The Muse

Realms of Sun & Shadow

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

Part III

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The walk over had been quiet.

Snow crunched beneath their boots in a slow, steady rhythm. Behind them, the clatter of armor was a constant reminder that they weren't alone, but Flynn had asked the guards to give them space, and they had. They kept their distance, close enough to intervene if necessary—weapons ready, eyes sharp—but far enough not to intrude.

Flynn’s hand remained laced with hers—still cold despite how long they'd been walking. But she hadn't pulled away. She'd stepped into him earlier, folded herself into his arms, seeking warmth. Seeking him. That mattered.

Just as her words did.

He’d turned them over a dozen times now, trying to decipher all she hadn’t said aloud. She’d given him a warning, he knew. But also a small window into the reality of her world.

He caught himself glancing at her more than once. At the way the snow settled gently into the strands of her dark hair. At the snowflakes that still pulled around her ankles with every step, like they belonged to her—answered only to her.

They followed the path along the lake, its edges frozen over, the center still dark and open. Not unlike Amaya, he thought—ice guarding something deeper, something that refused to yield.

She was surrounded by everything that called to her—water, snow, and the chill of winter. The moon overhead, hidden behind a layer of clouds. Several pieces to the puzzle that shaped her—something that had never needed warmth to survive.

And then… there was him.

Trailing in the wake of it all. Trying like hell to get through. Reaching for warmth, wanting—always wanting. And every time he thought he’d made it, he stumbled.

For all his wanting, he still felt like a foreigner trying to interpret an unknown language carved into stone.

His eyes lifted as the temple came into view along the lake’s edge, its spired roof reaching toward the darkened sky. A design meant to honor the moon goddess. His gaze settled on the open part of the roof—the perfect circle carved out, where the full moon would align and allow Seluna’s light to pour straight through. He had stood beneath it after the temple had been built, curious of Lunarian customs. But today, the beauty of it was dimmed. Overshadowed by what lay inside.

Two bodies. Lunarian ones. Amaya’s people.

His now, too. Theirs.

Flynn slowed as they neared the temple. The crunch of snow behind them softened as the guards followed suit, pausing a respectful distance away. He turned to Amaya, studying her in the faint moonlight, trying to read her expression. Trying to memorize the way she looked with snow in her hair and the weight of sorrow in her eyes.

He wanted to draw her into him again, to shield her from whatever pain awaited her inside.

But instead, his voice stayed low, just for her.

“If it becomes too much…” he murmured, “just give me a word… a look… and we go, okay? Take as long or as little as you need.”

No push. No expectation. However long she needed—minutes or hours—he’d follow her lead.

She didn’t respond immediately. Her eyes, wide and shadowed, caught in the moonlight as she stared up at the temple. Amaya was silent as ever — still as the lake’s surface. But her fingers curled slightly around his. The movement didn’t ache anymore, her skin no longer so frigid.

They stood there under the falling snow, as Flynn waited for Amaya to be ready, and Amaya…

Amaya couldn’t move. She thought the snow had turned to ice around her feet, climbing up her ankles, legs, knees, holding her in place. She’d been walking just moments ago, one foot in front of the other, mirroring Flynn’s longer strides.

Some part of her mind had registered, as they’d walked across town for the second time that morning, that he must’ve been slowing his steps for her. The guards and their careful distance had never wavered as they followed.

They’d all allowed her to set the pace. Just as they allowed her this time now, in the frigid winter air, to decide if she even knew how to move anymore.

There was another surge of emotion, part fear, part disorientation, part… she didn’t know. She didn’t have the words for it. But Flynn’s warm hand had never pulled as they walked. There’d been no demand in his grip as he’d quietly led her back to the temple – as long as he was certain that her steps wouldn’t stray from his.

But his larger hand, his stronger grip, had tightened so desperately to keep her beneath the canopy that threatened to become an avalanche. His frame was tall and broad as he’d blocked her escape, his shadow swallowing her whole.

There were limits to what was allowable.

And still, she found herself wanting to lean into him. She couldn’t bring herself to pull her hand from his. It felt like sealing her own fate – sealing his.

“Do you know who it is?”

Was.

The second corpse in the temple, the thing that used to be a person, haunted her thoughts, formless and faceless. The other guard? Someone from the feast? A person that Amaya had never even seen, before she’d made them cold and lifeless? Someone had known them – would grieve them. How far would this pain stretch, like ice crawling over the surface of a lake?

Amaya traced the temple’s silhouette, the way it pierced the snowy sky like a blade. The entrance loomed large – sealed shut. It grew in her vision, commanding her focus as she stayed rooted in place.

This door was hers to open.

Flynn lowered his gaze to the narrow space between them, at the snow gathering in their footprints. He thought of the guards and what they had told him yesterday—of what he had failed to tell her.

Swallowing the guilt that tightened in his throat, he shook his head and looked back at her. “We don’t know…” he said softly, “The body…”

He grimaced, gaze lowering again for a split second. Even saying it felt like a violation. “It’s… unrecognizable. Whoever it was, they were found beneath a rock.”

He paused, breath fogging in the air. “The clothes were Lunarian in style, so that’s why they thought… why they assumed... And the body wasn’t wearing armor or leathers. Just a…” his voice trailed for a moment, the words bitter in his mouth. “A civilian.”

There was a beat of silence. The shame of it settled around his shoulders like a weight. The failure of it all. The blight-born still unaccounted for.

“No one’s reported anyone missing yet. But… we’re still searching.”

His words sank deep into Amaya and twisted. The falling snow flinched in the air around them. She was still looking at the temple entrance.

Lunarian.

Civilian.

Unrecognizable.

They hadn’t just been killed, they’d been mutilated. She heard Sir Abel’s scream as his face was ripped apart, the ghastly spray of blood that the attacker had practically bathed in – reveled in. It wasn’t survival. It was brutality for the joy of it. And there was something so sickeningly familiar about it.

Amaya was frozen, her quiet breath growing too quick in her chest. She was numb. She was coated in ice. The temple’s long shadow stretched towards her, its blade inching closer and closer.

“I don’t understand.” She never had. It was a lost, thoughtless whisper as the snow spun ever harsher through the air around them.

Flynn looked away from her, watching as snowflakes circled them, ripped out of their natural descent. Silently, he studied the shift, absorbed the feeling of the hum of her magic causing a static charge along his skin. It should have felt threatening and yet…

He turned his gaze back to her.

Distantly, he heard the crunch of boots. A pause. One of the guards behind them called out, wary and uncertain.

“Your Highness… ”

The voice was cautious, questioning Flynn’s safety. Unsure whether the Prince still stood untouched within the eye of the gathering storm that was Amaya.

Flynn didn’t turn. His gaze stayed fixed on her.

She hadn’t moved. Her pale blue eyes still locked onto the temple door.

He didn’t know how to reach her—how to ease what was breaking inside her. But the aching pull of his own heart pushed him forward.

Without a second thought, he drew her into his arms. One hand cradled the back of her head, the other slipping protectively around her.

“I know,” he whispered into her hair, his voice low, rough with helplessness. “I wish I had answers…”

He held her tightly to his chest, like he could anchor her back into her body. As if he might be able to call her back from whatever edge she stood on. Back to him.

She was stiff in his hold. Vision obscured, she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to breathe. Her magic lashed against her tightening grip, leaking out into the air around her. Too many memories played in her mind. She tried to force them down — to ground herself in the center of Flynn’s inescapable warmth. Her hands drifted up, barely settling against his waist.

But as she fought to muffle the frantic buzz of her magic, to fold it inward, bubbling emotions tried to claim the empty spaces it left. They coaxed themselves to the surface as her ice began to melt. Painful and shattering, Amaya could feel them trying to rip themselves out of her grip. She tensed, leaning into Flynn as they built in her throat like a scream.

