effect, her balance reacted smoothly in line with the action. Amaya flinched away at the movement, too off-guard to smother the reaction. The rest of the world came crashing back into focus as she blinked, looking away from the Lunarian man to remember where they were – and all the eyes still on her.

“Oddly popular this day be, if you have business with the guest of the jail, I'm afraid you may have to wait,” she said. Daphne was no fool and saw how he had… caused a switch to the noble lady next to her. ”Squire Daphne, newly in. I'm afraid I do not have the honour of your name..” Daphne made a not so subtle probe/challenge, but she had known, even for a short time of service, good and bad Royal guards and she wanted to see if he could be trusted. Lord Coswain had been quite clear to never assume they were comrades to rely on until you discounted the opposite.

As Daphne spoke, the Aurelians subtly shifted their stance, already attuned to the change in the air. Two kept their gaze trained on Aliseth, one watched Daphne, and the fourth never wavered from the Princess.

Aliseth didn't even understand what or how it happened. It was as if a powerful magic pushed the rest of the world from his purview and brought him to one knee before her.

The air stilled in Amaya’s lungs.

"Princess," he said in solemn greeting. The end of his word drifting with the soft inflection of surprise or a question.

His voice rang in Amaya’s ears like the tolling of a bell. She heard it again – louder, harsher, ordering her to run. She stood, frozen in place, her fingers motionless even as energy buzzed beneath them. Again, again, again, they wanted to stretch forward, towards…

But he was not here to see her, she had not called him nor was she his current duty. Talking to her was not in his orders. Frivolities and small chat was not a luxury of his. Not with a princess. Besides, she was already protected by four other royal guards. Aurelian guards.

After a solid pause, head to the ground, he picked himself back up and carried on toward the building. Amaya’s heart raced as he moved, unvoiced words tumbling over themselves and damming her throat, a nameless opportunity slipping away.

But he didn’t get far.

One of the Aurelians—brown-eyed and blond—stepped forward and directly into Aliseth’s path, cutting off the way forward.

“Halt,” the guard said, voice steady and firm. “The Lady was speaking to you.” He gave a slight tilt of his head toward Daphne, his gaze fixed on Aliseth. “She’s the guard on duty. You’ll wait until she clears you.”

There was no mockery in his tone—just protocol. The unspoken message was clear: rank didn’t grant Aliseth leave to walk through without heed. Not here. Not anymore.

Daphne found it strange that the Aurelian Royal guards were very much the unexpected allies and support. She wore different armour, carried a different pair of matched blades and bore the eyes of a different land and culture. Daphne was not sure as she reached to check her long dark hair tied back, a small non-military nod to the fact she remained a woman if she was a guard.

In fact, Daphne paused as she moved her hand and checked her back with subconscious thought to confirm the knife that rested to her back. A knife, swords, she was well armed for a close fight. She gave the guard a nod for the support…an unexpected and rather strange day was just getting stranger.

“Thank you. Jail’s closed for the Prince, you wiIl have to wait your turn here or pay Sya for an ale.” Daphne said more firmly and looked to the side keeping an eye to movement about her. Was this man a threat to the Princess? She had no idea, but her reaction to the man was… noticed. Really could she have just cuddled Katherine and had a lazy morning? But Duty… Duty.

‘Pay Sya for an ale’ the words of the young Lunarian town guard had the same effect upon Aliseth’s face as might an extremely sour lemon.

The disdain and disbelief radiated from his features as he looked down his nose at her. He was either at a loss for words or deciding she was beneath them.

Slowly Aliseth turned his eyes back onto the brown eyed guard standing before him.
He allowed a moment of silence to capture the space between them as he stared intently, assertively, assessingly.

“I recognise neither of your authorities and at the current moment you are illegally obstructing me from my duties, so I strongly suggest you keep to yours and allow me to do mine.”

There was an elegantly laced venom in his voice amplified to the guard before him-and him alone-with subtle psychic magic. He was hardly going to shuffle off and report to his commander that he failed to follow orders because of some no-one door bitch and a few pompous sun-lovers who told him to go get a drink instead.

If he had the time he might have questioned the intent of his orders, did his commander not know of the princesses location? Was this deliberate? It didn't matter, he was a soldier and it was not his job to question orders, just follow them.

Meanwhile, in the distance, Aliseth's presence was noted and watched by more than one pair of eyes. Had he not been distracted by the princess, he might have noticed.

“Sir.”

A soft voice cut through the building tension.

The increasing harshness of their tones, the evaluating glint of their attentions, the muffled shifting of leather against metal and snow… Amaya felt them all like nails trailing lightly against her, and with each passing moment she wanted to shrink deeper and deeper into herself.

Danger, it all whispered against her skin. Blood.

The sound of her own voice fractured the ice holding her in place.

“Your diligence is commendable,” she said, her words miraculously even. They tasted like that strip of jerky she’d forced herself to swallow – spiced and smoked iron that landed like a rock – in her stomach – at her feet. She could almost see it rolling at the bottom of her vision – crimson and dark, the shredded remains of Abel’s mutilated head staining the snow bloody.

But she forced herself to keep looking at the survivor. Had his scowl been that deep yesterday? Had his eyes been that shadowed and hollow?

Did hers look the same?

