The Muse

Realms of Sun & Shadow

Location: Aelios Temple > Hotsprings

“The sun warms all,”

Noticeably, the words came strained from the Priestess, each syllable carrying the weight of effort, but Nyla couldn’t help but smile. There was something undeniably endearing about the way the woman’s eyes widened, her cheeks coloring. Nyla’s gaze followed hers to the window, where only the deep, frozen darkness of night stared back at them.

She never could get used to it, either.

“Mm…” she hummed, arching a brow as she returned her gaze to the woman. Her lips curled into a knowing smile that was neither mockery nor pity, just quiet amusement. “So it seems.” Her voice carried an easy, lilting sarcasm, as a soft laugh slipped past her lips.

Nyla’s gaze flicked down as the Priestess lifted a small basket of cookies in offering. She blinked, her brows lifting slightly in surprise. She had been given many things in temples—blessings, prayers, judgments—but never a cookie.

And who was she to refuse such kindness? Refusing gifts could be seen as rude.

With a graceful motion, she plucked a cookie from the basket, holding it between her fingers as though it were something finer than a simple baked good. “A gift from the temple?” she mused, peering at her with curiosity. “Or from you?”

She didn’t wait for an answer before taking a delicate bite, letting the taste settle on her tongue. Sweet. But simple. Humble.

It would undoubtedly leave her stomach in knots later, but Nyla had long since learned to ignore such things. If she wanted to pass as human, she had to commit to the performance.

The Priestess, meanwhile, had gestured toward the hallway leading to the springs, and Nyla followed without hesitation. As she walked, she took her time, letting her gaze drift over the temple’s ornate walls and vaulted ceiling, allowing herself to absorb the warmth of the space. It reminded her, in some ways, of home.

When her gaze flicked back to the Priestess, Nyla watched her move, noting the careful way she held herself. Controlled, deliberate, but she was stiff—straining. Nyla had seen it before, in dancers who had pushed themselves past their limits—in herself. Though the Priestess seemed to be doing her best to mask it.

Interesting.

When they reached the doorway, a gust of cold rushed to greet them, though Nyla barely reacted. Since her transformation, the cold had become more tolerable—though she still didn’t like it. Gathering her long, dark hair to one side to shield it from the wind, she followed the Priestess outside, smiling at the familiar feeling of heat and steam enveloping her.

Then, the Priestess stopped short.

Nyla followed her gaze, landing on the lone figure hunched at the water’s edge. The red staining the ground, swirling in the sacred waters. Her eyes shot back to the Priestess, just in time to catch the basket and towel thrust into her hands. Nyla took them without protest, though her brows drew together slightly. She watched as the priestess hurried down the steps, concern evident.

Nyla, however, lingered.

Her playful demeanor didn’t vanish entirely, but it did sharpen, her head tilting as her eyes studied the scene at the bottom of the steps. She had no particular interest in rushing in to play the part of a worried onlooker.

Instead, Nyla inhaled—and immediately regretted it.

Beneath the thick, humid, mineral-rich air, something else lurked.

Rot.

Decay.

Her grip tightened around the towel and basket as her expression shifted, her amusement slipping into nausea. She darted a glance around, trying to pinpoint the source through the rising steam. An animal carcass left in the snow? A dead body?

She resisted the urge to wrinkle her nose. The scent was faint, even to her—so subtle that a human likely wouldn’t notice it at all, she guessed. But to her heightened blight-born smell, it was enough to make her stomach turn.

Slowly, with growing concern, she stepped forward, though the Priestess’s urgency wasn’t quite mirrored in her own steps.

As she reached the bottom of the steps, her attention slid to a sword leaning against one of the rocky outcrops—dark steel, unmistakably Lunarian. Her gaze flicked back to the man as the priestess approached him.

A soldier?

Broad-shouldered, dark-haired, his posture spoke of pain or exhaustion—perhaps both. Maybe the scent of decay clung to his weapon, and that was why he had come here. It would be typical for a Lunarian to desecrate the sacred waters of Aelios.

Yet something inside her stirred, a quiet warning that set her instincts on edge.

Wariness flickered in her gaze as she glanced at the priestess, then back to the man, choosing to linger a few steps behind them. Silent, she continued scanning the area, searching through mist and shadows for whatever had begun to rot in the cold.

Because whatever it was…

It was close.