Amaya could feel the frost in the air growing more frantic. Jaw tensing, fingers curling into the fabric at Flynn’s sides, she fought until she forced her emotions down, too.

Eventually her breathing began to slow, measured against his. He held her up as she tried not to melt into him — held her together as walls threatened to crack under the weight of him, around her back, in her hair, against her heart. Somehow Flynn kept her from scattering in the air like snowflakes, even as he undid her.

“If I cannot control myself,” came her soft voice, too still, too thick with emotion, “remove me.” It was a shameful request to make. The words burned their way up her throat as she offered them. But she would not cause a disturbance where the dead rested.

Flynn’s jaw tensed, his gaze flicking up toward the four guards who had inched closer. Their attention remained locked onto the two of them—watchful, silent, concerned—reading the moment like looming danger.

But Flynn didn’t move.

Her request—no, her order—had come laced with reluctance, he knew. He felt the weight of it within his arms, pressing upon her. But she’d reached out for his help, in her way. Given him that permission. That burden. That honor.

Her trust was not lost on him. He held it like something fragile and sacred in his chest.

Shifting slightly, he lowered his head, his lips brushing her forehead as the hand at the back of her head slipped down to rest at her lower back. Then he gave a small, near imperceptible nod.

“…Okay,” he murmured, but didn’t let go.

Flynn eased the space between them, his arms relaxing just slightly, but he didn’t step away. He remained right where he was—wrapped around her like a shield, steady and unmoving. He would stay as long as she needed, as long as she’d allow, until she was ready to step out of his arms and face whatever waited beyond the temple doors.

Childishly, Amaya wanted to press back into him, to chase him across the meager distance he created. But she held herself in place. Her eyes were still closed. She was still wrapped in his warmth – in his shadow.

When she opened her eyes again, forced herself back into the perilous solidity of her own body, and all the ice that surrounded her instead of what brewed inside –

She looked up at Flynn and the sea swallowed her. Snowflakes dusted the top of his head, his shoulders, caught against the textures of his coat.

Emotions drifted across her face, pulled by his current. Worry. Fear. Grief. Her eyelids fluttered as she broke her gaze, looking back down to his chest. She took in an unsteady breath. Then, hesitantly, Amaya looked over her shoulder to see the guards, closer than they’d been all morning. Close enough that she could see the wariness in their eyes, the tension in their postures.

What was better - to be a doll, or a natural disaster?

Amaya folded herself away.

When she stepped out of the circle of Flynn’s arms, her back was straight and her expression was placid once more. The air was too cold. The space around her was too empty. She paused, glancing back at him. With a quick, gentle sweep of her hand, the snowflakes that coated him flicked away. She forced her next breath to be steadier, as she looked back to the temple. Amaya could still feel her heart in her throat, how her pulse jumped as she imagined –

His hand was warm in hers. She didn’t know who’d reached out first.

They stood there under the falling snow, as Flynn waited for Amaya to be ready, and Amaya…

Another breath. Another, final, moment of hesitation. Then she forced herself to move. Amaya led them to the entrance of the Moon Temple, snow pulling around her ankles with every step, and opened the door like she’d always known how.

Realms of Sun & Shadow

Location: Eye of the Beholder

Kira’s lips lifted slightly as Sya approached—just a twitch at the corner, not quite a smile, but an attempt at changing from her typical stone-faced, dagger-eyed stare into something more pleasant. It was, for her, practically a warm welcome.

She listened in silence, trying to sort through Sya’s peculiar cadence—and new way of hissing.

Egg box? Her eyes narrowed, not in suspicion, but mild confusion. And who the hell was “Onion”? Did she mean Orion? Kira wasn’t about to ask. That sounded like a conversation that spiraled in directions she didn’t care to hear.

But when Sya mentioned a private parlour, her gaze flicked toward the staircase. Now that piqued her interest. A quiet place to drink alone—away from the noise of a hundred heartbeats thrumming her ears. That sounded like the kind of luxury she could appreciate.

Her brow rose as Sya produced a small bottle and placed it in front of her. How did this woman always seem to have a wealth of alcohol on her? Her mind briefly flashed to the hot springs and Sya, tearfully clinging to a wine bottle. That had almost earned a smile out of her too.

Almost.

Gingerly, she reached forward, inspecting the bottle closer. “Thanks,” she murmured, just loud enough for Sya to hear before she slithered away to tend to others.

“You seem to also be in the.. Eh, how they say, ‘in the spirit of the good’?”

Kira’s gaze flicked up. His grin was earnest and clumsy in a way that might’ve charmed someone less jaded.

“Eh..What Ivor means is, ‘Miss Kira you are looking well this day’.”

Vitality born on borrowed blood.

Color had ghosted back beneath her skin. A glimmer of life caught in her eyes like it belonged there. Her limbs moved easier, breathing came smoother. She was stitched together by someone else’s pulse—with stolen warmth that wouldn’t last.

She blinked once, then twice, trying to keep pace with Ivor’s words as he rummaged through his tunic pockets. But her attention wavered—drawn elsewhere.

The guard.

She could feel him.

A steady heartbeat, slow and calm. Close, but not inside the tavern. His emotions stirred faintly, brushing against the edge of her mind like a whisper through mist. That strange thread between them held strong. She didn’t even know his name. She could pull it from him—reach in and take it—but she didn’t.

Guilt flared, small and sharp. She pushed it far, far down.

Her eyes refocused on Ivor just as he beckoned her closer, like he was about to confess to murder instead of sample bootleg liquor. She leaned in anyway—barely. Just enough to humor him.

One brow lifted as he uncorked the bottle, and she watched, unmoving. Her expression didn’t change as his whole face morphed from eager mischief to immediate horror. It didn’t even twitch when he reared back and unleashed a sneeze so thunderous it rattled the cutlery.

The silence that followed was brief but dense. She blinked once. Slowly. Staring at him.

“...Bless you,” she said, completely flat.

As Ivor braved his first sip, her hand drifted toward her own bottle—Sya’s gift. She turned it slowly in her fingers, eyeing it like it might explode. Or bite her.

“You would have like Aleksi I think, you and him, very much the same, very calm, very…”

Kira looked up, a flicker of amusement crossing her expression as she caught his face trying to mirror her usual indifference. The sight was so unexpected, she actually smiled—a rare, genuine smile. It tugged at the edges of her lips, soft and unguarded for a vulnerable, fleeting moment.

In that moment, she wondered about Aleksi and who he had been to Ivor. But the thought felt too personal, too intimate to entertain. Asking about someone else’s past, digging into their life—it felt wrong. She didn’t have the right to pry. Not anymore.

“If it is not minded, Ivor is wondering, before coming here, what did Miss Kira call home?”

Something twisted painfully in her chest, and the small smile vanished just as quickly as it had appeared. Ice replaced the warmth that had dared to surface.

What did she call home?

Cold, unfeeling stone walls. The sting of snow and gravel under her palms. The sharp clash of blades close enough to taste. The suffocating darkness beneath the palace, where light couldn’t reach. Blood splattered on rough stone floors. And always—always—the cold, insistent whisper of another threading through her mind.

Her eyes refocused on Ivor, her expression solidified into something harder once more. She kept her voice even, low. “I lived in the Capital.”

It wasn’t a lie. Just the closest truth she could offer him. A sliver of honesty, enough to answer without saying too much.

Despite the tightness in her chest, Kira reached deep within herself, and slipped into the practiced mask that had been drilled into her. The edges of her mouth twitched upward, just enough to make her expression more pleasant, more approachable.

“Tell me about Aleksi.”

---

_{Interactions: Ivor @SkeankySnack
Mentions: Sya @PrinceAlexus}

Realms of Sun & Shadow

Location: Alchemy Chambers

Eris smiled faintly as Charlotte accepted the offer of tea—something to keep her hands busy and her mind grounded. She rose, shedding the blanket from her shoulders and letting it crumple onto the couch. Her bare feet padded softly across the walkway that separated the modest sitting room from the even smaller kitchen.

