c3p-0h

Realms of Sun & Shadow

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_{Location: The Sun Temple}

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Tia’s eyebrows drew together, her smile patient and embarrassed as the guard tried to call her Your Grace, of all things. She shook her head, a hand raising to calm him. Tia tried to soften herself, giving him a gentle look as his nerves leaked out of him – for how solidly he’d placed himself at the temple door, he fidgeted like a schoolboy as he looked at her. It was… rather endearing, actually. Her smile turned encouraging, as her previous worries about his presence began slipping away. Whatever had motivated the order to bring him here, he still deserved the warmth of a fire and a friendly face.

But… her worries didn’t disappear completely.

At his question, her smile faltered. She shook her head again – she hadn’t been told that there’d been a guard arriving. The question lingered in the air, prickling lightly against her skin. Tia’s lips parted. Then she reconsidered, before looking down at her robes and retrieving her small notebook and pen from her interior pocket — she’d been sure to grab them from her room upon changing. Her smile when she looked up at him was a little more unsure, a little more nervous. Tia tapped at the scarf covering the skin of her throat in explanation and turned her attention back to the book.

Flipping through the first few pages, her eyes glanced over snippets of writing – previous conversations half-written as she’d moved about Dawnhaven. Memories flashed briefly at stray words, little reminders of all that had happened.

But she stilled when she saw one note in particular.

You should know that we technically don’t have permission to do this.

Please don’t tell anyone.

It was one of the last things she’d written – a hurried confession to the guard just before she’d left Dawnhaven with him and Ivor on their perilous, unsanctioned quest. He’d given her a cheeky smirk, assuring her in a low voice that he could keep a secret.

But Ivor hadn’t.

The realization struck Tia like lightning: Ivor couldn’t read. She’d never communicated to him that if anyone knew the details of where they’d gone yesterday, the Prince was going to be very mad.

And Ivor, exuberant and lively and loud, loved sharing with others.

Tia was frozen. Any peace she’d found outside in the springs all but evaporated. Wide eyes blinked down at her words. Then back up at the guard.

The guard. The Aurelian guard. The Prince was Aurelian (never mind that so was most of the population of Dawnhaven). Did he already know about where Tia had run off to yesterday, when she'd been unavailable to aid the Princess? Was the guard here to keep an eye on her? When had her pulse gotten so loud in her ears?

Tia's smile was only a little panicked as she looked up at him.

She tried to take a breath to calm herself – she didn't know the reason why the guard was here today of all days. Maybe it was because of the secret evil-gemstone-demon-cave mission. Maybe it was because of the alarms yesterday. Maybe it was because there should've been a guard here all along but they'd just… forgotten.

If her hands shook a little as she turned to a fresh page in her notebook… no they didn't. Tia flexed her hand a little before managing to write out another note. Her glance back up to the guard was nervous as she held the page up to show him.

Is this because of yesterday?

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_{Interactions: Kale Grall @Theyra}

Realms of Sun & Shadow

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_{Location: The Sun Temple}

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Alone again in the temple, it took longer than Tia would ever admit to pull herself back together. But eventually, her heartbeat had slowed and her cheeks had cooled enough that she could no longer justify the way she sank into the bench, eyes wide as she stared at the fire and held Ranni’s gecko tight to her chest.

There were priorities. Tasks to accomplish.

A dozen different ways to smile.

Dancing hazel eyes.

Anytime, Tia.

Tia shot to her feet and did not trip on her robe as she all but fled back to her room.

She busied herself, trying to distract her frantic thoughts. It worked well enough – there was certainly enough to do. One by one, she carefully gathered the mess of papers that covered the floor of her room. She blinked, finding a page that she hadn’t written. It was a short note from Ranni by the door, explaining that she’d headed into town this morning to check in with the Princess after a difficult healing session yesterday.

Pride mixed with worry as Tia looked down at the bubbly handwriting. As taxing – both emotionally and magically – the Princess’ healing had clearly been, Tia’s apprentice was still seeing it through. There was that guilt again, that Tia had left the twins to fend for themselves yesterday. But there was nothing to do about it now – only ways to make sure she didn’t make the same mistake twice. Whenever the twins got back, they would… talk. Properly. Tia would try to find the words to make it up to them.

Her frantic to-do list was the last page Tia collected from the ground. She scanned the list, with its crossed out words and evident panic-spiral she’d sent herself down. Maybe she’d just burn this page.

She paused though, when her eyes found something listed that… somehow, she might’ve actually accomplished.

• Give gem to… someone?
  • Eris

A smile grew on Tia’s face. It was hesitant, like she didn’t know if she could trust that she might’ve found a solution to one of the monumental tasks piled on her narrow shoulders. It was premature, she knew. Maybe something would come up. Maybe the guard wouldn’t be able to get the gem to Eris. But…

Tia thought of his smirking, freckled face.

Consider it done.

Tia picked up her worn pencil from the floor and drew a little check mark on her list. Her smile grew.

It turned into a frown though, as she continued reading her list.

• Learn Guard’s name

She drew a series of stars next to that one.

Floor finally clear, Tia piled her stack of pages back into the drawer of her bedside table. Then she sighed and tried to force her sore body through a series of stretches to try and at least dampen the pain in her muscles. Everything still hurt, but at least she could manage to move somewhat normally by the end. Her hand was still the worst, but Tia bent her fingers this way and that, trying to shake her hand out every so often and flex it into a fist.

She dressed for the day, finally changing out of her too-long sleeping room and into something that actually fit. Her priestess attire, intricately embroidered with white and gold, was a familiar weight that wrapped around her, its own form of armor against the uncertainty of her life. She arranged her scarf more carefully – it’d slipped somehow around her neck, she realized. The edges of her scar had peaked out over the top of the fabric. For how long? Tia bit her lip at the thought of it being on display for the guard during their conversation.

Tia looked at her dirty sleepwear that she’d laid on her bed. Screwing her mouth to the side, she examined the dirty bottom hem. The whole piece wasn’t ruined at least, like her clothes from yesterday had been. The stains were faint – this could be salvaged. The length had proven to be an issue though – on multiple occasions. Tia had tripped over herself in front of no less than four people since arriving in Dawnhaven.

It wasn’t like she’d ever expected to see people in her sleepwear. Besides, it was the most comfortable set she had – and Lunarian winter severely limited her wardrobe when she’d spent her entire life under the sun.

It would’ve been a shame to let the robe go to waste. Ranni was taller than her – maybe she’d like it. They needed to get her properly outfitted anyway, since the twins had arrived in Dawnhaven with next to nothing. If not Ranni, then… maybe Tia could just take the hem in a bit. Frowning, she held the fabric in her hands. It was much thicker than she was used to, made for the frigid north. She wasn’t looking forward to pushing a thick needle and thread through it over and over again. A last resort, she decided. If nothing else, she’d just be more careful about changing before she left her room each morning.

Finally looking like a proper Priestess of Aelios, Tia emerged from her room. A quick stop at the twins’ bedroom to deposit the gecko gently on Ranni’s bed, and then Tia made her way back towards the side door to the hot springs. She hesitated, nerves building as she held the doorknob.

She desperately hoped that man had left.

But even if he hadn’t, Tia had a job to do.

Biting her lip, small bucket in hand, Tia opened the door slightly and poked her head out to find…

An empty spring.

Tia breathed a sigh of relief. Then she felt bad about that. Then she worried a little – she probably shouldn’t have left that woman with him. Tia didn’t doubt that she could likely handle him better than Tia would’ve been able to, but… something about him had just made her so unsteady. There’d been something almost predatory about him. Even if the other woman stood with all the confidence in the world, Tia knew better than to think someone didn’t need support against a possible challenge.

Or… threat.

Tia shook her head. She didn’t like the feel of the thoughts in her mind, the distrust she felt of the man when he hadn’t technically done anything to deserve it. He’d just… been a little much.

Trying to push the thoughts from her mind, Tia focused back on the task at hand. She made her way back down to the water, carefully avoiding the small puddles where blood still stained the stone. The water was warm and comforting as Tia dipped her bucket in and used it to wash away the blood. It splashed into the spring, carried away by the current. The water would replenish itself, and become clean again. It would cleanse itself, as it did all things.

Tia lingered in the warm steam. She squatted down by the edge of the water, careful to keep her robe from getting wet. With a sigh, Tia lowered her aching hand into the spring.

Its heat enveloped her like an embrace, a gentle press against her cold skin and sore muscles. Tia closed her eyes as she listened to the rippling of the water – the soft brush of wind through the leaves. She tilted her head up. In this warmth, she could almost feel the sun on her face.

She opened her eyes, and only the night greeted her.

But the silver moon was bright in the sky, peeking between a thick blanket of clouds. It was an imperfect circle, gentle, but commanding. Almost defiant, with how starkly it stood against the darkness. And there, between the few holes in the clouds she could find – stars. Tia thought she could trace their path, even as obscured as they were. A glistening riverbed of color, drawing a path across the sky.

_{…Tiin…gaaa…raaaa…}

Tia let herself stay there. Snow fell, but never reached her. It turned to steam, mixing with the warm air she breathed.

When Tia returned to the temple, there was a gentle stillness in her chest. For once, there was no frantic buzz of thoughts and worries. There was just the echo of warmth in her hand – the soft glitter of stars in her eyes.

Tia went back into the main chamber of the temple – and paused, when she saw a new figure standing at attention near the entrance.

A… soldier?

Tall, dark haired, armored, with his sword sheathed, and a bow and quiver of arrows across his back. Oddly, he didn’t seem to be visiting the church for worship or communion. He seemed… on duty? He stood with his back straight beside the door, like he’d been stationed here. This was the first time a guard had ever been placed at the temple – Tia’s brows drew together. Something didn’t quite sit right with her, the idea that the temple needed to be protected with the unspoken threat of violence.