---

_{Interactions: Tia @c3p-0h, Vellion @Dark Light}

Realms of Sun & Shadow

Location: Town Square > Aelios Temple

Quietly, Nyla wandered through Dawnhaven’s winding streets, her eyes tracing the variety of shops clustered around the town center. For a brief moment, she wondered what it was that the shop owners sought to do here. Did they truly believe they’d find a new start instead of meeting their end? Nyla had come out of desperation, but the humans who arrived willingly seemed to cling onto hope still. It was admirable, if naive.

With each passerby, she noted their faces, offering a small smile if their eyes met hers. The townspeople seemed tense, and the guards watched her even more closely than they had when she first arrived at the gates yesterday. It set her slightly on edge, but she continued on, following wooden signs that pointed out important locations—armory, tavern, market, barracks, neighborhoods, and temples.

The town was organized enough, she supposed, but sprawling in a way that made her wonder how much of it had been planned and how much had simply been built wherever it could go up the fastest. She couldn’t help but smirk at that. It suited Flynn, really. For all his plans and thoughts, he was still Flynn—Impulsive, willful, and always well-intentioned.

Eventually, she found herself in the northeast neighborhood, where the homes were neatly aligned, well-kept and clearly occupied. She paused, considering a new direction to wander, when an Aurelian guard passed by, offering a polite nod.

“Excuse me, love,” she called out, her southeastern Aurelian accent lacing her words with a subtle, honeyed warmth. “This area—most of the homes are taken, yes?”

The guard gave a small chuckle, adjusting his grip on his spear. “Aye, miss. Mostly assigned to guards and the like. You lookin’ to move in? You’d have better luck toward the west end, I reckon.”

“I see. Thank you.” She began to turn away when the guard cleared his throat.

“Miss,” he called after her, prompting Nyla to half-turn and meet his gaze. “You should talk to the stonemason and his crew. Or the Prince, if he’ll deign to meet with you. They’ll know which homes are ready.”

Nyla flashed him a warm, easy smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.” She gave him a gracious inclination of her head, and he returned the gesture, before she continued on her way.

She had no interest in tracking down Flynn or whoever the stonemason was. Flynn had already said she could have any home she wanted—so she’d take it.

As she made her way back down the snow-laden streets, a wisp of steam caught her attention, curling into the crisp air from somewhere to the east. Intrigued, she followed it, cutting through narrow streets until she found herself at the base of a temple—perched atop a hill, framed by the forest, and radiating warmth that seemed to seep through the very walls. It wasn’t anything like the grand, glittering temples of Aurelia, but it held its own quiet dignity.

She stopped at the foot of the steps, narrowing her eyes as she took it all in—the Temple of Aelios. The goddess whose followers had changed the course of Flynn’s entire life… and hers.

Her lips pressed into a thin line as she looked up at the spires reaching up into the clouded night sky. She had never belonged to Aelios’ faithful, despite growing up in the eastern sands where worship was as common as breathing. There, faith bled into everything—prayers before meals, blessings for water, rituals for the rising sun, mediation under the blazing summer heat or in the warmth of a cleansing hot spring.

She did not deny Aelios’ power, but the nomads lived by their own rhythm, guided by the wind. And Nyla had never cared for how religion tried to box people in.

Still, the temple’s heat called to her all the same, tempting her with promises of comfort like a familiar lover. Might as well, she thought, if only to see everything Dawnhaven had to offer.

Letting herself be drawn closer, she scaled the steps until she reached the doors and gave them a gentle push. The warmth spilled out, washing over her, and Nyla stepped inside. The vast, open center of the temple welcomed her with flickering firelight. At the heart of it all, the eternal flame burned—a beacon that made the air seem to hum with power. A familiar sight, and yet, so foreign at the same time.

Near the flame stood a woman—blonde, petite, and strikingly beautiful. A Priestess, no doubt. But more curiously, she bore the unmistakable features of someone from the Ember Isles—despite the rarity of her sunlit hair. Nyla took a moment to drink her in before stepping forward, a soft smile gracing her lips as she moved with the unhurried, fluid grace honed on countless stages.

“Warm greetings, Priestess,” she said, dipping her head in a respectful bow, keeping her gaze averted for a few breaths. If her life had taught her anything, it was to tread carefully around members of the church. With all their entitled pride, they weren’t often forgiving of perceived disrespect.