At Charlotte’s comment about the space reminding her of home, Eris glanced around. The stone tower felt nothing like home to her. It was small, cold, and too quiet, the solitude broken only by the Sages that shuffled in and out on the ground floor. But she stayed silent, rummaging through her tea cabinet, listening as Charlotte spoke.

Once she’d chosen a blend, Eris returned to the counter, drawing a metal kettle into her hands. As her fingers wrapped around the cold steel, she lifted her gaze toward the fireplace where Charlotte now sat. The recruit’s eyes were distant, voice softened. She spoke of her brother, of missed streets and laughter, of magic held over tavern tables. There was pride in her tone—but grief too.

Eris felt the ache of it settle deep in her chest.

The strong, capable guard who had shielded her without hesitation now folded in on herself, struggling under the crushing weight of loss and uncertainty.

Drawing in a slow breath, Eris summoned what little magic remained in her reservoir. Doing things the hard way—the slow way—had never suited her. Magic had always been her tool of choice, her crutch and her comfort. And so, she winced as water rose from nothing, filling the kettle from the bottom up.

Her gaze stayed fixed on Charlotte, focused on a single point in the armor she wore, as if anchoring her focus there might dull the pain that seared up her forearm. Slowly, the kettle began to warm under her hands. She hovered just above the metal, channeling what energy she could, letting the warmth build into a boil.

When Charlotte’s voice cracked under the weight of her sorrow, Eris’ focus snapped back up to Charlotte’s face.

The firelight danced across her features, her voice trembling as she spoke. The rawness in her tone, the weight of grief and exhaustion pressing down on her, was something Eris could empathize with all too well.

As Charlotte offered to help, Eris shook her head gently. Her eyes flicked to the kettle—now boiling. “It’s almost done,” she murmured, barely above a whisper. A throbbing sensation pulsing faintly through her arms.

Quietly, Eris mulled over Charlotte’s words as she poured them each a cup, the fire crackle filling the room. Missing home and family was natural. Grief was natural. But that had never made it any easier, she knew.

Returning to the hearth with the mugs, she gracefully sank down onto the floor beside Charlotte. Placing the two mugs on the wooden floor in front of her, Eris adjusted her nightgown as she settled into a side-sitting position, her right hand resting on the ground for balance.

“I didn’t know Sir Abel,” she began softly, her eyes staring thoughtfully into the flames. “But if what you did last night is any reflection of what he taught you… then I think he’d be proud.”

She didn’t know Charlotte, nor the mistakes she had made, but if last night was any indication of her trajectory, then Eris figured she was doing just fine. Standing up to a superior was never easy, but she believed Charlotte had made the right choice. To her, it had been invaluable.

Eris stared down at the steam curling from the mugs, searching for words that might offer any sense of comfort. “Leaving home is always hard. No matter the reason.” she exhaled, trying to ignore the empty feeling of homesickness that tugged at her own heart. “But, I think… we can make a new home anywhere. Here, if we must.” she mused, uncertain if she was saying it for Charlotte or for herself.

“And we all make mistakes. That’s part of the journey. If you’re not making them… you’re not learning anything.” Her voice softened. “To be great, you have to be willing to make mistakes… and learn from them.” she added, speaking from experience.

After a pause, she flicked her fingers, and one of the mugs slid gently across the wooden floor before settling in front of Charlotte. A small smile curved on her lips as her eyes met the guards, mimicking the party trick Charlotte had mentioned her brother practicing.

Taking in the sadness lingering in Charlotte’s eyes, she hesitated, then gently reached out, her fingertips brushing Charlotte’s arm—barely a touch, just enough to say “I’m here.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” she offered a soft, sympathetic smile, tinged with familiar sadness. “Thank you for staying with me last night. Really.”

---

_{Interactions: Charlotte @SpicyMeatball}

Realms of Sun & Shadow

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

Part I

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Standing inside the Commander’s Quarters with Amaya at his side, Flynn couldn’t help but feel a bit off-kilter. He had fully expected to face this day alone. At least, that had been his assumption the night before, when the weight of everything had felt heavier, when he hadn’t been sure if Amaya would want to involve herself in this—in him. But she was here. Silent and guarded, but present. And he found that he was glad for it.

Despite his own relief, the room held a heavy air of unspoken tension, a battlefield of words waiting to be waged. Likely, the war had begun long before Flynn and Amaya had arrived.

At the center of the room, a large table dominated the space, a map of southern Lunaris sprawled across its surface, its creases worn, fresh ink marking supply lines and patrol routes. Amaya’s pale eyes studied it, cataloguing all the ways it was unrecognizable — blighted villages, new paths drawn, information she’d always been kept from. She didn’t let her gaze linger. Not when Commander Volkov stood before her, the shadow he cast resembling her father. It set her nerves on edge, a dangerous prickling along her skin. A quiet, familiar warning to give nothing away, even as her energy started twisting painfully in her chest.

The two Commanders stood at opposite ends—Volkov with his arms crossed, sharp eyes settling on Amaya for a long, assessing moment before shifting to judge Flynn with equal scrutiny. At the other end, Barrett stood at rigid attention, his eyes only on the Prince, though Flynn caught the particularly fiery glare he shot Volkov’s way when the Lunarian Commander neglected to bow his head or salute upon the royal couple’s arrival.

Flynn stifled a heavy sigh, schooling his features into careful neutrality as he strode to the table. He gave Barrett a small nod in acknowledgment before shifting his attention to Volkov, who met his gaze unflinchingly—not quite insubordinate, but close enough to be noted.

Flynn didn’t look away. His expression remained calm, waiting. The seconds stretched. No one spoke. Only the crackle of the fireplace filled the silence.

Barrett took a step forward, his chest rising as he prepared to remind Volkov exactly who stood before him, but Flynn lifted a hand, stopping him before a single word could escape.

"It is fine, Commander Barrett.” Flynn said, his voice carrying a cool, effortless veneer of politeness. “It seems Commander Volkov believes that respect is a privilege to be earned rather than a duty of his station." Amaya’s eyes cut to Flynn and how he carried himself. It was so unlike how she knew him, but disorienting in its familiarity. How he stood, back straight and stance unyielding as he faced the two Commanders — how his was the first voice in the room, how his tone commanded and censured beneath the mask of propriety.

He let the words settle, pausing as he searched within himself for the kind of authority his father had wielded so effortlessly—the kind of power that stripped men like Volkov of their defiance and forced them onto their knees with a single glance.

The thought twisted something in his chest.

He was not his father. He did not need fear to command respect. Authority did not have to be a hammer held over the heads of others.

Swiftly, he reeled himself back in, acutely aware of maintaining his composed, measured expression.

“I suppose I cannot fault him for that.”

Volkov’s jaw tightened, but he did not falter. Instead, the older man tilted his chin upward, unimpressed, arms still crossed as he replied in a gravelly voice, "If His Grace and Her Highness are finished posturing, perhaps we can get on with it? I do have a town to take care of." Eyes like ice fell back on Volkov as Amaya heard the difference in address.

Flynn tilted his head, feigning curiosity. "Is that what you call it?" His tone carried no humor, the politeness slipping away before he could catch it.

“My wife’s life was at risk. Two—dead.” Flynn’s index finger struck the table sharply, each word a weight. Beside him Amaya’s breath caught in her throat. Her gaze unfocused. Frost crept its way over her heart, through her blood — she hadn’t known there was another death. “And the attacker is still on the loose.” His green eyes narrowed, searching Volkov’s weathered face. “All under your watch.”

Volkov’s nostrils flared, but he didn’t look away.