Amaya buried the images of blood and bone and tried to hide behind the role she was meant to play. The diplomat. The peacekeeper. The Princess.

But she caught his dark eyes and somehow felt laid bare beneath her mask of calm – he’d seen her terror yesterday. He’d known her failures. He’d suffered for them.

Pulling her gaze away from the Lunarian, she looked to the other guards. To Daphne, and her Cadian eyes.

“Dawnhaven is fortunate to have steadfast men and women to protect it.” The implication hung in the air – they were all on the same side. There was no need for in-fighting. Perhaps she should’ve been relieved that at least the Aurelian guards seemed to be defending Daphne, especially after the ordeal at the Moon Temple. But she was too taut with nerves, an unsettled flurry of ice beneath her skin.

Just like that the tension melted away. Soft spoken words smothering the flames of egos.

Daphne was watchful as she stood guard and backed down, moving from her blocking posture, her pace normal as the Princess seemed to want to talk, she could intercede if needed but she would go by lead and just assumed the Princess knew what she wanted. ”Of course Mi’lady.” Daphne would stay with her but dropped the block and defensive mode.

She looked towards Asileth, the guard she did not know yet, she did not feel bad about doing Her job. She had to protect the Princess, she had to challenge him; it was just business not personal. ”Just the job, nothing against you, I just got here, not wanting to fail. I'm in my first week.” Daphne said more lightly and less sternly now the Princess had calmed things down, the tension had dropped and gave a thankful nod to the silver armoured guards staying nearby with the horses.

She would follow, or do whatever needed as and when.

“Well, start by learning rank and try harder next time.” the Lunarian royal guard chastised with a mumble as his eyes passed over the lowest ranking servant present, but even his final stab lacked any true thrust, all bite stripped from his words and delivered utterly lacklustre.

Daphne remained alert regardless of the fact Princess and the guard seemed to know each other though less words and more stilted than the tone with Daphne, maybe it was less history? An murder and battle to death tended to be a lot of baggage to deal with. Her hand lowered from the grip of her blade and kept an close eye on the environment.

A rather complicated history seemed to be about, Daphne really wanted to just cuddle a priestess or take her for lunch. Could life not be… more Daphne and less Drama?

She gave the guard Daphne had no name for a nod, he seemed one of the good ones or least not the ones that would get her killed hopefully. ”Lord, knight or recruit, I had to challenge you, I was asked to escort the Princess, you seem a good one.” Daphne added in way of an apology, though she did not apologise for doing her job, duty to challenge was a duty.

“I do apologize for the obstruction,” the Princess said, turning her eyes back to the man. She second guessed her words the moment they left her mouth, remembering what’d happened when she’d attempted to claim authority in the temple. With the Commanders. “His Highness should conclude his business soon. You won’t be held responsible for the delay.” Could she promise that? After the ordeal with Volkov and Barrett, Amaya wasn’t sure that they’d stop bickering long enough to respect any authority, but Flynn’s was a better bet than hers. That empty void at her side reverberated with silent echoes, a vacuum that pulled at her to reach for anything steady at all.

Her hands curled tighter around each other, tying themselves in place.

“Until then…”

There – the first fracture in her mask, a nervousness creeping through her voice like hairline fractures spiderwebbing across a lake’s frozen surface.

“I wonder… if we might have a word?”

Realms of Sun & Shadow

---

_{Location: Outside the Jail}

---

---

A storm.

Ice like glittering lace, claiming every surface it could find.

An arctic, churning, tidal wave that bloomed into existence from the very heart of all that Amaya was, with snow capped crests and untamable force.

It spun around itself, wild and frantic and alive, as it slammed against the boundaries that made her.

Amaya’s steps faltered the moment she passed the threshold of the door, winter air greeting her inside and out. There was overwhelming solidity, as the empty space she’d been grasping at was suddenly filled with magic.

Her breath stuttered – and when she exhaled, slow and shaking, a cloud of frost passed her lips and billowed into the darkness.

She was whole.

Blinking, Amaya held the sudden thought in her mind – like it was a foreign object that she could raise to the moonlight and better see its patterns, its make.

A voice cut through her thoughts, and Amaya nearly jumped. Her head turned up towards the sound – the tall, female guard. The one who’d been standing sentry in the prison. Somehow, in the aftershocks of her own magic coursing through her veins, Amaya had forgotten that she wasn’t alone.

The Lunarian woman – and four Aurelian guards – had turned to her, eyes heavy against her skin. A matching force to press back against her magic. Held together by the threat each side presented, Amaya drew herself up again and forced a semblance of calm. All the while, her magic thrashed in familiar patterns as it tried to resettle into her.

Looking away from the guard’s soft face, Amaya turned her gaze down to find – a shred of dark, dried meat.

Ice blue eyes darted up to the guard, to find her already chewing. She blinked back down to the jerky.

…It was jerky, right?

Amaya had never actually had any. She’d seen it once before, drying on tall racks in the palace’s kitchen after one of her father’s hunting trips, salt and spices in the air. But she’d darted out of the kitchen before she could investigate any further – a small square of chocolate pinched between her fingers, two cups she hoped no one would miss, her pilfered supplies were damning in her hands as she heard footsteps echoing down the hall towards the kitchen. Amaya had darted away, back to where Elara waited quietly in her room, her heart pounding the whole way back. It had taken over a week before she’d finally convinced herself that no one had seen her that night.