When she straightened, her blue eyes briefly flicked to the Priestess's scarf before meeting her gaze.

“I couldn’t help but notice—is that a hot spring beyond the temple?” she asked, nodding toward the door at the back. “It’s been far too long since I’ve had the pleasure of one.” She paused, her soft smile shifting, turning teasing.

Because despite her inclination to respect the clergy, she was still Nyla—impulsive and willful.

“Is the hotspring reserved only for the devout, or might any heathen enjoy it?”

---

_{Interactions: Tia @c3p-0h}

Realms of Sun & Shadow

Location: Royal Residence

Flynn watched Amaya carefully, analyzing every subtle shift in her expression and every small motion in her body language. He couldn’t help but notice the way her hair fell unruly around her face, how the nightgown clung to her body as she kept a calculated distance between them, how her eyes shifted away from his, how her—

His thoughts stumbled to a halt.

It was almost imperceivable against her darker skin, but unmistakable to him. He’d gazed at her so often, traced the lines of her face so many times, that the slightest change was noticeable. She was… blushing.

The rigid formality she always wore like armor still wasn’t in place, leaving her unguarded and… nervous? The realization was surprising enough that it almost made him forget to breathe.

A slow, almost lazy thrill unfurled in his chest. Something warm, bold and just a little bit smug.

He knew this look, this energy. He’d seen it on plenty of faces before—flustered, uncertain, caught off guard in his presence. But to see it on her? That was new.

He wasn’t used to being the one to leave her so visibly unsteady, and it gave him a rare, almost dangerous sense of confidence. Something told him that if he reached for her now, she might not immediately pull away. Maybe she’d even lean into it. The thought was oddly reassuring and calming. Maybe she had enjoyed his company after all—begrudgingly or not.

As she sat up, he silently cursed himself for having pulled away, for letting the weight of his own thoughts drag him out from under her. He should have stayed. Should have kept her tucked against his chest and kissed her awake instead. He wanted to reach for her, pull her back down onto the couch with him and coax her into staying just a little longer.

But before he could convince himself to try it, she spoke—quick and practical, trying to cut through her own nerves with practicality.

Flynn just nodded, his lips curving into a soft, almost teasing smile. “Right. I should dress too,” he said, keeping his voice gentle. “Sorry, I... didn’t mean to wake you.”

His thoughts snagged on the notion, unsure of what he would’ve done if she hadn’t woken up. Left her there to wake up alone? No—that didn’t sit right with him. He would’ve stayed. He’d just… needed a moment to breathe.

His gaze caught on her hands as she started to rise, and an urge to stop her tightened in his chest. Before he could overthink it, the words quickly tumbled out.

“I meant what I said—yesterday.” He paused, waiting for her to meet his gaze. “About… being my partner,” he clarified when she did, holding the soft smile on his lips.

He hesitated for a beat before leaning in, nudging her shoulder with his in a gentle, playful gesture.

“Come with me today,” he said, lingering close, his gaze dipping briefly to her nightgown before finding her face again. There was a spark of mischief in his eyes, but it was softened by a touch of tenderness that lingered just beneath the surface.

“I’ve got to check in with the commanders first,” he continued, eyes briefly flicking to her lips. “Then, apparently they’ve put someone in the cells—that odd man we ran into on the road before… Speaking of treason, I heard.” He sighed, slowly finding her eyes again. “After that… more blight-born interviews.”

The list felt heavy on his shoulders as he named his tasks aloud. He just wanted to stay here, with her.

“You’re welcome to join me for any of it,” he said, softer now. “All, or just some…” he paused, knowing that everything might be too much after what she’d just been through.
“Or none of it at all,” he added, his eyes searching hers.

“Whatever you desire.”

---

_{Interactions: Amaya @c3p-0h}

Realms of Sun & Shadow

Location: Eye of the Beholder > Town Square

Nyla’s hips swayed, her movements fluid and precise, each twist, arch and hand placement a carefully crafted spell to captivate every eye in the room. Wrapped in colorful silks, they fluttered around her like flames. Music thrummed in her ears—a lute, tambourine and drums paving the rhythm that shaped and guided her every motion. Gold, silver, and bronze coins were tossed at her feet, clattering across the wooden stage of a smoky tavern. Men and women alike leaned forward, greedy eyes trailing her body.