“You constructed a town on the edge of a warzone, Your Grace.” he said, steel blue eyes narrowed on the Prince. “We don’t have the manpower to—”

“Failure of command.” Flynn interrupted, his voice sharp. "Not lack of manpower.”

Volkov’s lips pressed into a thin line, and heavy silence descended upon the room again.

Amaya was no longer paying attention. With a placid face and unseeing eyes, she retreated into her chaotic flurry of thoughts. Who had died? The other soldier? A civilian? Had they suffered? Screamed like Sir Abel had? Did their blood coat the snow, a violent spray of ruby against white? Had there been witnesses? More innocents with memories as stained and gruesome as hers were? As Elara’s –

Why hadn’t Flynn told her?

“The losses are… regrettable, Your Highness.” Commander Barrett’s voice broke the quiet, his tone calm and measured, light brown eyes flicking from Volkov to Flynn. “But we are handling the situ—”

“Poorly.” Flynn countered, turning his searing gaze onto the Aurelian Commander. Barrett averted his eyes, nodding once and falling silent—taking the hint.

“How yesterday was handled was a disgrace,” Flynn said, attempting to steady the fire in his tone and replace it with the composure he’d been trained to maintain. He’d sat through countless councils beside his father, weighed in on debates, and navigated the sharp edges of politics with practiced care. He’d danced through noble galas, shared drinks with dignitaries, learned to choose every word like a weapon and read the truth buried beneath theirs.

But nothing could have prepared him for this.

He was still learning to navigate it—with emotional involvement and real, tangible lives at stake now. “A complete breakdown in the chain of command. Patrols neglected, protection compromised…”

He paused, shifting his gaze back to Volkov. “King Jericho may not have sent many of your men, but King Auric sent an army of Aurelians here.” Flynn’s gaze sharpened, searching for any sense of yielding in Volkov’s eyes—any sign of acknowledgement to the truth of it.

The sound of her father’s name snapped Amaya back into herself. Blinking rapidly, she tried to reorient – the conversation, the men, Flynn. But beneath her skin something stirred – her magic, finally beginning to wake after its deceptive slumber. Her hands curled into fists in the folds of her skirt. As subtly as she could, Amaya forced a slow breath in and out.

“Put them to use.”

Flynn turned back to Barrett, “Procedures need to be streamlined. No more miscommunication. We can’t afford it.” Barrett met his gaze, a flicker of thoughts stirring behind his eyes.

“Or do you intend to tell me that you two cannot function as a single unit?”

Barrett opened his mouth to respond, but Volkov’s gruff voice thundered over him, cutting him off.

"Perhaps, Her Highness might request the assistance of more soldiers from the King." Amaya’s eyes snapped to the old Commander – a man who had been on the periphery of her life for years.

He leaned forward, planting his hands firmly on the table as he spoke, his tone unwavering, as though his suggestion were the only logical solution. "We need more Lunarians who know the land. Who know what it's like to fight blight-born in this cursed weather. At the very least, that much would be useful."

His words hung heavy in the air, his gaze settling on Amaya, though his expression was unreadable. She stared back, unflinching even as her heart pounded. She wore masks as well as he did – she wore them better. There was no hint of respect in his voice, only practicality—and perhaps a subtle jab at the lack of readiness he perceived in the current forces. Yet, beneath the surface of his words, a subtle tension simmered. Volkov understood all too well that Amaya’s influence over her father was minimal at best. The chances of her persuading him were next to none.

Flynn's eyes narrowed, the weight of the Lunarian’s words sinking in. He knew exactly what Volkov was getting at, and the insinuation pricked at him like a thorn. Anger sparked within Flynn’s chest, a fiery frustration building with every passing second.

His jaw clenched, but he bit his tongue, willing himself to stay composed. Instead of letting the tension spill over, he forced his gaze away from Volkov and turned his attention to Amaya, his expression softening, though the anger still churned beneath the surface.

The weight of every eye in the room pressed against her skin, both distraction and warning. Her icy magic only grew more restless – or maybe that was just her building nerves, growing more frenzied the tighter she made her grip. Flynn’s attention blazed like a wildfire next to her, but she didn’t look at him – she couldn’t. Instead all her attention was on Volkov and his stare. His familiar slate eyes, greying hair, weathered face… his soldier’s bearing. Amaya watched him and her father watched back, just as he’d watched her through the eyes of every councilmember and guard and servant in the palace. His shadow was vast and imposing on the wall behind him — but it was only a shadow.

And it had always been easier to shield herself when she’d found a proper threat. Her nerves sharpened into a familiar, impulsive anger.

“If His Majesty has not been receptive to your requests for more soldiers,” she finally said, “then I will of course consider writing on your behalf.”

Across the table, Volkov’s eyes narrowed into a cold, slitted glare.

Amaya’s face remained calm, despite the blade’s edge focus of her eyes meeting his. She’d taught herself this song, with its wicked edges and coy softness. It had been her only defense in the palace other than quiet, practiced stillness. If the old man wanted to trade veiled words with her, fine.

Amaya’s voice was no louder than it needed to be to cross the distance between them. It was as careful and gentle as her mother’s had been – but without her warmth. Volkov, frigid and stony as he was, wouldn’t tolerate it, as anyway.

He wouldn’t find it useful.

“Though, forgive me Lieutenant Volkov, perhaps I misunderstand the chain of command.” There was no edge to her voice, no blistering cold, even as she misaddressed him. No, that was all carefully folded beneath the surface, where ice continued to build. Amaya tried to calm it, even as she kept her same measured tone. “Did you not reach your station because of your wealth of experience and knowledge? Is it not within your capacity to train soldiers to face unfamiliar threats and survive our kingdom’s landscape?”

Then, just to piss him off, Amaya gave him a soft smile.

“I regret my ignorance on this matter, but I trust you as the arbiter of your own limitations.”

Flynn watched her in silent awe. Everything about her was measured. Each word chosen with surgical precision, her tone controlled down to the last syllable. Not reckless. Not volatile. Just... exact. The kind of control that had been honed over time, not born overnight.

And that smile—goddess, that smile—soft as snowfall, sharp as glass. A quiet, elegant slap across the Commander’s face.

This wasn’t improvisation, he realized. This was instinct.

She wasn’t just holding her ground—she was navigating the tension like she’d done it a hundred times before, as if she knew exactly where to cut and how deep.

She’d fought this war of words long before she’d ever set foot in Dawnhaven. And she was damn good at it.

Though his expression didn’t change, something in him shifted. The fire of his own anger dimmed, replaced by a pride that burned deeper.

Because she didn’t need him to shield her. She wasn’t looking for rescue.

She’d already turned the blades back on them with nothing more than her voice and expression—turning the battlefield to ice beneath their feet.

“Well, Your Highness,” Volkov drawled, pulling Flynn’s focus. There was a flicker of amusement in the Commander’s eyes, the barest hint of a smile half-hidden beneath his beard, as though he’d been expecting a pointed rebuttal. As though he were used to enduring volleys of all kinds. “Even with all my years of experience, His Majesty can be unshakable once he has made a decision. As I am sure you are well aware. I had simply assumed—considering the fate of the world lies in your…capable hands…that perhaps you might hold influence over him. That we may…“streamline” ourselves, as the Aurelian Prince put it.”

Amaya faltered, something flashing through her eyes. She’d been frantically cursing herself and her sharp tongue — they were meant to be encouraging cooperation, not antagonizing the Commanders — as her magic flickered at the borders of her control. But the Commander’s tone – his expression – cut through her thoughts. Instead of anger at her disrespect or a thoughtless dismissal, stern, grizzled, disdainful Volkov met her words with… something perilously close to entertainment.

His gaze flicked briefly to Flynn before returning to Amaya. “For if the Crown cannot move as one, how can the sword beneath it?” He straightened, his posture growing even more rigid. “But, of course, your consideration is…most appreciated, Your Highness.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, he let the weight of his words settle in the air—an unspoken jab at the many divides they stood to cross. Aurelians and Lunarians. Blight-born and humans. King Jericho and his daughter. Flynn and Amaya.