Violet eyes watched her now. She couldn’t help herself – Amaya searched for hidden edges, sharp blades layered beneath careful actions and words unsaid.

Looking back up at the guard, her open expression, her simple offering, Amaya lifted a hesitant hand. She took the bit of hard, dried meat between two fingers.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

Her stomach clenched painfully around itself. Amaya hadn’t eaten since this morning – and while she didn’t usually need much, the day had been a good deal more active than she was used to. Walking, riding, talking – hunger was often easy enough to ignore, but as she held the jerky and sniffed at it lightly, she found her mouth watering. Her entire body suddenly seemed heavier, her head less clear, as she remembered that she was exhausted.

Still, the foreign bit of meat in her hand seemed to stare back at her.

Movement caught her eye and she glanced up to see the Aurelian guards, tending to the horses a few feet away. One of them was looking back at her — the brown eyed man who’d watched her in the temple. He had one hand resting against her horse’s silver neck, the other on her reins, as he met Amaya’s gaze. His eyes flicked down to the jerky she held. Then back up. His eyebrows raised slightly. There was a question in his gaze as he waited for some cue for her, some sign of what exactly she was waiting for. Then something seemed to shift. The corner of his mouth twitched up in encouragement as he looked back down at the jerky before returning her gaze.

Amaya tore her eyes away, back to the Lunarian beside her. Finally, she forced past her hesitation and tore off a small shred of meat and slipped it between her lips.

Salt, smoke, and a subtle, earthy spice filled her mouth. She chewed slowly, eyes unfocused as she catalogued it all. The flavors, the texture…

The simplicity. Not just of the meat, but how it’d been offered.

Amaya chewed silently, watching the Aurelians as they saw to the horses. That guard wasn’t looking at her. But there was something soft in his eyes as he ran a soothing hand down the horse’s neck. Amaya watched him move, the way his eyes looked over the horse’s mane, her saddle, the buckles.

For a moment, she remembered him in the temple – standing across from her, two corpses between them. One nameless. The other, almost entirely unknown, but for the silent threat he’d represented for Amaya’s entire life.

Until he’d died for her.

The Lunarian guard was speaking again. Her voice shot through Amaya like the cold, that familiar armor again stilling her. Amaya looked up at her again, and it was like being back in the prison, reaching for the frigid storm of her magic and only finding emptiness. There was still no edge to her voice. No pointed reprimands or dismissals.

Just that simple openness as she asked Amaya what she wanted to do – where she wanted to go.

Something stirred in her, restless as her magic.

“That won’t be necessary,” she replied once she’d finally swallowed. “I just… needed to step outside.” And get the guard out of earshot of whatever Flynn was discussing with the prisoner.

Her stomach twisted around itself, nerves curling around her heart. Doubt crept in. The air around her hand was cold, the space beside her far too empty – too open, without Flynn’s warmth and shadow enveloping her.

She’d been so surprised when Flynn had allowed her to unwind her fingers from his, and pull away. Some part of her had nearly panicked at it – that he hadn’t held fast and kept her in place beside him. That he hadn’t kept her from making a mistake.

“But thank you,” she added, looking back up at the tall guard, “for the offer.” It surprised Amaya how very much she meant those words.

Standing in the frigid air, Amaya’s gaze traced over the five guards surrounding her – and all the open space they didn’t claim. Why had she insisted on coming out here, away from the shelter of walls and Flynn? Suspicion? An overabundance of caution?

The prisoner’s ghostly eyes flashed in her mind again, and his torrent of words. His tattoo. His smile. Bits of a puzzle, creating a picture Amaya couldn’t see yet.

She should’ve stayed inside. Listened. Been useful. Instead she’d abandoned Flynn to shoulder the conversation alone, because he was unconcerned with someone from a rival kingdom – her kingdom – listening to every incriminating thing the prisoner had to say about his family.

Ice crawled through her lungs, up her spine. A thin chill that numbed her skin. Amaya watched the shadows in the distant treeline grow deeper, seen through the falling snow.

Blinking away, Amaya tore another small strip of the jerky away to slip into her mouth. She tried to quiet the whirling, repetitive thoughts in her mind.

The two women stood like that for a time, silent as winter.

“May I ask your name?”

Amaya was caught off guard by her own question, soft as snow. She turned her head again to look up at the guard. Tall, imposing… but with a gentle sort of beauty to her features. Amaya took her in again, like she might find that distant coldness that she’d grown so used to from her fellow Lunarians – from those who wore a uniform and carried blade.

“I don’t believe I ever saw you at the palace.” Maybe that was why Amaya dared to ask – to engage. Maybe that was why this guard didn’t hold her at such careful distance.

A familiar fear crept up Amaya’s spine as she watched the guard, urging her to pull back – to be still and silent.

But she thought of Sir Abel, still and silent on the table. Something flickered in her, more potent than her fear. More painful.

She saw his face, a mask of death, and thought of all the conversations they’d never have. The rage she’d never hurl at him. The questions she’d never ask him.

“Where were you stationed before Dawnhaven?”