Effortlessly, she pirouetted, her world blurring from one to the next.

A grand hall unfolded around her, polished marble floors reflecting candlelight as highborn nobles sat rapt with attention. From across the room, the Queen’s green eyes fixated on her—unwavering, familiar, and stripped of their light.

She spun.

A dim brothel—whispers crawling through the dark, slithering between raised glasses and crooked smiles. Some faces alight with wonder, others glinting with cruel intent.

She spun faster.

Dancing on the sunlit streets of Aurelian markets, where the crowd chanted and clapped along to the music, their cheers crashing around her like waves of pure adrenaline.

She spun in a darkened room, for one man.

His hands reached for her, catching her mid-turn. He whispered into her ear, his breath warm against her skin. Promises, sweet and poisonous, spilled from his lips. She closed her eyes, leaning into the sound, completely breathless. Motionless.

The silks tightened around her torso—slowly at first, then viciously. Her breath hitched as they constricted, burning hot, searing into her flesh. A coppery taste materialized in her mouth, rushing into her lungs as blood filled the space where air should have been. She choked, fighting to breathe, but the silk pressed over her lips and sealed over her eyes. Darkness folded in on her, suffocating, crushing. She was drowning, trapped, and powerless against it.

She tried to scream—

Nyla gasped awake, her body rigid, heart pounding against her ribs. Darkness pressed in heavily across her body, asphyxiating her. She flailed, desperate to throw off the weight of it. Panic clawed at her chest until a sliver of light broke through, distant and faint. She reached for it, pushing against the weight of shadows until she broke free.

Under dim torchlight coming through her window, she stared down at herself and stilled. Small hands, slender and fragile, trembled against an entire ocean of blankets. She was tiny—small enough to fit into the palm of a hand. Fae.

Somewhere in sleep, she must have shrunk into this shape.

Her wings twitched in annoyance at her back as disgust pulled her lips into a sneer. The room loomed around her, monstrously oversized.

With a frustrated huff, she sat down, her weight hardly making a dent in the fabric. Fighting against the tide of magic that kept her small, she closed her eyes, and forced her mind to conjure the shape she preferred—taller, stronger, more human sized. It took several attempts, each one feeling like an uphill battle, but at last, heat crawled through her bones, stretching and reshaping her muscles. When she opened her eyes again, she stood tall, back to her usual height.

She paused for a moment, stretching her limbs, adjusting to the unfamiliar weight of her newly restored form. She wasn’t sure she would ever fully acclimate to the strange, shifting sensations of her transitions.

Her gaze drifted to the window, where snowflakes gathered along the sill. Moving across the room, she leaned closer, peering outside. The world beyond seemed frozen in time, blanketed in an eerie stillness, draped in a shroud of white.

There was a time when the sight of snow had filled her with joy, but now, it only served as a bitter reminder of her own loneliness. A hollow ache spread through her chest as she mulled over her plans for the day. But why bother stepping outside? Why brave the cold and emptiness when there was nothing waiting to warm her? A grim thought struck her—she wished she had died a month ago. It would have been easier.

But her thoughts snagged on Aldrick—vibrant, reckless Aldrick. Still living, still thriving, sparking life into every room he entered. Hadn’t he always known how to survive? To keep moving even when life bled him dry? She’d been like that once—daring and bright. Maybe it wasn’t too late to reclaim the spark that Aldrick had held onto. She couldn’t stand the thought of giving in, of letting the world crush her spirit entirely. And yet…

Her mind returned to Flynn. She remembered the way he’d looked at her, those green eyes, always so caring, that now hid so much behind them. She remembered his embrace, the way it had felt less warm than it used to. And even so, she felt comfortable there. A pang through her heart made her chest feel tight.

His words tugged at her thoughts—talk of an interview. She scoffed, irritation sparking. As if she were some stranger to him. As if he didn’t already know every corner of her soul, every curve of her body. The idea of him treating her as an unknown, possible threat, scraped against her nerves.

Let him chase her down if he wanted an interview so badly.

Despite how guarded he had been, he’d still promised her a home here—a place to be safe. Well, she’d find herself a space, then. A little corner to call her own.

Throwing on her clothes and a thick coat, Nyla pulled her magic around herself like a veil, tucking away her horns and wings, presenting herself as human again.

Downstairs, she slipped through the inn, hurrying past faces without meeting anyone’s gaze. Snow crunched underfoot as she exited, making her way toward the town square.