Of course… there were the Champions. But Dyna was her sister – she didn’t count. And that threat certainly wasn’t unspoken.

Tia remembered the alarms from yesterday. She still didn’t know what’d happened – was the threat that great, that now there needed to be a soldier stationed here? Was Dyna not enough? Had the twins been told of this new assignment when Tia had been out?

She gathered herself, a polite smile finding her again. Whatever the situation, her unease wasn’t the guard’s fault. He was simply here to do a job – make sure Aelios’ temple remained a sanctuary. Tia tried to push her nerves from her mind as she made her way towards the guard.

“Hello,” she said when she was close enough for her soft voice to reach him. There was that familiar nervousness, the automatic insecurity whenever someone new heard her voice. Still, Tia made herself continue. “Welcome.”

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_{Interactions: Kale Grall @Theyra}

Realms of Sun & Shadow

Collab between @The Muse and @c3p-0h
_{Location: The Aurelian Guard Camp}

Part II

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The door shut with a hollow thud behind them, sealing the tension of the Commander’s quarters in its place. Flynn kept walking, hand still entwined with Amaya’s. He glanced down at her, concern tightening in his chest. Her skin was cold—unnaturally so—and that chill had crept up his own arm, absorbing the storm brewing within her.

But he said nothing.

Not yet.

Flynn’s eyes drifted forward—and narrowed.

Up ahead, beneath the long shadows of the treeline, two figures lingered. The Champion—still stationed exactly where they’d left her—stood in quiet conversation with a man Flynn recognized immediately by posture alone. Broad-shouldered. Sharp-eyed. A man so fastidious in his work that it bordered on artistry.

A necessary asset, but an endlessly irritating one.

Amber eyes flicked to the royal couple as they walked, lingering on Amaya. Then they caught Flynn’s gaze. The mason gave a small, sharp-edged smile, like he was laughing at his own joke. He turned his attention back to the Champion, eyes dancing with amusement.

Flynn gave them a wide berth, guiding Amaya toward the jail. Their next stop. Another fire to put out.

As they continued, the soldier’s grounds unfolded around them. Battered training dummies, barracks flanked with gear and noise. Soldiers milled about in wary groups, still keeping distance between factions, though the presence of two commanders under one roof might shift that, in time. He could only hope.

As the distance between them and the Champion grew, once he was sure they’d moved beyond stray ears, Flynn began to slow. He gave Amaya a quiet glance, a wordless signal, and gently tugged her toward the trees with him, veering from the path.

Just far enough for privacy.

The snow fluttered unnaturally around their feet with every step. Amaya was haunted by her father’s phantom, an oppressive weight that stilled her breath and stopped her heart.

Beneath the canopy, where snow struggled to touch the earth, Flynn stopped and turned to face her. His brow furrowed—not with anger or judgement. Just quiet worry.

"You okay?" he asked, voice low, his hand still entwined with hers.

It should’ve been harder to hear him, with her blood pounding in her ears, but his soft worry pierced through the storm — through her.

Amaya held herself very still as she felt something fracture. But it was small — just a crack in her mask. If she could just… focus, she could rebuild her walls, maintain her composure, keep this furious blizzard from tearing its way out of her —

Her hands were trembling. It wouldn’t have been obvious, but for the way Flynn’s steadiness wrapped around her.

Flynn, with his commanding voice and authority, and how he’d made her too solid, too tangible to the Commanders —

Volkov, with his evaluating eyes, like he hadn’t made up his mind about her years ago just like everyone else, like his first loyalty wouldn’t always be to the King —

Her father, and his inescapable presence even here, his heavy hand against her neck as he reminded her of the repercussions —

Elara, her hair and voice like a blanket of frost, waiting to be stained bloody —

Sir Abel, dead —

“Why did I not know there had been another death?” Her voice was soft as first snowfall, and just as bare. Her expression was blank. Ice blue eyes stared unseeing at Flynn’s chest, unable to look anywhere at all lest she find something else to weaken her defenses.

Flynn froze for a heartbeat, caught off guard. Of all the things she could have said, he hadn’t even considered that this would be the first thing she’d voice. The ice he felt along her fingertips, he realized, had been caused by him.

His heart sank.

She wouldn’t look at him—and he hated it. Hated that she wouldn’t see the fracture it’d caused in his expression. But he was grateful—grateful that her hand was still in his. That she hadn’t pulled away from him entirely.

“I…” His voice caught, dry in his throat, the words slow to form. Exhaling softly, he accepted another misstep he hadn’t meant to make. “I didn’t want to upset you further…”

Pale eyes cut to his, frigid with emotion that Amaya didn’t know how to voice. There was a sharp flicker of magic — the canopy above them shivered, stray snowflakes drifting down around their heads.

Shutting her eyes, Amaya fought to fold herself away again. Her frustration only built, directed inward, another revealing emotion that pressed against her failing walls. She forced a breath. It shook, a trembling cloud escaping her.

When she opened her eyes again, she wasn’t looking at Flynn. She took a step, trying to slip around him to retreat back to the path — back to the eyes of strangers that would press against her, and help maintain her walls.

Her fingers began to slip from his, and Flynn’s grip tightened instinctively, grounding them both in place. His heart lurched, a surge of dread sweeping through him in an instant.

“Amaya,” he said quickly, the plea already rising in his throat. “Please—”

He stepped forward, moving to block her path, catching her other hand in his. His fingers wrapped around hers, firm despite his heart thundering inside his chest, holding onto her like she was something already halfway gone.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, eyes searching hers. “I didn’t… I don’t know, I thought—”

None of the words fit. Nothing made it right. He felt sick.

“I’m sorry.” he said, quieter this time.

The little crack he’d managed to form in her mask only widened as Amaya looked up at him, heard the fragile tone in his voice.

His hands were warm. Hers were still shaking.

Deep in the heart she tried to hide, something reached towards him painfully. Emotions, one by one, started to slip through her fractured eyes. She lowered them again, finding that indistinct spot on his chest.

“It’s not –” Amaya, normally so precise with her words, cut herself off. She pressed her lips together. Snow hung above their heads like a sword, a constant reminder of all the ways she could ruin herself. Ruin Flynn.

Flynn’s brows pulled together, waiting for her to elaborate.

Thoughts tumbled like a storm, emotions dangerous as hail. Amaya tried to breathe again, only to find the air caught on words she couldn’t even find.

Two people were dead because of her – because she’d used her words too recklessly, and hadn’t considered how immediate the consequences would be without her father here to punish her for them.

She’d never known anyone to listen to what she had to say. Had never known her words to have weight. Amaya tried to search for any possible way to make him understand, when she could barely parse it out herself. All the while, she could feel her father’s lingering stare.

“Why,” she tried again, barely a whisper, “did you agree to combining their quarters?”

He blinked, thrown off by her question once again. He hadn’t recovered from the first wound, and now came another. There’d been no closure, just a pivot.

“It… felt right,” he said with a shake of his head and a small shrug, unsure of why she even felt the need to ask. “I agreed with it.”

Not good enough. He could feel that in the silence between them.

He looked down at her hands in his, searching for some deeper answer to her question.

“The Commanders are too comfortable. Neither wants to yield.” He drew in a deep breath, trying to steady his racing heart. “Building separate quarters for them only reinforced the divide.” He shook his head again, disappointment etched into his expression. “It was a mistake.” Another mistake.

He lifted his gaze to hers again, “You were right to suggest it. It was a good idea.”

“I didn’t mean it, Flynn!” The words slipped out, too quick, too charged. But it wasn’t anger that flashed through her eyes as she looked up at him – it was fear.

More snowflakes drifted down around their heads, dusting their hair and the tops of their shoulders.

Amaya squeezed her eyes shut, tilting her head down again as she tried to rein herself in. There was too much heat radiating off of his body, bridging the narrow space between them. She could feel the way her fingers thawed against his, circulation returning painfully. She hadn’t realized she was numb.

She stood there for a long moment, trying to steady herself.

He studied her in the silence that followed, searching her face, trying to piece together what she had meant. He replayed the meeting with the Commanders in his mind, searching for the subtle layers hidden beneath her words—the things she hadn’t said, the hints she’d left unspoken, the slight shifts in her tone or expression that might’ve meant more. He had watched her expertly navigate the war of words with the Commanders, each word calculated and deadly. But with him…

She was still playing the game. Only, he had never attempted to participate in it with her. They were speaking entirely different languages to one another, operating on different scripts.

Finally, he exhaled, his voice calm but certain.

“It was a good idea, whether or not you meant it.” He spoke with quiet conviction, trusting his instincts that it had been the right call. His gaze flicked briefly upward, warily eyeing the snow that threatened to spill over onto them, before returning to her.

“What did you mean, then?” His voice softened, careful, trying to find the right balance between pushing her for an answer and pulling back to give her space.

In the wake of his steadiness, his certainty, Amaya was suddenly self-conscious. Part of her wanted to simply… accept his assurances. If he’d made his decision, then what did it matter what she’d intended? She had no real experience. Her veiled words, her intricate song she’d learned to play… Amaya imagined herself trying to explain it to him. It felt childish. It felt too revealing.

Her eyes opened, finding their hands between them. Flynn had enfolded hers so completely, she could barely see them. Even as the cold slipped away, she was still shaking.

She could still feel –

“It was something to lose,” she finally said. It was like forcing a ship through an iceflow, but somehow the words found passage. Her lips parted. Then closed again. She gave a small, imperceptible shake of her head as she looked to some indistinct point on the ground. “Motivation. So when they compromised they could think it was their own idea.” Her eyes finally found his again. “So they don’t resent you the next time you need something from them.”