---

_{Interactions: Daphne Athenus @PrinceAlexus}

Realms of Sun & Shadow

_{Location: The Road Between the Jail and the Inn}

Part IV

---

Elio didn’t invite Tia into one of the dark buildings, as she’d expected – instead, they slipped into the narrow alley between two of them, sheltered from the wind but not without the ambient torchlight that filled the air with a golden haze. The clouds parted just enough to see a sliver of moon, shining and silver.

Hair tie in hand, Elio turned around to face Tia when he was deep enough in the alley, eyes bright even under the shadow of the buildings. Tia paused several steps away from him, apprehension buzzing under her skin as she imagined the footprints lining the snow behind her, leading her here.

Elio’s smile was faint and amused. Unbothered. Unassuming. He raised the pointer finger of his free hand and drew a little circle in the air – turn around.

The moon slipped back behind a billowing grey cloud, its precious light stolen away as shadows filled the space. The hair tie spun idly between his fingers. His eyes were embers, with a light all their own.

Tia turned around.

Breath shallow in her chest, she held herself still as she listened to the steady crunch of his footsteps, bringing him closer to her. She thought that perhaps she could feel the heat of him at her back, even through her heavy layers. She could certainly feel his presence bearing down on her – the way her hair stood on end at his proximity. Her eyes were trained on the narrow hallway of light that spilled into the alley, dim and golden, an indistinct haze like mist hanging heavy in the mountains.

Finally his hands found her – slowly, one first, and then the other. Long fingers gathered the hair along her temples, blunt nails drifting lightly over her skin. Tia couldn’t help the way she tensed slightly at the contact, shoulders lifting. But the hands didn’t falter. Strand by strand, Elio carefully pulled Tia’s hair until all of it fell in a tangled cascade down her back. And then, with long, gentle motions, he began to comb his fingers through her hair.

It was quiet work – but not the sort of crushing, tense silence that Tia had found so suffocating on the path. It wasn’t quite comfortable – it was too… intimate for that. Too disorienting. What was she supposed to do with this moment in time, hidden away in an alley with a stranger as he ran callused hands through her hair?

Was this inappropriate? Likely.

But nothing was happening, she told herself. Not really.

Tia considered the mountain of a man behind her – sharp eyes and a measured smile, his presence filling the space like it was his to command. The sort of man who seemed like he was never hungry, because he was always lining up his next meal.

He seemed the type to play with his food.

Tia watched the snowflakes drift softly, eyes straight ahead as her face warmed. She tried to swallow, her cold fingers worrying around each other in front of her legs.

Elio’s fingers caught against a tangle, the tug reverberating against her scalp. Tia jumped – only for a solid hand to land on her shoulder, holding her in place. After a moment – too tense, too heavy – the hand withdrew and his attention returned to her hair.

“No one teaches Aurelians a damn thing about the snow.” He pushed the silence aside, as easily as he’d brushed the snow from her shoulders. It was almost like he was muttering it to himself – or scolding her. Tia blinked, not expecting his soft voice, or how close it sounded from behind her, above her head. But she kept herself still for him as he worked. “The cold makes the air drier than you’re used to,” he said, voice still low. “And going in and out of that temple all the time, the temperature changes will be damaging. You’ll need to be more careful with your hair.”

Tia almost nodded, but thought better of herself – he likely wouldn’t appreciate the movement. A thread of embarrassment wound through her, an automatic shyness at his tone, that he felt the need to educate her. But there was something curious wound up in it too.

She thought of his dark hair, the soft sheen of it beneath the glitter of snow. Who had taught Elio about the cold? A generous Lunarian? Another Aurelian, who’d started out sun-soaked and shivering as she was? Something warmed in Tia at the thought – she imagined herself sitting with the twins in their room, on one of their beds, aglow in the candlelight as they laughed and Tia passed on the knowledge Elio gave her now – it felt like a lifetime since they’d laughed together.

Little by little, she felt her shoulders relax, her tension slowly seeping out as Elio worked his way through the knots the wind had woven into her long hair. It was oddly soothing, as she allowed herself to sink into the feeling of hands in her hair, the gentle tug… the simple act of being cared for, even if it was by a stranger. When was the last time someone else had done her hair? Certainly not since it’d turned pale as the dawn.

She wondered what Elio saw as he combed through her hair – the first person to ever handle her new blonde strands. It still caught her off guard sometimes, when she glanced it in her periphery, expecting black hair to frame her face. Did it seem off to him? Unnatural in some unknowable way? Or did he think she’d been born with this – blonde hair was unheard of for someone purely of Ember Island heritage, but maybe he thought she was mixed. Maybe he didn’t know a thing about the islanders, and didn’t think to question it.

Maybe he didn’t see anything amiss with her at all.

There was something… oddly peaceful about the thought. That maybe, to every new person she met, she wasn’t… divided in their mind, into a before and an after.

Whole, and then broken.

Elio’s hands shifted in her hair, untangled to his satisfaction. Then, to her continued wonder, she felt the tug of a braid being woven.

A small, breathy laugh caught in her throat as her lips quirked up in an amused smile. The hands in her hair paused for a moment, before continuing.

“I admit, I’m surprised,” his low voice slipped through the silence again, “that a member of the clergy would bother with someone accused of treason.” The smile fell from Tia’s face. “Seems times as dark as these, there are plenty others more worthy of the Sun Church’s light.”

The glowing embers that had warmed Tia from the inside out dimmed.