Despite the restraint in Volkov’s voice—beneath his patronizing tones—Flynn saw the truth of it. To Volkov, these divides were not meant to be crossed. Bridges that could never be built.

Amaya kept her eyes on the Lunarian Commander, trying to reevaluate. She’d felt off-kilter and ill-equipped for the entire short duration of this meeting, but somehow Volkov’s behavior was the most disorienting experience yet. The condescension was expected… but engaging with her was not. It was nearly enough to disarm her.

“However I may assist,” she said slowly, eyes still watching Volkov as if he might strike. “As you say, we should strive for better unity at all levels.” Amaya held his gaze for another beat then forced herself to look away – to let her eyes drift around the room, taking in the Aurelian banners and insignias scattered about.

Sea green and summer gold.

“Should we start with combining your quarters?” Her expression was innocent when she returned her attention to Volkov – but the sharpness in her gaze had dulled somewhat. In its place was something more searching and evaluating, as she tried to understand exactly what sort of opponent she was facing. “It would certainly make it easier for our forces to ‘move as one’ if they had the example of their Commanders to follow.” Her eyebrow raised slightly. “And just think of the efficiency.”

Volkov’s gaze hardened on Amaya, frost etched into stone. Her eyes sharpened again, latching onto his shift. There was the satisfaction of something clicking into place – she’d found a crack in his composure. His jaw set, muscles tensing, but he said nothing at first. Beside him, Commander Barrett shifted–equally uncomfortable with the notion.

“I do not think it wise.” Volkov said at last, his voice flat. “My men need a place they can speak freely.”

A lie–anyone in the room who knew his command style would recognize it. Volkov ran his ranks like a blade; sharp, unyielding, and without tolerance for dissent. “Free speech” had no place under his roof–only obedience.

“I think it’s a great idea,” Flynn said, his diplomatic tone slipping back into place. The authority in his tone rang through Amaya like a cathedral bell, loud and discordant as it crashed through the careful song she’d begun. “Amaya is right. We need to present a unified front. It should begin here.” Amaya froze. Suddenly, her veiled words were made entirely too solid.

Commander Barrett, ever the more careful one, cleared his throat. “Your Highness, I understand the intent, but combining our quarters might cause confusion. Our soldiers have only just begun settling in. There’s hierarchy, protocols, chain of com–”

Flynn’s gaze snapped onto the brown-haired commander, his expression turning to steel.

“Create a new chain of command. Perhaps–one that doesn’t get people killed.”

People had been killed – Amaya saw Sir Abel ripped apart, her attacker made feral by the impact of her careless words. Bloody images flashed in her mind, of an unknown soul murdered a dozen different ways. She was still, her expression neutral, as a storm started building under her skin.

Barrett’s expression tightened, holding Flynn’s gaze, but he said nothing.

“If either of you intend to keep your positions, things need to change. Immediately.”

Silence followed—tense and stifling. Until finally, Volkov exhaled, the sound more frustration than a concession.

“Surely, there are better ways to foster unity,” he said, his eyes flicking to Barrett—an unspoken alliance sparking between them. Neither eager to loosen their individual grip on power.

“The soldiers need training, Your Highness,” Barrett spoke up, his jaw tight, but his voice held firm. “His Majesty may have sent us numbers, yes—but not veterans. These soldiers are green. Most have never fought blight-born. They don’t know the terrain, nor each other. Volkov’s right about that much.”

His gaze drifted between the three of them—Volkov, then Amaya, and finally Flynn. “They need structure. Discipline.”

Flynn’s brow furrowed. “Forgive me, Commander,” he said slowly, gesturing vaguely to the fort around them, “but is that not the purpose of all this? What, exactly, have you been doing with all your time?”

Barrett’s gaze narrowed slightly, patience fraying. “Trying to keep order,” he replied, “They don’t want to work together, much less trust one another. Half of them won’t even speak to the other half. You can’t undo blood-deep hatred overnight.”

From across the table, Volkov’s voice slithered in, smug and unbothered. “If you have a plan, Your Grace,” he said, tilting his head slightly, “then by all means—enlighten us.” Somehow, somehow, Amaya still had the presence of mind to hear Volkov’s continued refusal to address Flynn properly.

Flynn didn’t blink as he shifted focus to the Lunarian Commander.

“You will combine your quarters,” he said, voice firm, flat. “Make them cooperate. Build morale between them. Set an example. That is your charge. Your station.”

No softness. No empathy for their strife. Just command.

Amaya heard the finality in his voice, saw how it rippled through the room and committed them all to their new reality – one that she had started them on, with borrowed authority that she had no experience wielding. It was too real, too solid, too immediate — a far cry from the careful, incremental persuasion she’d always relied on.

The dissatisfied faces of the two Commanders were sharp and ominous, a prelude to consequences Amaya could already feel pressing down on her.

Barrett drew in a long, frustrated breath, dragging a hand over his neatly trimmed beard as if it might keep the words biting at his tongue from spilling out. Across from him, Volkov let out a scoff—quiet, but sharp enough to be heard.

Flynn’s gaze swept over them, his own jaw tensing. His thoughts spun—not because he wanted to solve this for them, but because he had to. Clearly, if he didn’t step in, then no one would. The Commanders had made it clear enough that they had no intention of combining their strengths any time soon. And the burden of leadership meant finding solutions, even for those who refused to think beyond their own pride.

“Gather your best,” he said. “The most capable, the most respected. Start running regular drills to train the rest. Together. As one unit.”

He let the words settle before adding, “Surely, between your combined forces, there are some qualified to lead—if not yourselves.”

Both commanders exchanged a brief, silent glance, weighing their words. Seemingly choosing their battles. Despite themselves, they had found common ground.

“I expect progress within the week,” Flynn said, his voice firm. “That will be all.”

Barrett’s gaze steadied on Flynn again. After a moment of hesitation, he dipped into a low, respectful bow. “Very well, Your Highnesses.”

Volkov remained still, his expression unreadable. He didn’t move from his place, his eyes shifting instead to Amaya, silently studying her. It was all she could do to hold his gaze, expression neutral. Her heart pounded in her ears as ice lashed against her tightening grip. King Jericho watched her from Volkov’s shadow.

Without another word, Flynn turned toward Amaya. He reached for her hand, fingers gently intertwining with hers, the chill that had settled along her skin seeping into his. His grip tightened slightly, offering her his warmth as they left the room—side by side, appearing unified to anyone who saw them.

Realms of Sun & Shadow

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

---

Had they added more stairs going from the springs up to the temple? Tia thought they might’ve. The climb had never seemed longer, never more demanding, than it did right now with her aching body, the burning weight of their stares on her back. It was a slow process, one hand gripping the railing, the other – the one that couldn’t even manage to make a fist, with how sore it was – hiking up the heavy fabric of her sleeping robe. The wind tugged at her hair, blonde strands tangling in front of her face. Tia tried to stay as composed as possible.

Until she made it into the temple.

The door was heavy as it slammed shut behind her. Tia flinched – she was still getting used to the personality of the building, all the ways it needed care and consideration. Its voice echoed through the short hall, down into the main chamber and back again like a returning answer. Sighing, Tia leaned back against the door. Her head met the wood as she squeezed her eyes shut. For a moment – a moment... she could allow herself that, right? – Tia let her humiliation and self pity surge through her.

She’d just wanted to make sure he wasn’t dying.

Tia forced herself to take in a long, slow breath. Tried to relax her muscles one by one. Imagined that this hurt, angry and petty and twisting as it coiled around her, loosened and slipped away.

It would’ve worked better if she could wash in the springs without feeling the weight of those eyes again.