Flynn had never even played this game, he realized. His father had never taught him the art of manipulation, how to lure people into traps made of carefully placed words. Even his mother had urged him to be direct, to assert himself without hesitation. To make his will known in the room, should he desire it. Resentment held no weight—obedience did.

“I don’t want them thinking it was their idea, Amaya,” he said softly, his eyes shifting past her, weighing his words before continuing. “Their resentment doesn’t concern me.”

Her eyebrows pulled together, a new emotion cutting through her gaze – confusion. It caught her so off guard that for a moment it stilled the storm inside her.

For a brief moment, he fell silent again, wondering if he should have been softer in his approach with the Commanders. But then, a part of him fought back. With men like Volkov, showing any hint of hesitation, any sign of yielding, would have been perceived as weakness. If you gave an inch, they took a mile. That was the game he played.

“I need them to respect us as leaders.” His gaze returned to her, “We make the decisions, and they follow. Resentment or not, they answer to us.”

Amaya stared up at him, trying to process his words – his certainty that others would follow just… because he said so.

But why would he think otherwise? He’d built this town. Delayed their deaths, if only for a little while. Just because Amaya needed careful words and hidden motivations, didn’t mean he did. There was that insecurity again, the feeling that she was a foolish child spinning intricate webs and building walls around herself because she’d never learned how to move through the world properly.

Still, his words didn’t sit right – they were so removed from her reality that she didn’t know what to make of them. The Commanders’ dissatisfied faces, Volkov’s disrespect, flashed in her mind again.

Flynn was so… reckless. He wasn’t concerned with their resentment? With what it might cause them to do?

Suddenly the snow above their heads was not the only thing that threatened him. Flynn was scattering kindling about his feet, waiting for someone to produce a match. The cold fear in her chest only intensified. Amaya felt the precious warmth of his hands, saw the tired green of his eyes – and all the battles he thought were necessary. They would be the death of him.

“Do they?” she asked carefully, still looking up at him. “Or did our fathers order them here?” As gentle as her voice was, the words felt too harsh. But Amaya didn’t know how else to make him understand. “What do the Commanders write, when they report back? What will come of it? What do they say to their men when they give their orders? What tone do they use when they speak of you? How do others hear it?”

Flynn tensed. Just slightly, but Amaya could feel it. She’d tried to dull the razored edge of her words, but they burrowed in him all the same, hitting a place deeper than he had expected. He didn’t flinch, but something in him had been struck.

Amaya paused, holding his gaze intently. The muscles in her hands finally came back to life, fingers curling slightly into his. It was all she could do as she tried to soften her voice – soften herself – so he wouldn’t think she was damning him.

“You think you have authority because you have a title that Volkov won’t even use.” Somehow, she managed to brush her thumb over the back of his palm. Snowflakes at their feet pulled in a mirrored arc, settling gently back on the ground. “I have a title too, Flynn.” The words burned her with an icy grip, shameful like an admission of her own failures. But she leaned towards him and his warmth, holding his gaze. Amaya made herself continue for him. “What did you know of me before all this?”

It was a reminder – an echo of the same question she’d asked him yesterday, and Flynn had revealed that he’d known how the Princess of Lunaris was treated. He’d known how little power she held in her own kingdom.

He’d known what her title had been worth.

For a long moment, he didn’t answer.

He looked down at their hands laced together, his grip loosening slightly. Not to let go, but to…

He didn’t fully know.

Her hands felt glacial in his. Too frozen to thaw through, too distant for his touch to mean anything. He drew in a breath, held it for a beat, then slowly let it go—trying to cool the heat building behind his ribs. The wounded pride. The voice in the back of his head telling him to recoil.

He wanted to deny it. To tell her he didn’t want people to obey simply for his title alone. That his decisions weren’t born of arrogance or ignorance. But she was looking at him so directly, speaking so openly, and he didn’t know if the denial would have been entirely true.

Desperately, he tried to separate ego from rationale.

It had been easier to do in Aurelia, when his decisions hadn’t meant life or death to him or anyone he’d loved.

Yet, even in her Kingdom, Amaya’s title had meant little. And something inside him cracked for her, understanding clicking into place as he tried to sort through the fear that had flashed through her eyes. She had to operate this way, to control the room with charm and veiled suggestion. To read people before they could read her. It wasn’t weakness. It was survival.

You see things that I don’t. You know things I can’t begin to perceive.

He’d said those words to her once. He’d meant them. And now, they echoed in his mind—sharp and truer than ever.

This caution was her way—her strength. A subtler blade than the one Flynn had been raised to wield. But no less effective. She didn’t meet force with force. She moved around it. Held the tension in a smile until her opponent cut themselves on their own arrogance. She could command a room without all the debate that Flynn had been forged within.

And he could learn something from that.

The sharp edges around his ego softened, and for a moment, he managed to see past himself.

She wasn’t against him. She was his partner. A soft voice trying to guide him when the shadows of his heritage threatened to reshape the man he was trying to be.

“You’re right…” he said finally, voice low. Guarded. Afraid that articulating his thoughts wouldn’t come out in the way he intended. Something flickered in her eyes – surprise. Softness. A worry she tried to stifle.

His eyes remained focused on their hands. “I don’t know what they say or do when I’m not in the room.” There was no defiance in his tone, only quiet reflection.

He met her gaze again. “But I don’t want to play games. I don’t want to be a man who manipulates his way into loyalty. I want them to follow because I make the right calls. Because they trust me to lead with their best interests in mind. Not because I wear a crown. Or because they’re afraid of what happens if they don’t.”

A breath passed between them.

“But you’re right,” he added more softly. “The trust isn’t there yet. And your way… it would have fostered that better.”

His mind flicked through names and faces. Barrett. Hightower. Nightingale.

At least with the nobles he’d brought from Aurelia, Flynn knew exactly where he stood. He had proven himself to them. Proven that he was not his father—at least not in the ways that counted. Not so rigid. Not so absolute. Flynn could listen when it mattered. Change course when he needed to. In the council chambers, he’d saved lives before he’d ever drawn a sword. He’d made decisions that had worked. That had persuaded his father not to slaughter innocent blight-born for simply existing.

That was why the Commander, the Sage, and his Advisor had come to Dawnhaven. That was why they stood with him now. Not because they were ordered to, but because they believed in the cause. Believed in him.

“Barrett didn’t come because my father told him to.” He said, some part of his ego still slipping out in defense of itself. “My father left the summons to me. Said if the plan was mine, the burden was too.”

And it had stung—that neither of his parents had lifted a finger to gather people, to stall what was coming. Aside from forcing church members to come along, they’d left it to him to chase the impossible. To convince nobles to risk their lives on a dream. But still… he had done it.

“I gave him a choice. I didn’t demand it. He came because I asked.” Another pause. “I earned that much.”

But Volkov… Volkov was different. Flynn didn’t know why he’d come—or any of the high-standing Lunarians, for that matter. Flynn had heard that the Lunarian King had threatened death to those who disobeyed the summons, but why? Would he truly go so far as to kill those who walked away?

Flynn had noticed every time Volkov refused to use the proper title, of course, but he’d let it pass. Not because he didn’t care. But because he did.

Stripping Volkov of rank or sending him away might satisfy his pride—but what would it prove? That he was thin-skinned and could silence anyone who challenged him?

No. He knew he needed to earn Volkov’s respect, just as he’d stated. Lamenting over proper titles wouldn’t work. Not with men like him. He had to prove himself a better leader. Steady, but not submissive. Rational. Patient (which, admittedly, could use work). Flynn needed to show him that he was not just a boy playing King. That he was someone worth following.

“I haven’t corrected Volkov because he’s trying to provoke me.” He added, keeping his gaze on Amaya as he tried to sort through every thought spiraling in his mind. “He’s testing the water. But if I make the right decisions—if I lead well—he’ll have no choice than to see me for what I am. Through action… and time.”

The thought was optimistic, he knew. Volkov could very well have no intention of ever bending the knee to anyone but King Jericho. Perhaps Lunarians were just as he’d heard—incapable of change or further consideration. But he’d glimpsed change in Amaya. And Flynn had to hold onto hope, however fragile. If this plan were going to work, he needed to believe. And if all came crashing down, he would meet the consequences with a clear conscience—knowing he’d done what he could to shift the tide, rather than be swept away by it.

Amaya looked up at him, brows drawn together, eyes clear and focused, thoughts and emotions spinning around his words. She wanted to rebut him. Sometimes it didn’t matter how well you proved yourself, how noble your intentions, how deftly you maneuvered a conversation –

Sometimes who you were and what you were capable of had been decided long before a conversation ever began. You couldn’t convince someone of something that they didn’t want to believe. You had to work around them.

It wasn’t a game as he’d called it – it was the only way Amaya’d had any voice at all. It was the only reason she was still alive.

A bitter thought occurred to her, cutting her to the core. Perhaps what was true for her simply wasn’t true for him. Maybe Flynn was simply someone people could place their trust in. He’d never needed games because they were just for those not meant for real power.

Her eyes drifted back down to their hands. Beyond them, on the snow dusted ground, there was the faint outline of Flynn’s shadow. She tried not to see her father in it.

“I… I’m not asking you to stop thinking the way you do. I need it. You see the things I miss… clearly. But I… ” He gave a faint shake of his head, the corner of his mouth twitching—not quite a smile. “I was raised to walk straight into the fire, not circle it.”

Amaya’s lips pressed together, afraid of how unconcerned he was. The fire wouldn’t just burn, it would consume him.

His fingers curled a little tighter around hers again. “But I want to learn how to do this with you. To get better at it. At… all of it.”

He took another breath, trying to will the ache in his chest to disappear.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “For not… not knowing what you needed from me.”