Her fingers curled tighter around each other. He wasn’t… wrong, exactly. There were many in Dawnhaven who were desperate for a glimpse of sunlight. And while Tia didn’t know how to give them reassurances that Aelios hadn’t abandoned them, or that there was a plan, or that this crushing darkness would someday end if only they had the unshakable faith that she was meant to represent… she knew they deserved what she could give them – comfort. Healing. Perhaps even hope, if she was strong enough to offer it.

But the way his voice curled dismissively through the air as he spoke of Gadez – the implication that he was unworthy of her time because of a single mistake – twisted something in Tia’s chest, just as Elio slowly twisted her hair in his hands.

She tried to swallow with her ruined throat – a reminder that no matter what people thought about Tia’s hair, there would always be clear evidence that she was broken, indeed.

Careful not to move her head or neck, Tia unwound her fingers and pulled her notebook and pencil from her pocket. It was awkward to try and write like this, the open page held at an angle just high enough that she could look down at it without tilting her head, but she managed it well enough. Message complete, she held the book up so it was visible from over her shoulder for him.

Is light not the most meaningful among shadows?

She felt his hands still as he read. She tried to imagine the face he made, how his eyes might’ve flickered as he processed how she chose to communicate – what conclusions he might’ve drawn from it.

The silence lengthened as he read, longer than it should’ve taken him for a simple sentence. Tia fidgeted with the pencil held tightly between her fingers.

“If it’s wasted, is it still meaningful?” The words, though said as easily as everything else Elio had given her thus far, sank sharply into Tia with their callousness. She felt the light tugging at her hair again, the sign that Elio had returned to his work. “There’s so little light to go around these days, I’d expect you to guard it more jealously – have some discernment. Surely there’re those more deserving.”

There was that scolding tone again – but there was a harder edge to his words this time. Tia’s eyebrows pulled together as she brought the notebook back down and wrote another message for him.

That judgement is not mine to cast.

His response was nearly immediate this time, edged with humor that sliced through her like the cold. “You sure you’re a Priestess?”

She wanted to shrink away from him suddenly, as heat rose to her cheeks like shame. But he still had her hair in his hands.

There are those more suited for justice and punishment. My role is to offer what warmth I can. To all.

Even written out, Tia could hear her own meekness in the words, could see the muffled embarrassment in each thin line. She was suddenly thankful that her back was to him – that she didn’t have to try and meet his eyes.

“I suppose it’d make your job harder,” he said after another stretch of silence, “if you had to be both blade and bandage.” She tried not to flinch as she thought of the golden dagger hidden in her closet. “Never known a clergy member to offer much warmth, though. Shame, sure. Judgement. Sanctimoniousness.” Each word was another dizzying blow, and Tia was left reeling, trying to figure out how the conversation had taken such a harsh turn.

But before she could do more than blink rapidly, her shoulders lifting like she could shield herself, a weight was lightly tossed over her shoulder – her finished braid. Tia startled at the movement, twisting where she stood and taking a step back away from the towering man that filled the alley behind her. Like he was yet another stone wall. His eyes were bright against his tan skin, his dark hair. He had that same sharpness to his gaze, curled in his smile, even as the rest of his body seemed perfectly relaxed. Backlit, the shadow Tia cast was fuzzy and indistinct against his defined chest. It barely came up to his collarbones.

She pulled her eyes away, looking for an escape from his gaze. She found her hair. It was a jostling golden rope, each weave tight and even. The color seemed darker somehow – less pale, more substantial, with all the strands densely wound together. And at the bottom, just above the wisping ends of her hair, was Elio’s harband. It was a stark midnight against the dawn. Kindness. Care – or something like it.

She looked back up to the stonemason and his burning eyes. The echo of his words still stung where they’d struck her, a sharp contrast to how gently he’d handled her. He was too watchful of her for his hurtful words to have simply been a faux pas – he was being upsetting on purpose. But he didn’t immediately follow with more cruelty now. No… he just waited.

Realization clicked into place, buried beneath her anxious heartbeat and disorientation: she was being evaluated.

It made her want to hide away, and run back to the warmth of the temple. She wanted Dyna’s surety. Ranni’s devotion. But left to her own devices, under Elio’s calculating stare, Tia only felt startlingly inadequate. The scarf around her neck, hiding her scar from view, suddenly felt like it was strangling her. She heard the High Priest’s disappointed sigh as he turned away from her.

Elio watched expectantly – still waiting for her response. Snow glittered where it fell against his dark hair.

Hesitantly, Tia lifted her notebook again to write.

I apologize if previous encounters with the Church have left that impression. The Sun warms, but it can also burn, and turn harsh if one does not exercise care.

Had he been wronged in some way? Was he nursing a grudge? Tia had assumed him to be devout when she’d learned his name, but he hadn’t chosen it for himself – his parents had. Were they overzealous? Was his name an old wound that had never properly scarred over?

Tia watched his eyes dart briefly over the words before his smile turned wry.

“Sun’s not doing much of anything anymore, is it?” he mocked, gaze cutting back to her. It was an uncomfortable sense of déjà vu – Tia remembered the harsh man from the springs, and his taunts. “Maybe the moon folk have had it right all along – Seluna’s the one who’s actually stuck around. We would’ve all been better off forsaking Aelios years ago, I bet.”