She didn’t quite know where to begin—only that part of her ached for Flynn to come find her, as he always had.

Realms of Sun & Shadow

Location: Kira's Home > Heading into town

Kira’s eyes slowly blinked open, the dim orange glow of them cutting through the pitch black that engulfed her room. In an instant, her senses surged back to life—a flash flood of sounds and scents. Every distant breath and heartbeat resuming their steady rhythm in her ears.

She felt the disturbance before she saw it—a presence beside her, far too familiar in its intimacy and yet wholly foreign. Deep, even breathing. The scent of sweat and alcohol lingering in the air. A stranger.

Her gaze slid over to him—a man, sprawled out like he belonged in her space, black hair cut too short, a thick, untidy beard framing his face. Bare chest exposed to the cold, muscles lax and unworried. Older than her. Moderately handsome. Not that it mattered.

On a mission, it never had.

Kira’s lips curled into a grimace as she instinctively pulled her leg back from where it brushed his—an intrusion she hadn’t noticed before, and now couldn’t stand. Disgust coiled around her like a snake.

With a sharp movement, she ripped the blanket off him and swiftly bundled it around herself. He jolted awake with a startled gasp, looking around in groggy confusion, brown eyes trying to focus on her.

“Get out,” Kira growled, voice low and cold.

Recognition sparked in his eyes, and his mouth opened—likely to protest—but the fight bled out of him before he could speak. His expression went blank, and he obeyed without question. Silently, he stood and gathered his scattered clothes with a vacant, glassy stare. Kira didn’t move, disdain seeping through every part of her as she watched him.

A bruise, deep and dark, marred his neck. Right where her fangs had sunk into his jugular. Memories of last night flashed through her mind.

The way he’d stopped her from pursuing Elara with that self-important tone, telling her about alarm bells like she was some clueless little thing. She’d given him a deadly, easy smile, stepping closer, lowering her voice into a teasing purr—luring him in with honey-sweet words and false vulnerability.

She could use some strong, sturdy hands to guide her home, couldn’t she? Someone to protect her from the big, bad night.

He’d melted into the palm of her hand so easily when they’d reached her home. His hands hadn’t been so sturdy as they’d trembled around her body with excitement. She’d whispered into his ear as she backed him into a wall.

Had he ever been with a blight-born before? Did he know what it felt like to belong to one?

She’d told him. Warned him. But he didn’t seem to mind—or understand.

She hadn’t cared to explain it any further.

Her fangs had sunk into his neck, hot blood flooding her senses, seeping through her veins like molten fire. His heart had quickened and he’d groaned, but he didn’t pull away. Her venom seeped into his bloodstream, clouding his mind. He was intoxicated in an instant, made pliable and eager. Too far gone to care about the danger wrapped around him.

His hands had been on her before she was done drinking, and by the time they’d stumbled into bed, she’d been just as inebriated—drunk on the power, the warmth and the taste of life on her tongue.

She didn’t yet know if she felt guilty for it.

Now, Kira’s gaze remained cold as he finished dressing, never meeting her eyes as he slipped out the door without a word, still under her influence. Once the room was empty, she tossed the blanket aside and began to dress herself. She felt sharper—more herself than she had in days. Her energy refueled. Whatever chaos had threatened to overtake her yesterday had settled, leaving her feeling strangely stable.

Before heading out the door, she pulled on her coat and tucked a hidden dagger into her waistband. With a final glance around, she stepped outside, the cold biting at her face. She made her way to the tavern, craving something warm. She could no longer stomach food, but coffee would do.

With any luck, the tavern would be quieter than yesterday. If not, she'd find a dark corner to blend into, giving her space to drink in peace before she allowed the Sages to start another round of their infernal poking and prodding.

Realms of Sun & Shadow

Location: Zeph's Home > Heading into town

Zeph leaned against the counter, a mug warming his hands as he watched thick snowflakes drift lazily down, layering the already heavy pine branches outside his kitchen window. The morning—or what passed for morning now that the sun never rose—was quiet, the only sound a soft whisper of wind through the trees. His hazel eyes were unfocused, thoughts tangled up as memories from the previous night played back in his mind.