She brought the heels of her hands up to rub at her eyes. Then she straightened up again, pulling away from the door. The humidity of the springs had come with her, into the temple. It made her hair frizz and her clothes feel too heavy. Tia pulled at her scarf to loosen it, and it seemed to stick to her skin. On one last, childish impulse, she rubbed up and down on her arms, like she could scrub away the stain of the man’s stare.

Without anyone to witness her, Tia moved stiff and careful down the short hallway back towards the main chamber. The heat of Aelios’ flame grew warmer – it wasn’t as comforting as it should’ve been. It only made the moisture still clinging to her skin more intolerable. Tia pulled at her scarf again, eyes downcast and unfocused as she slowly made her way to the nearest pew on the outskirts of the room.

Tia winced as she braced her good hand on its wooden back to lower herself into the seat. A splash of red caught her attention – the bottom hem of her robe, too long for her, had dragged along the damp stone of the springs. It was saturated with water, dirt, and blood. Another mess to clean up.

Another sigh. Another closing of her eyes.

She was being petty. What had they really done? Bandied words not even meant for her. She hadn’t mattered, so why should it affect her? The woman had been kind at times, and the man had… well, he wasn’t bleeding out, at least. That was something to be thankful for. But…

Opening her eyes, Tia gingerly pulled at her robe to reach into her inner pocket. Her hand emerged with the shining, too-perfect gemstone she’d pulled from the cave. She remembered the voice that had haunted it, full of wrath and thunder like a vengeful god. The vision.

Her visions.

Tia could brush away every cruel word the man had thrown at her, given enough time. But… his words about Aelios echoed in her mind. That she’d dedicated herself to something that… wasn’t there.

The dismissal hurt on its own. But if Aelios was gone… then where did Tia’s visions come from? A familiar fear rose up – that she was being misguided by something dark and malicious. It only awakened more worries, that same swirl of nerves and confusion and contradiction that had consumed Tia the entire time she’d been in Dawnhaven.

She stared down at the gem cradled in her hand, firelight flickering along the cut edges.

From over the edge of an open prayer book, no more than five feet away, hazel eyes watched her intently.

She didn’t seem to notice him, but he’d been aware of her presence from the moment she’d slammed the temple doors. Every movement she made was slow, like the weight of the world had settled on her shoulders and even the act of existing took effort.

So, he’d stayed silent.

His gaze traced the troublesome look in her expression, the damp stains along the hem of her robe, the way her fingers curled around the gemstone he and Ivor had nearly died for. His brow furrowed slightly, and he let the book dip lower, just enough to get a clearer look. Still, he said nothing. She could have her moment.

As he waited, curious to see how long it would take her to realize she wasn’t alone, his hand drifted down, fingers closing around the last half of his cookie. Lifting it to his mouth, he bit down as slowly and quietly as possi—

cruuuuuuuuuunnchh

The sound shattered the stillness of the temple.

His jaw stilled. Slowly, his gaze slid back to her.

Tia’s back was straight, her eyes wide as she stared at him. She blinked.

The guard from yesterday was sprawled across the pew like he’d always been there. Tia’s gaze darted around the room, to the doors, to the other empty benches, like she’d be able to tell where he’d come from and when he’d gotten here.

Her lips parted to say something. They closed. Tia looked back at him, blinking again as she fully took him in – cookie in one hand, prayer book in the other, and… Ranni’s gecko?

Maybe she was hallucinating. Maybe the man outside was right and Aelios was gone and now the evil gem god-demon-man-thing was completing his hold over her giving her confusingly non-scary (but confusing) non-visions.

“...Hi,” she squeaked.

Zeph swallowed his bite, a slow grin creeping in as he took in her wide-eyed stare.

“Hey.”

Leisurely, he set the prayer book down along his outstretched leg, his gaze flicking over her again. His smile softened into something a little less teasing. “You doin’ alright, firefly?”

Something fluttered in Tia’s chest at the name – the gentle look in his eye. She looked down at her lap if only to break his gaze. As discreetly as she could, her fingers curled around the gem, her hand turning to cover it. She tried not to wince as she adjusted her seat on the pew. The wet hem of her robe was heavy where it brushed against her ankles. When she found the nerve to look back up at him, she gave a shrug and tried to smile.

It was embarrassing, but he’d already seen the awkward way she moved. What good would lying do?

Smile drifting away, Tia nodded towards him and tapped at her shoulder with her free hand, a question in her eye. Briefly, she saw him sprawled on the cave floor, skin too pale as his own blood painted him crimson. It had been a long day yesterday – Tia hadn’t checked up on his healing as she should’ve.

Zeph glanced at his shoulder, then back at her, shrugging casually. “I’ve had worse,” he said with a smirk. It was true—he had. “But you’re quite the medic. Thank you.” He resisted the urge to reach up and touch the spot where the injury had been, his fingers still remembering the odd smoothness of his healed skin. “Can’t tell anything happened at all.”

Letting his attention drift to the gemstone she was trying—and failing—to conceal, he nodded toward it. “So, is that thing everything you’d hoped for?” He raised an eyebrow, curious. Her fingers curled tighter around the gem, eyes wide with poorly hidden panic. “Did you lose it there or something? How’d you even get out to that cave? Why didn’t you ask that Champion of yours to come?”

The moment the words left his mouth, he knew he was asking too much. Too fast.

Zeph wasn’t blind—he saw the way she hesitated before speaking, measuring each word before releasing them. He heard the faint rasp in her voice, the subtle strain against each syllable. His gaze dropped briefly to the scarf loose around her neck, catching a glimpse of pink scarring peaking just above the fabrics edge.

Meeting her gaze again, he studied the weariness behind those big beautiful doe-eyes. Her lips parted, like she was waiting to find the words.

“Never mind,” he said, shifting his tone—lighter, a touch easier and less insistent. “You don’t have to answer.”

A moment of quiet stretched between them, just long enough for Zeph’s gaze to wander around the empty temple.

Tia sat on the other end of the pew, trying not to glance at him. She swallowed, feeling the way the muscles in her throat didn’t quite move as they should’ve, didn’t layer over each other in the way they were meant to fit. She hadn’t missed the way he’d… he’d switched somehow, his curiosity muffled under something dismissive. It was almost like he’d deflated himself.

Something tightened in her chest as she thought of how easily he let go of his questions with a light voice and curving lips.

He was so quick to smile, this one.

In the quiet, another memory came to her — of him laughing at her as he’d dismissed her request to enter the pool in that frigid cave. How he’d dove in after Ivor without hesitation, when the clear water had turned bloody.

Zeph tilted his head, a new—easier—question surfacing.

“Is your Keeper around?” From what he could tell, they were alone. No angry, watchful presence lingering nearby.

When he looked back at her, his amusement returned in full force, tugging at the corners of his lips. “She didn’t seem too pleased last night,” he mused, a playful glint in his eyes. “I’m surprised she let you out of her sight.”

Tia flicked her eyes back up to him, and let herself be pulled along by the lightness in his words — even as her heart twisted uncomfortably as she thought of how Dyna had treated him last night, and the difficult conversations she’d yet to have with her sisters.

But they were out for the day. And Tia liked the spark in the guard’s eye, the light tease in his voice. She didn’t want him to douse himself again.

She looked up at him for a long moment, watching the way the firelight danced in his eyes like laughter. Hesitating, she bit her lip. Tia slipped the gemstone back into her pocket and reached out to tap the side of his shoe closest to the pew’s back. She looked back up at him. He arched a brow, curiosity flickering in his gaze, silently asking—And what, exactly, do you think you’re doing?—a challenge hidden in the way he held still, waiting to see if she’d follow through. She tapped again more insistently, before that became a shooing motion.