“I disagree.” The frail words slipped out of her before she could stop them, as insubstantial as the fog she breathed.

Elio paused. When Tia did nothing but stare back at him, heart in her throat, he raised a dark eyebrow. Finally, she turned her attention back to her book, gaze flicking up at him nervously.

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

Tia forced herself to watch his face as he read, weighing her words. Weighing her.

The corner of his lips quirked up. He finally met her gaze again, and it stilled Tia’s breath in her chest.

“If you ever find out, let me know.”

Tia didn’t know what to do with his murmured response. Her book lowered slightly as they stared at each other, gauging each other beneath the golden glow and silver moonlight. The snow never stopped falling.

“Come on,” he finally said. And just like that, the moment was broken. Elio pushed forwards, and it was all Tia could do to scramble out of his way and press herself against the wall of the building to let him pass. “Let’s get you to your prisoner.”

With that he exited the alley, back into the open air of Dawnhaven. Tia blinked after him, her heartbeat not quite settling as she let out a heavy, billowing breath. She watched him for a few steps – the way he moved with that same surety, how he seemed to command the space around him, the steady shifting of his muscles as he left her behind.

But he waited for her, when he made it back to the path. He didn’t bother to look back at her – hadn’t offered his arm, as he had when they’d first met. Instead he stood easily in the path, his sharp eyes examining the stones – the buildings – the snow.

Tia slipped her pencil into her hand against her notebook, her free fingers finding the soft ends of her hair as she watched him take up space – tall and solid, filling the slim window that the alley’s entrance created. Every warm and smokey color against Dawnhaven’s winter landscape.

Her fingers rose a little higher to find the hair tie – tight and neat, just as the rest of her braid was.

Those ember eyes finally found her again, tucked away in the shadows of the alley. His eyebrows raised expectantly. His gaze was as critical as ever.

Tia swallowed around the lump in her throat and released the hair tie. She forced herself to step forward, back into the path and the golden light of the torches that lined it.

Realms of Sun & Shadow

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

Part XI

---

Flynn didn’t interrupt.

He watched, silent, letting Halcyon speak—letting him mock, muse, and meander his way through this new performance. Flynn’s green eyes followed every movement as Halcyon turned his back to them, flinging his tirade with casual ease, like time itself was his to waste.

Somewhere beneath the layers of Halcyon’s all-knowing persona and maddening self-importance, a few things stood out.

Flynn resisted the urge to glance at Amaya when Halcyon mentioned her taking the attacker into her own hands. Her grip around his hand tightened slightly, eyes cold and flat as the puppeteer’s words washed over her. The memory of how he and Elara had pleaded with her not to put herself in danger again resurfaced. How she had pushed back, defiant as ever, unwilling to entertain the idea that her life was worth spending valuable resources on. Or, seemingly, that she might be important to this world—to them.

He shoved the memory down.

When Halcyon claimed he hadn’t known of the attack itself, Flynn’s annoyance ebbed, just slightly. He wasn’t sure he believed a word of it, but he quietly folded away the detail that Halcyon had helped the Priestess.

Then Halcyon brought up his father again.

Flynn tensed. The urge to defend his father surged like a reflex—hot and sharp in his chest, fire in his throat. But he swallowed it. Said nothing. Tried to remember the subtle warning Amaya had given him. His eyes remained fixed on Halcyon’s back, studying the tattoo.

He wasn’t sure if the man was truly mad, but one thing was becoming clearer: Dawnhaven mattered to him. Aurelia didn’t. And that raised a question Flynn had never let himself linger on for long: If lines were drawn—Dawnhaven on one side, Aurelia or Lunaris on the other—what would he do?

Would he choose? And if he did… where would Amaya stand?

The thought gripped something raw and tender in his chest. He shoved that down too. One crisis at a time.

When he finally spoke, his voice was steadier than before—less edged, but still distant. Still guarded. Still untrusting.

“I never said I blamed you for the attack,” he began. “But I do question your true motives. I question how far your so-called loyalty goes. And I question why you speak in riddles instead of speaking plainly.”

He paused, gaze narrowing.

A glance toward Daphne, as she quietly offered Amaya a chair. Then toward Amaya herself, gauging her expression—ever watchful for any flicker of emotion she might let slip through body language rather than words.

The Princess pulled her eyes away from Halcyon to once again take in the tall Lunarian guard – tried to swallow down her nervous energy, her swirling emotions as the guard’s familiar armor glinted in the candlelight.

The guard on one side, Halcyon and his torrent of words on the other… Amaya fought the urge to step closer into Flynn’s side.

But as she tried to control herself, to wall herself carefully away and keep her reactions and thoughts hidden – there was that gaping void where her magic should’ve been. An absence of force to push again, an emptiness as her grip tightened reflexively around nothing at all. It was more distracting than if there’d been a storm to weather.

She tried to step back and take in the scene as she felt the weight of their attention on her. Flynn and his stubborn fierceness. Halcyon and his barbed words and outlandish claims – and the tattoo that he seemed to brandish like a weapon in its own right. The guard, awkward and out of place as she continued to insert herself in the mens’ heated discussion and offered… consideration. A kindness presented to Amaya, unnaturally inserted into a space where it didn’t belong.

But given all the same.