His gentle apology pierced through her in a way she’d never learned how to defend against. She took in a shaking breath, unprepared for the emotion that surged through her. She remembered the night before – his simple acknowledgements of her pain striking her like lightning, and the storm surge that had threatened to drown her as he pulled her close.

Words caught in Amaya’s throat, too honest to be given shape.

He spoke truths into existence like it was his right. Like his wants and motivations wouldn’t be turned into a blade against him.

Amaya saw his eyes, green as the sea and just as inescapable, as he said she was his. As he called her a partner. She looked up at him – it felt like a risk. His eyes were the same now, looking down at her instead of up at the canopy of snow that might collapse around their heads — like it simply wasn’t a concern. But she could feel the weight of the avalanche as if it had already buried her.

His hands were impossibly warm. His eyes impossibly open. Amaya felt her throat freezing shut in response as more cracks formed across her walls. If she spoke they would collapse.

…Would that be so awful? A small voice hissed an answer, even as something in her pulled dangerously toward him.

She looked down, back to the spot on his chest. Amaya blinked rapidly. She hadn’t realized her eyes were damp. Her hands curled around his the slightest bit. Then reckless impulse carried her. She let out a shaking breath and stepped forward across the small distance that separated them – into Flynn’s warmth. Snowflakes at their feet pulled forward like the tide. He froze for half a heartbeat, breath catching in his throat. Slowly, his arms rose, then folded around her like instinct, like gravity pulling him home. He held her cautiously at first, then drew her in tighter. Amaya’s head bowed, tucking against him as her eyes closed. She sighed, and his scent washed over her.

There were still too many things she disagreed with, too many fears swimming in her mind. But this — she knew she wanted this, at least. The simplicity of being held. Honesty was easier this way – warm and hidden, too close for him to see the emotions playing across her face.

“There are things for me to learn too,” she murmured into his chest. It wasn’t quite an apology, wasn’t quite vulnerability, but it still felt like baring herself.

Somehow, she’d always managed this—turning his world sideways with a single movement. She’d iced the ground beneath his feet just as easily as she’d done with the Commanders, leaving him unsteady, unsure where the cracks might spider out next. And yet, he wanted to stay.

He lowered his cheek to rest against the top of her head, eyes drifting shut. Absorbing the scent of her, the feel of her—he let it ground him. Or maybe it unmoored him entirely. He wasn’t sure. He tried not to think about how loud his heart must’ve sounded to her, pounding against his chest. Though—maybe she was used to it by now.

For longer than he probably realized, he just held her. Then, quietly, his voice barely more than a breath, he asked, “Do you want to go see them now?” He opened his eyes, fixed on some indistinct point in the gravel path between guard camps. “At the temple?”

She tensed in his hold, pressing herself closer to him. If a damp spot formed on his coat beneath her closed eye, Amaya couldn’t see it. She could pretend it wasn’t there.

She made herself nod.

Snowflakes trembled like her breath as they fell.

Realms of Sun & Shadow

---

_{Location: The Jail — The Aurelian Commander’s Quarters}

---

---

Elio raised a dark eyebrow as the blond talked and talked. Seluna’s tits, he’d thought Elio was being literal. The metaphor had gone completely over his head — unsurprising, Elio supposed. He was rather short.

This was the last time he ever tried to be subtle, he decided.

Talking about planting seeds in hearts and minds… yeah, that was Elio’s fucking point. Elio hadn’t said don’t do the work. He just wanted people to not be idiots about their own trades. But hey, if Gadez wanted to carelessly dump his words like water into frozen soil, not a care in the world about the conditions he was working in or if the people he was trying to convince were unreceptive because they found him annoying as hell, that wasn’t Elio’s problem.

…Except the prick had made it his problem when he’d landed himself in a half-finished jail.

His irritation spiked. It mixed with his amusement, forming something sharp and prickly as he held the other man’s gaze. Elio watched the way he put careful distance between himself and the bars, voice growing hard and eyes turning flinty. Elio’s gaze sharpened, the corner of his mouth almost twitching up. He expected Elio’s anger. Good.

Look at that. Some consideration of his craft.

The ‘Gardener’ kept talking, making assumptions about his beliefs, his motivations, why he was in Dawnhaven. What did he know? Fuck all, because Elio knew how to keep his mouth shut (he just strategically chose not to). He hadn’t chosen to be here. He’d been shipped off, because it’d been either this or an extended stay in a cell (due to… less than strategic decisions). Who the fuck cared if he had hope for the future? What shining dawn did this man see?

Aurelian, Elio figured. Thinks the future needs to be bright instead of just survivable.

Aurelia had been in darkness for the past six months. Lunaris hadn’t seen the sun in over a year now. Didn’t see any northerners wasting time rambling about hope though, did you? There was shit to do.

Then the freak bowed to him and all but dismissed him, turning to the guard.

Elio let out a short breath that was almost a laugh.

Prick.

He gave a short nod to the guard as she complimented his work — even if it wasn’t done yet. But Elio was silent as he pushed off the wall he leaned against. He didn’t spare any words — Gadez had used up enough. Instead he just made for the door.

Before he turned though, he caught Gadez’s eye one last time. Elio winked. Then he was out into the Lunarian cold again.

He moved with sure steps down the path away from the jail, the snow crunching under his every step.

He needed Gadez out of the way. Deciding to take it up with the Commander, he walked towards the guard camp. It was close, at least. He’d go bother them into finding some temporary holding cell for the prisoner. Or maybe just convince them to kill him or cut him loose. They wouldn’t take kindly to Elio just barging in again, but hey, maybe they’d be motivated to have a working jail if only to lock Elio up. Volkov had threatened him with it often enough. And he couldn’t well throw Elio into a jail he hadn’t finished building yet, could he? Not when the most usable cell was currently occupied by a hobbyist.

Briefly, Elio considered getting thrown in the cell next to Gadez, with his incessant voice. The man’s words echoed in his mind, taking stubborn root —

…Fuck.

Maybe Elio should’ve taken a swing at him.

His footsteps only grew louder as he stomped down the road. Soon enough he could see the tops of buildings, gaudy Aurelian banners on display. The Lunarian camp would be just past it.

He heard voices — Volkov, he recognized. Someone else bit back at him. Barrett.

Oh good, Elio could harass both of them at once.

He paused though, when he got close enough to see three figures: Astaros, the Princess of Lunaris, and a blonde woman in possibly the most ostentatious armor Elio had ever seen.

The royal couple slipped through the door of Barrett’s quarters. A meeting? Seeing the Prince enter a meeting with the commanders wasn’t unusual… but the Princess made Elio raise an eyebrow. He’d barely seen her the entire time Dawnhaven had even existed (not for lack of trying). Astaros kept her to himself, hidden in that house of theirs. And hadn’t she just almost died yesterday? Shouldn’t she have been… fuck, recovering or something? What was she doing attending meetings with both commanders now?

Elio continued to approach, keeping his footsteps loud, lest the… soldier? Full kitchen cookware set? Got jumpy. He stopped a few feet behind her, watching the way both the Aurelian banner and her blonde hair pulled in the breeze.

“There’s a sight,” he finally said, voice filled with idle curiosity. “Keeps her hidden away for two months, then parades her around the day after she gets attacked, culprit still on the loose. Politics.”

---

_{Interactions: Gadez Paladice @Dezuel, Daphne Athenus @PrinceAlexus, Dyna Soleil @Queen Arya}

Realms of Sun & Shadow

Collab between @The Muse, @c3p-0h and @Queen Arya
_{Location: The Aurelian Commander's Quarters}

Part I

---

The snow fell in familiar patterns as Amaya walked down an unfamiliar path. She was trying very hard not to feel like she was making a mistake.

Back in the house — their house — taking Flynn’s hand had been the only natural path forward. His smile as he called her beautiful had been the only truth in the world. And then he’d led her up the stairs and she’d sealed herself in her room… and Amaya had been alone with her thoughts.

Chilling, confusing, overwhelming thoughts.

She’d given herself a moment of leaning her back against the door, eyes drifting shut as she tried to breathe. Then began the process of putting herself back together again. It took longer than it should’ve. Amaya felt undone and laid bare — and her garments weren’t meant to be fastened by the person wearing them.

The absence of Elara, that aching void she used to fill, hurt with every move she made. The attendants began to enter the house and move about their duties, and Amaya felt her heart jump with every new voice, every time the door opened. But the voices were too loud. The footsteps too heavy. Even as she faltered with the ties of her skirts and the buttons of her dress, nerves shooting through her — Amaya knew she was waiting for someone who wasn’t coming.

Amaya was bleeding again. She could feel the freshly formed scabs crack and pull with every move she made. She could feel her own blood, hot and thick as it stained her. It would drown her soon enough.

She didn’t blame Elara for not coming this morning.

She hated her for it.

She was so relieved it took her breath away.

She —

Amaya wiped at stubborn tears.

Her room was dark. Any candles lit the day before had long since burned to the quick, leaving Amaya’s bedroom draped in frigid midnight. Was it colder now than when she’d first stepped inside? The echoes of Flynn’s warmth in her hand had faded. Her magic — her magic. By some miracle it hadn’t run rampant in the night. Probably exhaustion. She’d been so drained yesterday, had used so much magic, both willing and accidental, that there’d probably just not been enough left over to spill out of her as she slept. Even now it felt… calmer, somehow. Placid in a way that left Amaya uneasy. But there was too much to accomplish today to try and examine it too closely. And Amaya was moving too slowly already.

She didn’t need candlelight to finish her makeup and the simple arrangement of her hair. Taming her curls, hiding herself behind the careful image of a Princess, was second nature, and she needed little more than the pale moonlight.