When his feet were finally on the ground and he was sitting more acceptably on the bench, Tia made a beckoning motion, calling him closer to her. He obliged her without protest this time, shifting to close the distance. She scooted closer in turn. The half of Tia’s mind that she was not currently giving control said that what she had planned was not normal behavior and he was going to think she was bizarre.

But then, Tia convinced strangers to go on secret spelunking missions with her, and had dreams that may or may not have been the result of an angry powerful being who hated her — or it was just her anxiety. She supposed she was bizarre.

Sitting together, they were less than a foot away from each other on the bench (and Ranni’s gecko was very carefully retrieved and placed on Tia’s other side). She looked up at him — and realized she may have miscalculated. Her plan — and her nerves — had failed to account for how very tall he was when he was this close. And how his little smattering of freckles —

Looking away from his eyes, Tia reached out to softly pull at his sleeve. She’d already gotten this far. Maybe she could just… ignore how warm her skin felt. Slowly, hesitantly, Tia guided his arm out until she held his hand out in front of them, his palm angled towards them. She swiped the side of her hand across it, cleaning away stray cookie crumbs. Tia glanced up at him, an eyebrow raised slightly, her smile almost more amused than shy. He shrugged, a flicker of mirth in his expression.

Then she began tracing careful letters into his palm.

Zeph watched in silence as Tia’s fingers moved across his skin, intrigued by the way she chose to communicate. The closeness of her, the gentle way she held his hand in hers, the soft press of her fingertips—it all felt… oddly intimate.

He wasn’t sure what captivated him more—the feel of her, or the sudden bursts of bravery that she seemed to possess.

M Y S I S T E R

It wasn’t much, but at least Tia could give him this — he could ask some questions without feeling like he had to deflate himself again.

She looked up at him, offering another smile, checking to see if he understood. He met her eyes, offering a small, lazy smile in return.

As she continued, his gaze didn’t leave her face.

D Y N A

When her eyes returned to his, he glanced briefly at his palm, trying to recall the feeling of the patterns she had traced, rather than the way she looked under firelight instead of crystal light.

“Well, you two look nothing alike,” he said flatly, feigning a look of disbelief, though the humor in his tone was unmistakable. He knew she likely meant sisters by faith, not by blood. The church did love to call themselves a family, all toxicity included.

Still, he was rewarded with a growing smile and a suffering look.

“Did you tell her where you were last night?”

Tia faltered. Her hands drifted down, lowering away from his. Her eyes were distant for a moment. They flicked to the fire burning in the heart of the temple. She shook her head. Then she refocused on his hand and lifted a finger again.

C A N T Y E T

Tia almost pulled away — but her indecision settled. With her other hand she pulled out the gemstone again, pink and glittering in her hand. Looking down at it, Tia bit her lip. She looked back up at him. She felt… guilty that she’d tried to hide it from him. It was especially silly, since he already knew she had it. He’d been there, when Ivor had pulled it from the water. He’d nearly died for it. He deserved what truth she could give.

N E E D I N F O

Zeph furrowed his brow, his gaze drifting to the gemstone in her hand. His mind replayed the sound of it clattering against the cavern floor, the image of her scrambling away from it in a panic still fresh in his mind. The more he learned, the less anything made sense.

He had so many questions.

But every time he broached the subject, he saw the hesitation. He didn’t want to press her. It wasn’t his place to demand answers out of a Priestess. He had no right to pry into something that wasn’t his to know.

“You don’t have to tell me about it, but….” his gaze softened, his tone turning more gentle and respectful than it had been. “If there’s anything I can do to help, just let me know.” He paused, locking his eyes with hers for emphasis—to make sure she understood.

Tia’s breath caught in her throat as he held her gaze.

“I do owe you a debt, afterall.” he said, offering her a small, sincere smile, as if the notion might be a joke. But even as he did, his chest felt tight, weighed down by a debt he wasn’t sure he could ever repay.

Tia couldn’t look away from him, watching the shifting glow of firelight over his skin. She tried to catalogue the different ways he smiled, and what they all might mean. Something bloomed in her chest, soft and warm and guilty as he gentled himself for her again — like he wasn’t owed answers. Like she hadn’t been the reason he’d almost died in the first place.

She shook her head.

“You don’t,” she whispered.

Zeph tilted his head, the playful glint in his eyes returning—searching for a way to bring a smile back to her face. He leaned in slightly, his voice low. “Oh, but I do.” he insisted, though there was no force behind it, only the warmth of his growing fondness of her.

Tia couldn’t help herself — she let out a bemused puff of air, as the corners of her lips quirked up. His mood seeped into her. His closeness casting a shadow over his face, that flicker in his eyes, made Tia feel like they were sharing a secret. For once that didn’t seem quite so scary.

“Besides,” he added with a chuckle, straightening up and leaning against the pew, “I had fun. Way better than guard duty.” His grin widened. “Promise you’ll let me tag along for whatever mischief you get into next time?”

Her eyebrow twitched up, smile only growing. Maybe there was a spark of mischief in her, too. Then Tia blinked. An idea popped up that she was too nervous to examine — a way for him to help, as he’d offered. Her fingers curled tighter around the gem in her hand.

He paused, a thought of his own suddenly striking. His smile faltered, remembering why he had come here in the first place.

“Actually, that reminds me… Do you happen to know anyone with the last name Hawthorne?”

Tia blinked again, refocusing on him. It took her a moment to process his words — the name. Her eyebrows drew together as she looked down and searched her memories.

Hawthorne… It sounded… vaguely familiar? Tia hardly knew anyone in Dawnhaven, and as far as she was aware, she hadn’t met a Hawthorne here. From before maybe? In the capital? But it was the biggest city on the continent and Tia had cared for countless people.

Eventually, she looked back up at him and shook her head, an apology in her eyes. Meanwhile that stray idea stewed in the back of her mind.

Zeph sighed. He wasn’t all that surprised, but still, he had hoped.

“That’s alright,” he shrugged, brushing off his disappointment easily enough. “Maybe your Kee—” He caught himself, glancing at her before correcting, “Your sister will know, then.”

His gaze flicked toward the temple entrance, thoughtful. “You know where she went?” He asked, though he was already considering how the conversation might go. If the Champion even let him speak to her, would she just take the opportunity to interrogate him about where Tia had been?

Her eyes snapped back to him — she’d drifted away, distracted by her own thoughts. Tia gave him an alarmed look at his words. She did not think a meeting with Dyna would go well for him.

“I’ll keep our little secret, don’t worry,” he added with a smirk, though the thought lingered. Perhaps asking random Aurelian guards would be the wiser choice.

Despite herself, Tia let out another huff that might’ve been a laugh. Her smile came easier each time. Finally she shook her head and shrugged, gesturing vaguely towards the door. She’d woken up alone — she had no idea where either of the twins had disappeared to.

Her expression drifted again, those distracting thoughts pulling at her. Her eyes flicked around the room — to the door, the fire, the gemstone… Tia could feel her nerves building under her skin, that anxious promise of trouble making it hard to sit still. She glanced at him. Her mouth opened — only to close again as she fidgeted in her seat, looking away.

Zeph arched a brow, watching her carefully. He let the silence settle between them, waiting, giving her the space to say—or write—whatever was obviously on her mind. But she didn’t.

And the questions building inside him only grew heavier.

After a moment, he shifted, reaching for her hand. His fingers brushed against hers, hesitant at first, his gaze flicking to hers, seeking permission. When she didn't pull away, he gently took her hand in his own, turning it palm-up. Her skin was warm and impossibly soft against the roughness of his own, a contrast that sent an unbidden thought skimming through his mind—one he quickly forced himself to set aside.

Slowly, he traced the curve of a question mark into her palm. His gaze stayed locked on her face as he watched for a flicker of understanding, of trust—of anything that might tell him what was going on behind her eyes.

Tia forgot how to breathe. She could feel his touch echoing through her hand, down her arm, along her spine. There was that fluttering again in her chest, more frantic as it fed on her nervous energy.