Part of her – proud and untrusting, too ready to take offense that she had been offered a chair alone – wanted to decline on principle. Wanted to shrink away from this guard and what her armor represented, wanted to search her soft, awkwardly given words for razor edges. Why else would her words sink so sharply into Amaya’s core, if not for a hidden blade?

“Thank you for the offer,” she finally said, a soft smile pulling at her lips. Her free hand came to touch gently against the back of Flynn’s palm, just a moment before she turned to meet his eyes. “But perhaps I should step outside, instead. The runes are quite taxing.” Her gaze was steady as she held Flynn’s.

His brows pulled together faintly, a wave of unease tightening in his chest. Searching her eyes, he silently questioned the choice.

But he’d said she should stand where she chose to, hadn't he? And if this was her choice... he gave a small nod, barely visible.

It wasn’t a lie – the runes were distracting. Disorienting. Emptied of her magic, Amaya felt too thin and insubstantial, too… powerless. A mote of dust in the air, invisible but for when a strand of light shined on it.

But the guard was a distraction too, with how she kept chiming in as Flynn tried to hold the interrogation. Worse yet, she was a set of unknown eyes and ears – Lunarian, at that. The thought twisted something bitter and complicated in her gut. She thought of the Lunarians they’d come across today – people who were meant to be her subjects, her priority.

But Halcyon was throwing out accusations and claims about Flynn’s family. Unsubstantiated or not, whether Flynn was concerned or not… perhaps this was a conversation best had in private. Away from ears that might listen for potential leverage against the Aurelian royal family.

And Flynn… well, something told her that whatever she missed of the conversation by leaving now, he’d likely inform her later. The thought was another knife between her ribs.

Amaya cast one last glance at Halcyon and his eyes that seemed too piercing. His smile that seemed too knowing. He sent a chill through her, even as she remembered the way he’d stood over her, a threat in his eyes as he’d warned her attacker away.

Pulling her eyes away from him finally, hands still tight around Flynn’s, she finally turned her attention back to the guard.

“Would you escort me?”

The guard, guileless and unassuming as she’d seemed throughout this entire interaction, nodded easily and stepped towards them. Amaya couldn’t help the way she shifted slightly towards Flynn in response. But the guard only handed him the key to Halcyon’s cell, with the simple request to return it to her upon their departure. Then she looked to Amaya expectantly, waiting to follow her cue.

She hesitated. Her fingers were reluctant to unwind themselves from Flynn’s. She turned to meet her green gaze, focused on her as intently as ever. Her expression flickered – then with one final squeeze, Amaya forced herself to let go.

Sliding the cell key into his pocket, Flynn watched them leave, silently committing the guard’s face to memory. Amaya was in her care now. And the thought twisted something in his gut.

Their footsteps echoed softly against the stone floor as the two women made their way to the door, out into the Lunarian landscape. And then the door clicked shut and the Aurelians were alone.

The space beside him felt hollow. His hand cold. Her absence visceral where her fingers had once fit between his. Her silent counsel, gone with her.

He’d try his best to hold onto it, even without her beside him.

Turning his attention back to Halcyon, Flynn studied the man in the low light.

“If you’re so truthful,” Flynn said, “then why do you call me brother? You’ve offered no proof. I’ve seen more than enough people claim royal blood to know how often it’s a lie. So is that all this is, then? A ploy to tarnish my father’s reputation—for some grudge you hold against him?”

---

_{Interactions: Gadez @Dezuel, Daphne @PrinceAlexus}

Realms of Sun & Shadow

_{Location: The Road Between the Jail and the Inn}

Part III

---

Tia had to admit that Elio was right – he was indeed a very good windbreak.

Walking beside him, sheltered from the winter air by his towering form and radiating heat, she was too aware of her skinny, sleeved arm looped around his. She tried very hard not to shift awkwardly and draw attention to herself as they walked, but she was pretty sure the end result was just an overly stiff and unnatural posture. Tia let in a slow breath, and it formed a soft, billowing cloud as she exhaled.

He was just very polite, she told herself.

And large.

And handsome.

Glancing at him out of the corner of, she traced his profile – a straight nose, sharp jaw, high cheekbones…

And an idle, relaxed smile beneath eyes that seemed far too bright. Those eyes flicked over to her, catching hers in a way that stilled her breath.

Tia’s gaze snapped away, back to the snow covered path. The breeze seemed all the more biting, for how it stung against her warm cheeks.

“So, Priestess,” came his smooth voice, jolting her from her thoughts, “what calls you to the jail? Sightseeing?” Humor lightly stained his voice, a quiet invitation to share his joke – but Tia felt it brush roughly against the truth she tried to keep hidden.

Hesitating, she thought of Gadez – his ghostly eyes, his gentle smile as he looked at her… his damning words, softly sliding into place like a lock clicking shut, sealing his fate before Dyna hauled him away.

“Pastoral visit,” she finally offered. It wasn’t… technically untrue, but the words tasted too much like a lie on her tongue. She wanted the winter wind to smother them.

Elio didn’t respond immediately. For a moment, Tia thought that perhaps her hopes had been answered and he hadn’t heard her.

“Generous of you, to brave the cold for a prisoner.”

His deep voice was light and conversational – but softer. Almost thoughtful. His amber gaze flicked to Tia briefly and she felt it like a brand. She gave him her best attempt at a polite smile in response, words catching in her throat. But the next moment he looked forward again, back down the path leading them towards their destination.