And when she’d stepped out of the front door of the — of their — home, Flynn tall and dashing beside her… Amaya’s mask had faltered at his warm smile, the softness in his eyes. The presence of the guards around her, strangers with distant eyes, made it easier to retreat into herself as they walked through Dawnhaven. Flynn was a beacon that captured her attention with every move, but there were other sounds too. Amaya tried not to flinch at every stray noise and flicker in her periphery. She tried not to let her thoughts spin, her body feeling foreign blood, foreign thoughts, her vision filled with a haunted face and crimson and —

The world stretched so wide around her. Why was everything so open? Where were the walls, blocking away the feeling of eyes and the opportunity for hands to grasp at her —

What was she doing? What exactly did she hope to accomplish, accompanying Flynn to meetings and errands like an errant child, lost if not for a guiding hand to indulge her moods? When had men in uniforms ever seen her as anything but an impractically pretty doll? And Flynn —

Flynn had stopped walking. They stood before a simple building, Aurelian banners hanging limply, pulled by the stray breeze. The snow fell pale across the summer fabric, winter cutting through what should’ve been vibrant and lush. Amaya’s eyes, ice blue and young, took in the sight.

She was suddenly very certain she didn’t belong here.

Her face remained calm. At least she hadn’t completely lost her ability to mask herself.

She flicked her gaze up to Flynn. If there was a flicker of worry, she would’ve denied it.

As one of the Aurelian guards pulled open the door to the Commander’s Quarters, Flynn’s attention shifted to his left, missing the way she looked at him. Instead, his focus fixed onto a gleam of pristine armor and golden hair cutting through the torchlight, moving with purpose in a direct line toward them.

His posture straightened instinctively, a Princely habit tightening his frame. Amaya tensed on instinct, before her eyes followed his gaze. With a subtle raise of his hand, Flynn signaled the guard holding the door to wait. The man obeyed without question, despite the Commanders waiting inside.

Then, as shadows and flickering firelight danced across the approaching figure’s face, Flynn met their gaze head-on.

The Champion of Aelios. He recognized her instantly from the temple yesterday—the one he’d heard had arrested Halcyon. And now, her focus was set squarely on him.

A friendly smile curved his lips, carefully honed over years of courtly encounters. Diplomatic. Polished. A smile meant to put people at ease—or at least make them think he was at ease himself. Whatever business she had, she clearly wasn’t here for idle pleasantries.

"Champion," he greeted smoothly, his voice warm, easy. "What can we do for you?"

He stole a quick glance at Amaya beside him, hoping to gauge her thoughts in just a few brief seconds. But her expression remained as unreadable as it had been throughout their walk—silent, guarded, giving nothing away. Looking every bit the Princess she was, but far more rigid than she had felt the night before, wrapped up in his arms.

A brief exchange of thanks was made with the young Aurelian soldier who'd brought her here, knowing she'd find the Prince at the coming meeting. Dyna could tell from the way the man's gaze stuck to her that there was a more personal hope hidden behind the assistance than a pure professional interest in one of Aelios’ Champions… yet she did not acknowledge it. Turning instead towards the figures of the Prince and Princess, she cut a purposeful path towards the two. While she wasn't particularly trying to appear any particular way, the Champion moved with an innate air of confidence and authority.

As she approached the Prince and noticed his change in posture, the Champion gave a polite nod of acknowledgement as she closed the distance. Stopping a respectful distance away, and offering Prince a crisp salute. After a few moments, she let the salute fall as her gaze lingered over the pair for a moment. Hardening for the briefest of seconds as her gaze traveled over the Princess; the Champion recalling Ranni's description of the previous day. Something flickered in Amaya’s eyes as she held her gaze, but it lasted less than a heartbeat.

Still, she had a task at hand. "I came to report on the arrest I made, your Grace,” she said, looking towards the guard holding open the door. ”Given the reason for said actions, I felt it prudent to report in personally. Can you spare a moment?” she asked, although her gaze betrayed that it was less a request for the Prince… and more a demand for the nearby guard to stop listening in.

Flynn gave the Champion a small, agreeable nod. “Of course.”

His polite smile never faltered, even as he caught the brief flicker of something sharper in her gaze when it passed over Amaya. It was subtle—so quick most might have missed it—but Flynn had been raised to notice the unspoken, to read between the lines of a noble's honeyed words and measured expressions. One of his mother’s many lessons.

A prickle of irritation ran beneath his skin, but he smoothed it over in an instant—this was neither the time nor the place to bristle at silent judgment.

At the Champion’s request, he cast a glance at the guard still holding the door open, offering a short nod. The soldier hesitated only a moment before stepping outside, allowing the door to close behind him as he resumed his post.

Given that the man had nowhere else to go—his duty keeping him stationed there—Flynn subtly motioned to both the Champion and Amaya, signaling them to follow.

It took Amaya a few steps to realize that she’d moved as he directed without question — it’d been second nature. This shouldn’t have been surprising. But something about it, the familiarity, the sudden awareness of it, almost made her stop. It was less than a moment, barely noticeable in the way she moved smoothly after Flynn.

But it was there.

Amaya shoved the odd feeling down, trying to focus again on the scene surrounding her, on the dynamics and personalities at play. Her eyes were sharp and her mind was quick — she’d always been able to rely on these, if nothing else.

Flynn led them only a short distance away, stopping beneath the sprawling branches of a towering pine just off the main path. The crisp air carried the scent of fresh sap, and the ground beneath them dusted with a fine layer of snow and fallen needles. Close enough to the Commander’s Quarters to remain within sight, but far enough for a private conversation. The woods cast a shadow over Amaya’s mind. If she stood a little closer to Flynn, hands tight where they hid in the folds of her skirt, she didn’t let herself think about it.

Turning his attention back to the Champion, Flynn met her gaze again. “I appreciate your diligence, Champion,” he replied, his tone laced with effortless courtesy. “What is your name, if I may ask?”

"Dyna Soleil, Your Grace.” The Champion said after having followed Flynn and Amaya as they stepped away. "I apologize, Your Grace, for not reporting yesterday. The… situation plaguing Dawnhaven seemed the more prudent issue to assist with.”

After a few moments, Dyna shook her head as if chastising herself for something. "My apologies, I will not waste either of your time further,” The Champion said with a polite-yet-professional tone. "The man I arrested, was attempting to spread dangerous ideals to Priestess Tia. In particular…” She said as she cast a look over her shoulder then back towards the Prince. "A desire of his to strike down King Auric.” The woman explained, pausing for a moment before continuing. "He also seemed… excited… about the idea of being questioned by you. I’ve not a clue about the implications there, but you’ve all the facts.”

Flynn arched a brow, intrigued but not entirely surprised. “That is… quite the different claim,” he mused, his voice measured. “Aurelian law does not look kindly on treason, as I’m sure you know.” It was no secret that even a whisper of regicide had been enough to warrant execution in some cases—each sentence left to the whim of his father.

For a brief moment, his mind flickered to Valentina—how, on occasion, his sister had been involved in such decisions. The details were better left unspoken, the reality of her role something he refused to linger on. He buried the thought deep, far beyond reach, where it belonged.

Clasping his hands loosely behind his back, he considered the implications. Threats against the crown were nothing new to him—his family had weathered their fair share over the years. This man would be dealt with, just like all those before him.

And yet, what lingered in his mind was the enthusiasm with which the Champion said Halcyon awaited his questioning. That same unsettling eagerness Flynn had caught a glimpse of at the tavern. Either the man was a fool, or he believed he held something Flynn wanted.

“I appreciate your quick action, Miss Soleil. It seems I could use more people like you around.”

”Champion, Your Grace. I've done nothing beyond my duty. Both to the Church and the Crown, and thus nothing worthy of being addressed separately from my title.” Dyna responded nearly immediately, the trained response coming out nearly instantly. Champions were not to be vain, they were simply but one of the order…

Still, even Dyna herself seemed to blink a couple of times in surprise at how quickly, and without thought, she'd responded. ”If I may be of further service to Your Grace,” She said, turning her attention then towards Amaya, who’d been silently watching the conversation play out. Her pale eyes stilled when Dyna met them directly. ”Either of you,” She continued. ”Please do not hesitate to ask. It appears I will likely be staying in Dawnhaven, due to Priestess Soleil’s… affliction.” She offered with a polite bow of the head.

Flynn’s gaze sharpened at the name. He turned it over in his mind as he studied the Champion’s face more closely. In personality, they were worlds apart, but the resemblance was there—the same shape of jaw, the same arch of the brow and golden hair that caught the light. He could picture the blight-born priestess without the horns, the pointed ears, or the violet eyes.

‘Sisters… twins?’ He thought, the realization settling into place, though he chose not to acknowledge it aloud.

”That was all I had to report, Your Grace. Should I take my leave, or is there more you require?” She said, returning her attention to Flynn. The air of calm professionalism surrounding Dyna, even hints of her previous flash of emotion towards Amaya herself seemingly abolished, as she awaited the Prince's response.

"Please give the Priestess my deepest gratitude.” Flynn said, his tone sincere. “What she and Miss Hightower did last night is worth more to me than I can express and I… I believe I was not in the right state of mind last night to properly convey that." Amaya watched him intently, something softening behind the cool, careful mask she wore. Hidden in the folds of her dress, her fingers twitched, longing to reach for him. He exhaled softly, his expression momentarily thoughtful before he added, "I will find a way to thank her myself, soon. But for now…"

Flynn gave Dyna a deep, respectful bow of his head—a rare gesture of high gratitude from Aurelian royalty. Amaya was stunned, staring at him with wide eyes. Protocol dictated that she follow suit and bow as he did. The Soleil sisters certainly deserved her thanks. But she was frozen in place. All she could do was watch Flynn, the Crown Prince of Aurelia and founder of Dawnhaven, humbling himself — on her behalf. As he straightened, he parted his lips to say more—

“Your Grace.”