The cavern, unassuming from the outside, but glittering with odd crystals hidden deep within. The bladed teeth of those fish that still sent phantom pain through his arm when he thought about it. The gemstone—whatever it was—which had caused pure panic to flash through the little firefly. And yet, tiny as she was, he couldn’t forget the power in which she wielded. A bright, warm light cutting through the darkness that had closed in around his vision.

But he had always been lucky, Seluna saw fit to let him see another day, and they’d made it back to Dawnhaven in one piece—just barely. That much was a miracle in itself. One owed mostly to Tia for saving their lives. He didn’t like relying on someone else to bail him out, especially not a Priestess, but he knew without a doubt she’d saved his life. And now, he owed a debt. One he’d have to figure out how to repay.

She hadn’t saved them without a cost, either. After her legs gave out, Ivor had ended up carrying her the rest of the way into town. Zeph’s jaw tensed as he recalled the way she’d swayed on her feet, pale and shaky, and how his hands had shot out just in time to catch her before she fully collapsed into mud and ice. She looked a mess—blood and dirt streaked across her clothes and tangled in her hair, all the color drained from her face as she shivered against the incoming storm. Not exactly what he pictured when he thought of a pristine Aurelian Priestess—with all their decorum and elegant grace. But even then, she’d tried to wave them off, stubborn to a fault. Against Ivor, though, she hadn’t stood a chance. He scooped her up and carried on.

By the time they reached Dawnhaven, the town was mostly asleep, the streets dotted with only the occasional patrol making their rounds through the snow. Zeph hadn’t been surprised to see the Champion emerge from the temple doors, stern-faced and all business—just like when she’d passed prisoner duty off to him. He almost laughed at how rigid she looked, but thought better of it when he saw the way she scowled at Tia—and then turned her daggered gaze on him and Ivor. Anger, like a smoldering ember, daring them to add fuel.

Something about the way she stared down Tia didn’t sit right with him, but he wasn’t dumb enough to pick a fight with a Champion. He knew it wasn’t his place to get involved. Champions had their duties. Protecting the Priestess was one of them, and whatever tension was between the two of them wasn’t his problem. So he didn’t let it bother him. Not much, anyway.

Once they handed Tia off, the Champion snatched the spear out of his hand without so much as a word and ushered Tia inside, swiftly slamming the doors in their faces. Bewildered, the two men parted ways shortly after and Zeph didn’t waste much time getting home. He’d barely managed to kick his boots off before collapsing into bed. The exhaustion hit him hard—muscles aching, head pounding—but at least sleep came easy.

Now, in the stillness of his kitchen, a faint smirk tugged at the edge of his lips. The short-lived adventure had been exhilarating—far more than anything he’d experienced while serving in lowly guard ranks. A fleeting thought crossed his mind and he wondered what it might take to become a Champion of Aelios. Did the Sun Goddess take in detractors from another nation if they bent the knee to her? Aurelian Priestesses seemed a lot more entertaining than Seluna’s solemn lot.

Tossing back the rest of his coffee, his stomach grumbled, reminding him that the few bites of rainbow fish hadn’t done much more than keep him on his feet. With a sigh, Zeph set his empty mug in the sink and grabbed his heavy coat from the peg by the door, shrugging it on and bracing himself for the cold.

Stepping outside, the frigid air bit at this face, but he barely registered it. This was something he had long been used to. If he hadn’t known better, it could have been just another dark winter, like countless others Lunarians had endured before it.

With his hands stuffed into his pockets and snow settling atop his black hair, he made his way down the road toward the tavern. A hot meal sounded like heaven—a thick stew, fresh bread, maybe even those pastries from yesterday. The pathways had been cleared—someone else’s problem today. Luckily, he didn’t have duty today. No hauling snow or guarding the town’s edge from whatever decided to crawl out of the woods.

Finally, a break.

Realms of Sun & Shadow

Location: Royal Residence

Flynn lay still, his arm still draped around Amaya as she slept peacefully, nestled comfortably between him and the back of the couch. Her breathing was soft, slow and even against his chest. The blanket he had pulled up in the middle of the night covered most of her, her face tilted down slightly as she curled herself in against his body.

He’d been awake for some time, roused by distant noises outside as the guards resumed their regular duties. He wasn’t sure how long it had been, but darkness engulfed the room—the logs in the hearth long since burned to ash and the moon’s glow barely visible through the window. They must have slept through the “night” here, wrapped around one another.