The silence lapsed. Tia felt it settle over her, not quite suffocating, but too heavy to be comfortable. But the mountain beside her didn’t push. He let the quiet sit, broken only by the soft sounds of life that even this winter landscape created – the crunch of snow beneath their feet, the gentle rattle of wind through the pine trees, even the breeze tugging at her hair and blowing past her ears, private sounds only given life because she was there to hear it.

Tia let herself sink into the moment – tried to quiet her whirring, self-conscious thoughts as Elio escorted her. Words spun in Tia’s mind, half-formed ideas of what she could say or offer to fill the silence, the awkward space that she’d created by failing as a proper conversation partner because she was too nervous about all her secrets–

Impulsively, Tia turned her face up to Elio, lips parted – only for the breeze to blow her hair directly into her face. Sputtering, Tia stuck out her tongue, trying to pull the pale strands from her mouth.

There was a low, rumbling laugh as Elio pulled them to a stop on the path. The heat pooling in Tia’s cheeks only deepened as hard-edged fingers drifted lightly across her forehead, catching the errant hair and pulling it away.

Coal-dark met flashing embers as Tia looked up at him, her arm still entwined about his.

This all seemed like a terrible idea, suddenly.

The corner of his mouth quirked up.

“Come on,” he murmured, eyes still too sharp against the easy curve of his smile. He tilted his head to the side, gesturing off the path towards a row of dark buildings – storage, or barracks, or… something. “Let’s get out of this wind for a bit.”

Tia’s eyes widened, panic surging. The heavy silence between them suddenly seemed too warm.

Looking between Elio and the buildings – unpopulated, out of sight, enclosed – her lips parted, her free hand already raising to try and give as polite a denial as she could –

“Your hair, Priestess.”

Tia blinked. Pulling her eyes away from the buildings, she looked back up to Elio to find him holding up a black hair tie, an amused eyebrow raised as he watched her.

When… where…?

“Maybe your steps would be steadier if it was out of your face.”

Nerves still dancing under her skin, Tia eyed the dark hair tie – then cast her gaze over him, his black hair draping softly over his shoulders. The wind tugged at the ends lightly, a dark strand drifting over his face and cutting across his eyes. He barely seemed to notice it. He was too focused on her, his posture relaxed and his voice easy, as if it didn’t matter one way or another that she decided.

She hesitated. But when she looked away from the hair tie and back up to Elio, his smile seemed to grow.

“Besides,” he continued, “who knows when that prisoner will get a proper visit from one of Aelios’ own?”

Gadez’s face flashed through Tia’s mind – his chattering, his tattoo, his odd gentleness as he always seemed to place himself too close…

Refocusing on Elio, Tia found her cheeks warming for an entirely different reason. He waited patiently, thoughtless of the cold that surrounded them. The wind blowing lightly against their skin. The snow dusting against the tops of their heads.

Tia bit the inside of her lip. Lifting her free hand to smooth her hair in a self-conscious gesture, Tia glanced at Elio – and again towards the buildings he’d gestured to. Her fingers caught in a tangle woven by the wind.

“This impression might last a bit. Better make sure it’s a good one.”

She took Elio in again, warnings whispering in her mind. Despite how her sister worried, Tia wasn’t hopelessly naive. She knew the dangers were real – she had the scars to prove it. The world was a treacherous one, even in mundane ways – there had been risks well before the blight ever claimed a single acre of land. And Elio…

Large, imposing, forward, he practically commanded the very air around them. His eyes were still too bright and sharp, as he innocently held the hair tie. But his arm was relaxed, where hers was wrapped around it. And he’d been courteous so far…

Tia thought of those she’d encountered in Dawnhaven – threats and nightmares, predators with fangs, weapons hidden in words… not twenty minutes ago, Tia had sealed herself away with two people who by all rights could’ve devoured her.

And they’d been kind. Patient. Gadez was in jail for treason, but Tia knew that wasn’t the entirety of his character. The possibility of danger wasn’t enough to condemn someone – it wasn’t enough to deny someone the chance to do good.

Slowly, carefully, Tia pulled her arm away from Elio’s. He let it go without protest, ever watchful. Something flickered in his eyes, evaluating. The chill bit into Tia’s arm, even through the thick sleeve of her robe.

Elio took a step away from her – pulling away just as she had, granting her reprieve from his overwhelming presence. Tia felt the lack of heat immediately, the wind slipping more thoroughly around her, no longer in his shadow. His hand lowered to his side.

He still watched her with eyes like embers, waiting to learn how to adjust around her.

Another breeze wove around her, tangling her hair. Tensing in the cold, her hand shot up to catch her hair before it could whip in front of her face. When she opened her eyes again, she met Elio’s amused, patient smile with a shy one of her own.

Some of the hesitation melted in Tia’s eyes as she looked back at him. It was replaced by something softer – nervously hopeful that she could always rely on the best in people.

Finally she nodded.

Slipping his hands in his pockets, Elio’s smile grew. He took another step back away from Tia – towards the buildings off the path. Hiding her hands in her sleeves, Tia watched the shifting movements of his broad back with each step.

The crunching snow, the whispering wind, cradled Tia with their gentle reminders of life as she followed him.