A deep voice boomed out from across the path, shattering the moment. Amaya flinched at the sudden noise, a cold, blinding bolt of fear shooting through her. When she came back to herself, she found that she’d moved closer to Flynn, his warm hand securely wrapped around her own at their sides. She’d reached for him on instinct — he’d answered in kind.

Flynn turned, catching sight of Volkov, the Lunarian Commander, stepping out of the Commander's Quarters. Amaya’s walls slammed back into place. The older man’s words were formal, but his tone was anything but patient.

"If you're finished, might we begin this meeting?" The edge of irritation in Volkov’s voice was unmistakable, toeing the line between formality and outright disrespect. Amaya forced her hand to uncurl, trying to pull back and hide herself behind cold decorum again — but Flynn’s grip only tightened.

Before Flynn could reply, the door to the quarters slammed open.

"For the love of Aelios, get inside, you fool. Let the Prince tend to his business."

Barrett, the Aurelian Commander, glared daggers at his Lunarian counterpart, his tone sharp. “Or must I remind you—again—of protocol?”

Flynn exhaled slowly through his nose, already feeling the onset of a headache creeping in. "My apologies, Champion," he said, his own tone laced with a hint of irritation now. “Duty calls.” He inclined his head to her once more. “Thank you, again.”

Without another word, he turned, catching Amaya’s gaze, searching for any flicker of her thoughts. In that brief, silent exchange, he tried to communicate—Are you ready for this? Are you okay? I’m already tired of them.

Amaya met his gaze, her expression cool and composed. But her mouth was a little too tense. Her posture a little too rigid. Looking into the green of his eyes, she took in a slow breath, the sound reminding her of the tide. Her thumb drifted over the back of his knuckles once. When she slipped her hand out of his, he didn’t protest this time.

Breaking their stare, he fell into step beside her, headed toward the Commanders' Quarters. The two old Commanders had begun ushering themselves inside, their muffled bickering barely audible as the door swung shut behind them.

As Flynn reached for the door, Amaya glanced back over her shoulder — back to Dyna, shining and resplendent in her Aurelian armor. Amaya traced the lines of her face, stern and guarded where Ranni had been soft and nervous. She remembered them as they’d been at the feast yesterday, unsteady as one hurried after the other. Something stirred in Amaya, flickering to life like her magic.

She lowered her eyes. Gave a subtle nod of her head. It was less than the sisters deserved, but it was what she could offer for now. She held Dyna’s gaze for another moment.

Then Amaya forced herself to turn and walk through the door Flynn held open for her.

Realms of Sun & Shadow

Collab between @The Muse, @c3p-0h, and @Dark Light
_{Location: The Hot Springs}

Part I

---

There was a brief pause as if the world stilled or held its breath while Tia's hand reached out and came in contact with Vellion's bare shoulder. For a long drawn out moment there was nothing, no response or reply.

Vellion had learned many skills during his life on the streets, but none had served him so well, put as much food in his stomach or prevented pain as frequently or as reliably as the skill of a well placed smile.

Spinning deftly on the spot he turned to face the unknown assailant. As his eyes drank in her features he relaxed, allowing that familiar reliable mask to slip into place. His lips curled with a devilish charm, his eyes glowing with roguish confidence, and he turned to stand boldly before them.

"Greetings ladies, can I help you?" he asked nonchalantly as he ran a hand through his wet hair, pulling back dark, clumped strands. "Are you... looking for something?"

Eyes bounced between them. "Aurelian," he mumbled seemingly to himself with realisation, his smile seeming to grow.

"Or are you just trying to escape the cold? Please, don't let me stop you." He stepped aside and gestured to the hot spring.

Nyla released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Her gaze flicked past him to the water—where the bloodstains had begun to fade, dissolving into the rippling surface. But at the water’s edge, droplets still stained the stone beneath their feet. Somehow, any inclination she might have had to step into the springs was swiftly evaporating.

She cast a glance at the Priestess, catching her expression for only a moment before returning her attention to the man. Slowly, she took him in, letting her gaze drift over the full-frontal display he had so graciously provided.

Lean, perhaps a little on the thin side, but undeniably strong. He was built with the kind of muscle that spoke of hard labor, yet his skin remained oddly pristine—far cleaner than any laborer or soldier she had ever known. With shaggy dark hair and deep-set brown eyes, he had a face that might have been pleasant, if not for the unease still humming in her chest. If not for the scent of decay still hanging in the air.

Something was off, but she had no way to pinpoint it.

Her gaze lingered on his smile for a heartbeat, recognition striking. She knew that smile.

She’d met this type of man before—countless times, in countless taverns, pubs, and alleyways. She’d seen that smile in flickering candlelight over ale-soaked tables, lurking in the shadows of market streets, cast across faces both fair and forgettable. That was the smile of a man who wanted something. Dangerously charming. A snake in the grass.

It seemed the Priestess hadn’t lied. Aelios welcomed the damned here, too.

Her own lips curved into a soft, knowing smile. Slowly, she tore her gaze away from him, shifting her focus to the temple's authority—the petite blonde with concern etched into her face.

Tia blinked, suddenly nervous under the force of the man’s stare. Her hand, which she’d brought back in towards her chest when he’d turned, curled into a loose fist. Her fingers were lightly damp where she’d touched him.

She gave him a shy smile.

The man was… fine. Or at least he was trying very hard to seem fine. Tia felt her face warming as he smiled at her, his attention somehow both commanding and disarming. Her eyes flicked over his body, appraising. Fit, skin clear and unmarked… pink droplets still trailing over his neck and torso. There was not a single wound to be seen.

Her eyebrows pulled together slightly as her smile faltered. She’d seen how the man had moved so carefully, and the blood was still bright and fresh in the snow, a clear trail that he’d painted. But there was no sign of injury when she looked at him, not even a bruise coloring his skin. Had it not been his blood? And his body was so… bare for a swordsman. Maybe he was new to the sword? Or he’d always had easy access to a healer? Perhaps, Tia considered, he had healing magic himself. But healing one's own injuries was a difficult thing — Tia had the scar and ruined voice to prove it.

Fingers tightening in front of her chest, Tia remembered the feel of him. It was like his skin had laid too loosely over his muscles, the flesh soft and movable when she’d expected it to be firm. But it had only been a moment — had she imagined it? She looked up at this smiling stranger, not sure what to do with her confusion.

She glanced to the water, visible now that he’d stepped aside to offer them access. Then she looked back to the red on his body, in the snow, in the water. Shaking her head in reply to his offer, she tapped at the small emblem of the Aurelian church on her robe. Tia offered him a smile somewhere between strained customer service and concerned keeper, hoping she looked more confident than she felt.

Tia swallowed, trying to gather the threads of her weak voice. At least the warm, humid air of the springs was gentler on her throat.

“The… blood?”

Before he replied to the one who he guessed was a priestess, his gaze held on the other and that knowing smile she wore. He responded in like with a smirk of his own. ‘Game on.’ His eyes teasingly playful and bordering on predatory, he took a deliberate step towards Tia while looking at Nyla.

He was silently taunting her, testing her, studying how she would react. How nervous was she? How protective was she? Vellion need not only read her expressions or movements, not while he gazed deeply into her eyes.

Her attention darted to the Priestess as she stepped back in response, though Nyla remained rooted in place. Her smile faltered for only a heartbeat before she lifted her blue eyes back to the stranger—only to find him already waiting, his eyes locked onto hers.

She held his stare without hesitation, slipping another soft smile back into place. Shying away from men like him had never served her well. They wanted a game. They wanted prey—some soft, submissive thing to make them feel like hunters.

But the bolder ones played differently. They craved the thrill of the chase, the challenge of tearing down something untamed. She wondered which type this one fell into.

Whatever the game, she could play it. She could pretend, if that’s what he wanted. But she had rarely been the prey—unless it suited her.

The snake had yet to realize it was toying with a cat.

Still holding his dark-eyed gaze, she studied him, weighing her options. Could she use this? Could she become what he wanted her to be, just for a moment? Bare as he was, he didn’t seem to have much to offer—aside from a bit of entertainment.

"Oh, the blood. Is that why you are here?"

He looked to his discarded shirt before turning his attention back to Tia as he scratched absently at an itch on his chest. "You Aurelian priestesses are even kinder and more beautiful than I was told, but no. I assure you I am fine. Just a hunter, you see."

He opened his hands outward in a defenceless gesture.

"Things... got a little messy. One second everything is under control and then..." His eyes shifted back to Nyla. "And then... they are very bloody." His smoothly spoken sentence was punctuated with a sweet smile of perfect innocence.

Nyla arched a brow as his gaze met hers again. Bold, then. This one had nerve.

"But thank you both so much for coming to check up on me. Please, won't you stay for a bath?"

Nyla's gaze flicked briefly to the sword leaning against the rocks beside her. "And here I was, thinking that Lunarians were known for their quick, clean hunting skills," She tilted her head slightly as she met his gaze, her smile growing into a teasing smirk. "Silly me."

Matching her gaze Vellion eagerly replied, "Despite skill or experience there will always be prey that makes things…. A little more interesting.”

Taking a few more steps forward, Nyla closed the short distance between them with a slow, deliberate pace—casual, confident, unbothered. Tia’s eyes flicked up to her, relieved that at least she wasn’t alone. She met her eyes, trying to show her silent gratitude. This man was… overwhelming.

"The Priestess was simply giving me a tour of the premises," she lied, her voice smooth as she positioned herself beside the Priestess. She would not be taking a dip in blood-stained waters today.

Her hand shifted, and she extended the towel to Vellion, maintaining steady eye contact as she did. “You look a little cold.”