He hadn’t moved since waking—too afraid to untangle himself from her, to wake her and be faced with reality. Last night felt like a dream. A fever dream with raw emotion that had left them both undone in each other's embrace. A part of him feared that when she woke, she’d regain that stubborn strength of hers, harden, and wall him out again.

His gaze wandered from her peaceful face down to her shoulder, tracing the curve of her body beneath the blanket. Her legs were intertwined with his, fitting in between each other as they had adjusted throughout the night—conscious or not.

He hadn’t slept like this with someone in months. The last time… The last time had been Nyla.

The memory found him before he could stop it, clawing its way out of the dark corner he’d shoved it into. He didn’t want to think about it, but it came anyway. The way they’d been tangled in sheets, breathless and fiercely passionate, her fingers digging into his shoulders. How she’d kissed him with that easy, confident smile, like it was the most natural thing in the world to be wrapped up with him. How he’d whispered things he meant, things that felt so real in that moment.

He could almost hear her laugh, warm and unguarded, and it struck him like a dagger between the ribs. She’d always been flighty and unpredictable—hot and cold like a fickle flame, burning bright one moment and slipping through his fingers the next. Their love had been unsteady—like trying to hold on to a summer storm. Sometimes he didn’t know whether she’d kiss him breathless or tease him just to watch him get flustered.

But there had been subtle, comfortable warmth, too. Gentle, quiet moments when she’d rest her head on his shoulder, humming softly under her breath. Times when she’d look at him like he was the only one who could tie her down without clipping her wings. He’d been so sure of her back then—so sure that, despite her unpredictability, she would always find her way back to him.

And she had.

When he’d been forced to leave, it had felt like a part of him had been ripped away, leaving something jagged and empty behind. Maybe that was the nature of loss—it left echoes that never truly faded, even when life moved on.

But Amaya was here—solid and warm, breathing softly against him. Right where he’d asked her to stay. A hollow ache settled in his chest, his fingers flexing along her waist as if to reassure himself that she was real.

He let out a slow breath, trying to let go of the guilt that gnawed at him—that whisper in his mind that he told him he had no idea what it was that he truly wanted. That he would hold onto anyone who would let him get close enough, if only to feel like he was more than just a pawn in someone else's game.

And yet, Amaya... She'd tried to keep her distance, had attempted to evade him at every turn, but he’d pursued her anyway—drawn to her regardless of the fact that she held no love for him. His heart twisted with something confusing and complex as he tried to pick apart the emotions swirling within him, but it was too much to analyze, and he was too weary.

The air between them suddenly felt too thin. There wasn’t enough for the both of them to share this space. She was stunningly beautiful—a glass work of art that he’d inevitably break.

Carefully, he shifted under the blankets, retreating his hands and untangling his legs from hers as slowly as he could manage. Inch by inch, he freed himself, finally managing to sit up on the edge of the couch. He almost got away with it—almost. But as he reached to pull the blanket back over her, piercing blue eyes blinked open, catching him mid-motion.

That anxious fire within him flickered out, and he couldn’t help the soft smile that curved his lips, caught in her sleepy stare. “Good morning.”

---

_{Interactions: Amaya @c3p-0h}

Realms of Sun & Shadow

Collab between @The Muse and @c3p-0h

Previous Day

Sometime around 1am | Location: The Royal Home

Part V

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

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

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

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

Ruined. That's what he was.

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

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

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

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

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

But Flynn had asked her to stay.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Amaya’s eyes drifted open.

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

I’ll stay. As I always have.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t see it.”

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

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

"She must know that. Give her time.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wanted. Amaya was wanted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Realms of Sun & Shadow

Collab between @The Muse and @c3p-0h

Previous Day

Sometime around 1am | Location: The Royal Home

Part III

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It had cost her everything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But not forever.”

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

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

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

It hurt too much to lose.

“I –”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Forever.”

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

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

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

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

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

Realms of Sun & Shadow

Collab between @The Muse and @c3p-0h

Previous Day

Sometime around 1am | Location: The Royal Home

Part I

---

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

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

Reaching the bottom step, he stilled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But she swallowed the thoughts down.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he hadn’t thought to include Amaya.

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

“It won’t happen again.”

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

He wanted her involved.

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

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

The silence stretched. The night only grew longer.

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

"It was a mistake."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Amaya kissed him and set herself aflame.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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