Vellion’s eyebrow was raised in questioning disbelief as he took the offered towel, but he didn't push the matter, sending a silent message that he didn't buy her excuse but he would play along. "Thank you”

Tia was quickly realizing that she had no place in whatever was happening right now. Standing between the two strangers, something clearly passing between them, she felt like she’d somehow been dropped in one of the springs and she couldn’t quite reach the bottom.

She very much wanted to leave. But she also didn’t want them to have sex in the hot spring if left unattended — she already wasn’t looking forward to cleaning up the blood once this man left.

Though, something told her that the woman beside her wouldn’t be interested in a fling, with how squarely she’d planted herself beside Tia like a sentinel. Her voice was smooth and charming as she flirted with him, but the Priestess hadn’t missed that she’d lied about visiting the springs for a bath, either. Maybe it was time for them both to leave.

Giving a strained smile up towards the man, Tia… tried her best.

“Pardon us,” she rasped.

She bowed slightly — Do not look down. — and tried to back away again. A soft hand raised to lightly touch the woman’s elbow, a silent message.

The sudden raspy comment reminded Vellion that there was a third person here. "Is there something wrong with your voice? he asked bluntly, a curious expression on his face, dark eyes flicking between the two women. Tia faltered. Nyla’s gaze narrowed as her lips parted, ready to deliver a sharp retort.

"Well, I don't want to keep you from your tour,” he added, noticing Tia’s subtle retreat. "But….

"I don't suppose it's an open tour? I am new here and know very little of Aurelian culture.”

Tia’s eyes widened as she tried to think of a polite excuse, when —

"Allow me to give you your first lesson in Aurelian culture,” Nyla began, her expression smoothing into helpful sincerity as she held the venom back from her tone. “Men such as yourself are not permitted to speak to a High Priestess. Nor even look them in the eye.” Tia’s gaze snapped to her.

Nyla let the words settle, watching his face for a flicker of doubt before continuing. “And certainly not address them so boldly.” A sliver of fire slipped through, her eyes narrowing just slightly. Beneath Tia’s embarrassment, there was something warm and grateful blooming in her chest. She cast her eyes down to look at the flat stones surrounding the springs, her cheeks heating.

With a soft, exaggerated sigh, Nyla offered him a faux sympathetic smile. “It’s a shame, really. You’ve already violated at least three sacred customs.” She clicked her tongue, shaking her head as her gaze swept over him with mock disappointment.

“I’m afraid, tradition dictates that if a man disrespects a High Priestess, he must immediately drop to his hands and knees to beg her forgiveness.”

Whatever warmth Tia had fostered suddenly froze.

Nyla’s gaze briefly flicked to the Priestess, seeing panicked eyes and pink cheeks, before returning to him, a brow arched in an expectant challenge, her head tilted—waiting.

An amused nonchalant chuckle escape Vellion's lips. "Well, lucky for me we ain't in Aurelia then isn't it?” he swiftly responded without falter, waving off the insinuation without a thought or care. "Think that's why I never really got right into all the religious stuff. Too stuffy, too controlling, too pretentious. But, one has to admire your conviction. I mean, there isn't even a sun in the great sky but still you lot go on. Dedicating your entire existence to something that isn't there. No wonder you occasionally want to see a naked man kneel before you and feel a sense of superiority over them. Don't worry, I get it. But let's not do it under the pretense of religion.” He teased, his eyes and voice adopting a more sultry nature as he played with obvious innuendoes.

Furthermore, he spoke directly to the priestess and made an obvious and deliberate display of staring into her eyes, but his message, defiance, taunts and deep satisfied smirk were all specifically for Nyla. In turn, the raven haired woman's gaze sharpened as she resisted the urge to step between him and the Priestess, to sever the line of his visual assault.

"I mean, I'm not saying no, or entirely opposed to the idea. I just usually prefer to be the one standing though.” He brazenly looked Tia up and down in contemplation. His thoughts started to stir in more than just his eyes. Nyla’s lips pressed together, an odd mix of irritation and amusement warring beneath the surface. Despite herself, she found something undeniably entertaining about him—the way he refused to back down.

Tia’s skin was on fire. She found herself trapped between the two strangers and their sharp, teasing words meant to put each other down but only embarrassing her. Somehow Tia had become both the excuse and means with which they traded barbs. While their challenging gazes and pointed smiles were meant for each other, Tia was the one covered in cuts.

Eyes darting as she tried to avoid both of their gazes, Tia made the mistake of looking down. Face red, her eyes shot back up to meet the man’s, catching the way he eyed her hungrily. His gaze left a grotesque trail where it landed on her skin, heavy and tacky and too hot. She was suddenly desperate to run back into the temple and wipe the feel of him away.

Tia was supposed to be in charge, she knew. She was the High Priestess of Aelios in Dawnhaven. She was expected to heal and guide, and represent the authority and reliability of the Church, but…

She just felt so small. The hurt that thrummed through her at being used for their game felt childish and petty, but that didn’t make it burn any softer.

The man was uninjured. He was bathing. Tia had no reason to take up any more of his time. She could let him commune with Aelios in his way, even if he didn’t see it like that, and even if spoke of Her with derision. He’d still come seeking the warmth of the Sun Temple, just as the woman had. Even if they’d both only used it to humiliate her.

It was time to leave.

“Please —” It was a tiny sound, cut off by her own ruined throat. Fighting to hold back a cough, Tia clamped her mouth shut. Her shame only deepened. She tried to take in a breath. Nyla’s eyes flicked to the Priestess, the amusement draining out of her just as quickly as it had appeared. When Tia forced herself to look back up to the man’s eyes, she couldn’t bring herself to smile. Or soften. Or offer any patience or grace that was expected of her as a servant of Aelios welcoming a stranger to Her waters, no matter how vulgar his behavior. Instead, she only offered him a small bow.

Tia turned away from him, hating the feel of his eyes on her back but forcing herself to keep her head high anyway. She couldn’t look at the woman. As uncomfortable as the man made her, somehow the woman’s treatment, after their small moments of connection, hurt worse.

Despite Vellion being unable to hold the timid priestesses gaze, he didn't need to use his powers to see the discomfort and pain his little game had caused.

Now all Tia could do was to try and leave with a little dignity.

She took a step and tripped on her robe.

Nyla tensed, instinct driving her forward as she took a step, fingers twitching as if she could be swift enough to catch the Priestess. But luckily the blonde steadied herself, and Nyla let out a breath.

Watching the Priestess retreat up the stone steps, Nyla’s shoulders sagged, shame settling over her. She had been so caught up in the game that her plan had backfired spectacularly, drawing even more unwanted attention onto the Priestess. She hadn’t anticipated just how brazen the man could be and misjudged how a Lunarian might play. Perhaps she needed to adjust her approach for the northerners.

Her stomach twisted at the thought of what consequences might await her for inadvertently adding herself to the list of those who had disrespected the Priestess.

Slowly, Nyla turned her gaze back to the man, her grip tightening on the basket. Gone was the teasing glint in her eyes, replaced by something cold and edged like a finely honed blade. A silent accusation lingered in her stare—Look what you did.

But she didn’t call out to the Priestess. It was better if she left, better if she didn’t have to endure another moment under this man’s leering gaze. Instead, Nyla would stay. If this stranger wanted something to toy with, he could keep trying his luck with her.

“You’re an ass.” she muttered, her tone teasing, but with just enough bite to carry a hint of seriousness.

Well aware of his size and the weapon he carried, she had no real desire to provoke him. She wasn’t foolish enough to push too far while she was alone with him, but he didn’t seem to take offense at her verbal jabs. If anything, he seemed to enjoy it. That was something she could work with.

Besides, if things did escalate, well… she had a few new tricks up her sleeve. She wasn’t entirely powerless.

So she slipped back into the game. Her grip on the basket loosened slightly, the tension easing just enough for her lips to quirk. “Should I just call you Ass? Or do you have a name?”

Realms of Sun & Shadow

---

_{Location: The Hot Springs}

---

---

Tia bit her lip, hesitating at the outskirts of the hot springs. Warm, damp air washed over her, chasing away the cold. She watched the man through the steam. He seemed… careful with his movements. Tia had been a healer a long time — she knew the signs to look for when a person carried pain that they didn’t want to reveal. The odd, precise way his back and shoulder muscles shifted as he listed his arms, like one careless motion might aggravate an injury. The tension he seemed to carry despite his obvious relief at the water. He stripped the rest of his clothes and Tia’s cheeks warmed. She kept her eyes trained on the back of his head, his dark hair saturated with water.

Be a professional.

Nakedness at a spring wasn’t alarming to an Aurelian — especially in the Ember Isles, where the bath culture had been even more intrinsic to worship than it seemed to be on the continent. And if that weren’t enough, Tia had seen more than her fair share of naked bodies through her work as a healer. She tried to push any stubborn embarrassment to the side — there were more important things to worry about.

The blood was still stark crimson in the snow. It still painted swirling wisps in the water.

“Sir?” she tried again as she approached. Her feet found the flat stones surrounding the spring where the heat had melted away the snow. Her hand raised. Hesitating, Tia glanced back over her shoulder.

For a moment her surroundings shifted — the snowy landscape of steam and ice became the cave. The silver and gold of the moon and temple lanterns became the soft blues and purples of crystals. But when she looked behind her, a nervous hand stretched out towards something unknown and concerning, her name a warning that whispered in her mind — it wasn’t the guard who stared back at her with hard eyes and a tense jaw. The woman in his place, with her vibrancy and beauty, however, seemed no less wary.

She turned back to the man in front of her, the droplets that trailed down his back stained pink with blood. He was unwell. She saw Ivor and his distress — he’d just… needed a moment. He’d needed someone to reach for him. Worry mixed with compassion as she looked at this stranger, the visitor to the temple grounds that she was meant to steward.

Tia reached out with a gentle hand and touched the damp skin of his shoulder.

---

_{Interactions: Nyla Zafira @The Muse, Vellion Hurst @Dark Light}

Realms of Sun & Shadow

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_{Location: The Jail}

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---

Ah. So he was arrested for talking too much.

This one just loved the sound of his own voice, didn’t he? It was almost entertaining. At least, it would’ve been if he weren’t in Elio’s way. He was so very pleased with himself behind those prison bars, so annoyingly smug about… who the fuck even knew. Elio’s eyebrow twitched up at Zeph’s name, but fuck Zeph too, for running around without Elio and making him worry. The punk was probably fine. He was likely squatting in some alley shoving a piece of cake in his mouth as he waited for Volkov to round a corner.

Yeah, Elio wasn’t surprised that he’d dipped out on guard duty if this was the prisoner. Crossing his arms, Elio leaned against the wall as the blond chattered.

Then Gadez — what a stupid fucking name, it didn’t even sound real — seemed to finally wind down enough to let someone else fill the air. A comment about his skin, a smile like he was waiting for applause, and then silence.

Elio let it stretch. Amber eyes met blue. The quiet filled the air, as thick and potent as any words that might’ve been stacked atop each other like so many layers of bricks in a wall.

When he finally spoke, his voice was easy and measured.

“Elio Azkona.”

Then an impressively built woman walked in and started talking shit. Elio… was he frustrated? Annoyed? Eager? It was hard to tell as they all began to feed into each other. He kept his body relaxed as he leaned against the wall, eyes still trained on the smiling man. But he could feel that familiar fight start building in him. Anger or joy, it all felt secondary to the promise of action. Irritation thrummed through his blood at the new guard’s condescension.

“Oh, don’t worry about me,” Elio replied, voice deceptively smooth. “Wouldn’t dream of asking anyone to do any work around here.” Wouldn’t that be a change? “I just put my hammer to stone. Nothing grows in winter — hafta build things instead.

“Now if I were, say, a gardener,” Elio continued, turning an easy smile to the guard, “can you imagine the time I’d have trying to get work done now? Planting doomed seeds in a foot of snow, pouring water on them incessantly like I’m not just drowning them in ice? You have to be careful as a tradesman, I’ve found.” Elio cast an appraising eye over his own work, running a finger over the seam where two stones lay against each other. “Get too sure of your craft, and you’re liable to get cocky. Make sloppy mistakes. Like planting in the dead of fucking winter and only making more work for yourself because you didn’t bother to check and see if the conditions were right to begin with.” He looked at the small grains of dust on his finger, rubbing them with the tip of his thumb. He shrugged a shoulder.

“I am but a humble stonemason,” Elio parroted Gadez’s words back at him, amber eyes narrowing. “What would I possibly know?”

---

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

Realms of Sun & Shadow

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_{Location: The Sun Temple}

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---

Tia’s gaze snapped up at the sound of an unfamiliar voice — smooth, melodic, accented, and warm all at once. The most effortlessly perfect woman she’d ever seen was now approaching her, and Tia couldn’t help but feel… exceptionally unimpressive. Gorgeous, graceful, and vibrant, the woman practically glided through the temple. Meanwhile Tia was still in her oversized sleeping robe, with stiff muscles that didn’t quite work and half a cookie in her mouth.

The woman smiled at her like she was letting Tia in on a secret and warmth bloomed on her cheeks. She tried not to stare. Was she staring? That was rude, wasn’t it? Based on this woman’s look and accent, she was Aurelian — from one of the desert clans. They’d been rare in the capital, but no more than Tia herself had been. Tia had always been uncomfortable with the stares she’d received — even more so after her… incident two months ago. But this woman… how could one help but look at her? There was such weightlessness to her steps, how heavy could a stranger’s gaze be?

Tia swallowed down the cookie and tried her best to clear her throat.

“The sun warms all,” Tia rasped softly at the newcomer. She didn’t think her voice had ever sounded more ruined than it did now, immediately after this woman’s lilting tones. But still, she tried to remember that however unprofessional she felt, she still had a job to do here in the temple, especially if everyone else had left for the day.

Then Tia’s eyes widened as she realized her words and glanced at the window. It was dark beyond the temple’s light, snowflakes drifting faintly in the cold. She met the woman’s eyes again. Her cheeks seemed to heat even more somehow. Then Tia just shrugged a shoulder, a self-deprecating smile curling her lips.

The sentiment was close enough.

Almost as an afterthought, Tia held up the small basket of cookies to the woman. She immediately felt childish offering one, but it’d be rude not to, right? Besides, Ranni would’ve been pleased to know if a temple-goer had enjoyed her work.

Then Tia held out her open palm towards the hallway leading towards the springs. Trying very hard not to waddle on her overworked legs, Tia led the perfectly beautiful stranger towards the side door, stopping to grab a towel for her on the way. She opened the door and tried not to shiver at the sudden cold on her skin — at least she was mostly covered, between her oversized robe and scarf. Her pale hair tugged in the breeze, blonde strands fluttering around her face as she looked down to the springs.

It seemed there was already a visitor this morning. He must’ve just arrived — the springs had been empty when Tia had searched for the twins. She glanced down at him, performing the simple, expected task of making sure all was well.

Her eyes widened though, when she saw a color that didn’t belong in the spring water, nor on the half-melted snow surrounding the pool:

Red.

Alarmed, Tia looked to the woman and thrust the towel and cookie basket towards her to take. She held up a hand, a quiet request to just… give her a moment. Tia’s dark eyes looked back down to the springs at the bottom of the stairs. Blood diluted in the water and stained the ice, marking a trail where the man’s steps had led him. Was he hurt? Did he need help?

Tia was already reaching for the well of magic in her core as she began the excruciating work of walking down the stairs — without either collapsing or slipping on ice. Aching hands anchored to the railing, Tia moved as quickly as she could towards the spring.

“Sir?” she called out as loud as she dared. It wasn’t loud at all, considering the scarred and shredded state of her throat. Tia pressed her lips together, trying to focus on her ruined muscles.

“Alright?” she tried again when she was at the bottom of the steps. Tia tried to look him over, to see if there was any sign of injury. It was hard to find the source of the blood though, submerged and turned away from her as he was.

---

_{Interactions: Nyla Zafira @The Muse, Vellion Hurst @Dark Light}

Realms of Sun & Shadow

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_{Location: Royal Residence}

---

---

Amaya’s embarrassment gave way to sharp irritation when she caught the tease in his smile — she tried to hold onto the feeling. It was certainly more familiar than this thrill of warmth in her chest, nerves tickling along her skin at the sound of his voice. She tried to tell herself it was just the winter chill settling into her again. But then Amaya glanced at his shadowed face. The darkness covered them like a blanket, making him seem closer, quieter, warmer. That mischief in his eyes… Amaya felt it pulling her in, a stubborn challenge rising in her. She wanted to wipe it away so it couldn’t make her feel so unsure of herself. She wanted to watch it spark and ignite, and know that she was the one to set him aflame.

Yes, perhaps it was better that she hadn’t woken to him still wrapped around her. Amaya was having a difficult time keeping her thoughts straight as it was.

But then — he said that word again. Partner.

Amaya looked at him fully, her eyes wide as it sank into her again. She felt it again — that overwhelming pull towards him that had led her into his arms last night. It was a blinding sense of being known and trusted, not in spite of who she was, but because of it. He looked at her so evenly. His shoulder bumped into hers, the motion so casual, like the act itself didn’t make her body real, his touch and gaze burning her into existence. As if what he was offering her didn’t matter at all.

A chance. Opportunity. The promise that Amaya could at least try to prove herself before she was written off completely.

Flynn’s tired eyes, the way his weariness weighed down his voice, even as he flicked his gaze over Amaya in a way that made her throat dry and her heart too quick, all made for a potent combination. Why wasn’t he touching her? Why was he so close? She wanted to burrow into him and keep him here, on this couch until all the shadows had been chased away. She wanted to drag him outside and demand he show her how to do all of these mountainous tasks he listed until she knew them as well as she knew the halls of the palace.

Whatever you desire.

“All of it,” she breathed. It was a dangerous thing to say. Even in the darkness, Amaya could see the vivid green of his eyes. He was closer than he’d been just moments ago — or maybe she was.

Her fingers curled into the couch cushion like it could possibly steady her against the tide. The floor didn’t seem quite so cold against her feet. Amaya didn’t know how to move from this moment — either towards him, or away. The longer it stretched, the tighter her skin felt, and the heavier the air grew with that latent ozone she remembered from the night before.

“That man,” she forced herself to say. Amaya swallowed, and tried to steady her voice. “The prisoner. He was there, at the feast. He… it was because of him that I realized I’d fallen for psychic magic.” Amaya remembered his pale eyes, his odd musical voice. She could feel his touch trailing along her arm as she resurfaced and saw her attacker for who he was, after he’d disguised himself using her own memories.

The events of the day were bitter and painful in her mind. They flashed like a blade in the moonlight, spraying a crimson too sickeningly vivid. There were too many mistakes to count — too many failures.

Too many victims.

“If time allows,” Amaya began. Her eyes dropped from Flynn’s to stare at the collar of his rumpled shirt. The words trapped themselves in her throat. “I should…” Her lips pressed together. Her pulse picked up as she played the words in her mind, tried to steel herself to make her request.

“A knight died yesterday. For me.” A man whose quiet presence she’d known for most of her life. There’d been another guard with her — Amaya didn’t even know if he’d survived. She didn’t know his name.

“I should pay my respects, to him and… anyone else injured.”

---

_{Interactions: Flynn Astaros @The Muse}