Stars, she realized distantly. His freckles looked like stars.

She bit her lip, his gaze settling there for a heartbeat. Tia looked back down at their hands between them, her smaller one surrounded by his. She let herself hesitate — but only for a moment. Then she turned her palm over to draw another word into him, somewhere between a request and an offering.

M I S C H I E F ?

A slow, devilish smirk spread across his lips as the word formed beneath her fingertips, igniting something reckless in his chest. An ember catching flame.

Dark eyes met hazel.

For the moment, things didn't feel so dreadful anymore.

Because somehow, in this wretched town, she was here—a spark in the shadows, something bright and powerful. His mistress of temptation personified, wrapped in silken robes and staring back at him with eyes like smoldering emberwood, dark and endless, catching the firelight in glimmers of gold. He could've kissed her.

How strange it was, to find a partner in crime in a High Priestess of Aelios.

And yet, he nodded, silent still.

Cheeks warm, too aware of the places his skin still touched hers, Tia couldn’t help but smile back. Then she hesitated, suddenly self-conscious. Lifting her free hand — the one still holding the gem — she held her index finger and thumb close together. Small mischief. He was so excited, Tia didn’t want to now disappoint him. She emphasized the motion again. Hopefully he’d temper his expectations. Then she held up her index finger, a request to wait for a moment.

Another beat of Tia tracing the feel of his warm hands on her, his closeness, his smile —

Then she pulled away, standing — wincing — as her hand slipped away from his. His gaze followed her, a flicker of concern crossing his expression as she hurried out of the main chamber and back towards her room.

It looked even worse than she remembered.

Papers scattered about like a storm had blown through, progressively messier handwriting, and a bare spot in the middle of the floor where Tia had finally passed out. Embarrassment filled her. At least no one else was here to see this chaos.

Picking her way through the cold, darkened room, Tia made her way to the middle and knelt down on sore legs to sift through the pages. She found it — the final, complete recollection of the vision she’d received from the gemstone. There was even her best (though still bad) attempt at drawing what she remembered of the runes in the margins. The page was easy enough to pick out when her eyes had finally adjusted enough to the darkness — it was the only version she’d given a title to.

Upon Touching the Gemstone From the Crystal Cave

Yesterday’s date was written in the top corner. It had been one of the last things she’d written last night, her hand so stiff from writing that the letters were positively sloppy on the page. Maybe it would be enough to hide her handwriting. What was she going to do otherwise, ask him to rewrite it? She shook her head. This would have to do.

Carefully folding the letter into thirds, Tia pushed herself back up and found the winding path to the door that kept her from stepping directly over any papers.

When she emerged back into the warmth and light of Aelios’ flame, the guard was still waiting for her on that bench. Her heart skipped a beat.

Tia stopped in front of him, meeting his eyes. Her nerves swam — but she’d come this far. She thrust both the gem and paper out towards him. Zeph sat up straighter, his gaze flicking between the two items curiously.

Her heart hammered in her chest. She watched him, oddly worried that this request was too… petty for him. Like she should’ve been more ambitious with her rule breaking. But the gravity of the situation weighed on her, oppressive and ominous. This needed to be done, and Tia didn’t know who else to ask when involvement would put them at risk. The guard was already involved. He’d offered to help. Plus he seemed much more experienced with troublemaking than she was.

And… childishly, Tia wanted that feeling again, of sharing a secret. She could still feel his finger on her palm as his other hand cradled her — his silent, voiceless message as she watched the warm glow in his eyes turn bright and crackling.

“Sage Eris Hightower.” Her voice was soft — all the better to keep it from echoing in the halls of the temple. But the name was clear enough. “Anonymously.”

Zeph’s brows lifted. “Hightower?” he echoed, recognizing the name. His fingers brushed against hers as he took the gemstone and paper, weighing them thoughtfully in his hands. Running his thumb along the cut edges of the gemstone, he considered her request.

It wasn’t exactly the thrill he’d been hoping for—no perilous cavern dives or life-threatening experiences—but it was still mischief. Small mischief—a secret mission. And that, he could get behind.

Slipping the gemstone into his left pocket—the one that didn’t already hold the small bell chime he’d swiped from the entrance table—he glanced back up at her with a smirk.

“Consider it done.”

She released a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.

After a beat, he tapped the folded paper, tilting his head. “Can I read, or…?”

She paused, looking down at the folded paper. When she looked back up to his face, Tia remembered how he’d softened, dampening his own curiosity for her. She heard his voice gentling, only to brighten as he redirected himself to safer topics.

She saw him bloody on the cave floor.

It wasn’t like a Lunarian would put much stock in a Sun Priestess’ maybe-visions anyway, she reasoned. And… Tia was choosing to trust him with this task. She wanted to trust someone, anyone at all, with at least a fraction of what she’d been carrying since before she’d arrived in Dawnhaven. She couldn’t stand the thought of him taking a peek anyway and then lying to her about it if she denied him. She didn’t want a reason to doubt him.

Tia lamented that he was going to see how awful her handwriting had become.

Still, she nodded.

Zeph unfolded the paper with care, angling it towards the firelight as his gaze swept over the words. Slowly, as he read, his brows drew together.

Sprawling darkness. Obsidian spires. A towering figure, golden eyes blazing with unbridled wrath. The image she described was vivid, as if he could feel the weight of it himself—the fury that cracked through her like a physical blow.

Tia’s hands tightened at her sides as he read, curling around the fabric of her robe with a grip that sent pain arcing through her overworked muscles.

A slow breath escaped him, the gemstone feeling heavier in his pocket, as if it had suddenly gained substance. He lifted his gaze to Tia, his expression shifting—uncertain, wary.

His mind flashed back to the cavern, to the way she had nearly backed into the frozen water, eyes wide with fear.

“You saw this?” His voice was edged with disbelief, but he hesitated. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her—he did. He had no reason not to. But it sounded like something from a nightmare. Except… Tia hadn’t been asleep.

She didn’t respond. Tia was frozen under the weight of his gaze, pinned down by the new sharp edge. Her heart thundered in her ears like the voice from the vision. The reality settled into her finally — she’d told someone. Not everything, but Tia could see the questions building in him, his quick mind working her out like a puzzle.

Neatly, he folded the paper again, slipping it into the safety of his coat pocket. His gaze remained fixed on her, countless unspoken questions flickering behind his eyes. “Why don’t you want the Sage to know it’s from you?”

A thousand words she couldn’t say tumbled in her chest. She thought of the Arch Priest’s careful warnings. The Prince’s stern face as his eyes hardened with distrust and he demanded answers.

Her lips parted. She closed them again.

Tia uncurled a hand and brought it up to tap against the small emblem of the Church of Aelios embroidered on her robe. His eyes followed the movement, settling there for a few heartbeats.

“My words,” she managed in a soft, unsteady voice. It strained against her throat, tightened by her nerves. She tried to swallow. Tried to relax. Took another breath. “Have weight.”

Understanding clicked into place. Slowly, his gaze lifted back to hers, a small smile curving on his lips.

She fascinated him.

Beautiful, brave, and entirely unexpected. A mystery he hadn’t meant to start solving, but now he couldn’t stop himself from wanting to understand.

“Oh, I don’t doubt that.” he murmured, his tone light, teasing—but not dismissive. Her words did have weight. She was someone people listened to. Someone people followed.

And for some unknowable reason, here she was—trusting him.

“Your secrets are safe with me, Priestess.”

“Tia.” It slipped out without thought. She was too warm, too lightheaded with relief at his words, the return of his smile.

She wasn’t alone with her secrets anymore.

Her smile was small but real as she looked at him. Everything seemed lighter, suddenly. She gave a bow of her head before meeting his gaze again.

“Thank you.”

As she straightened, Zeph pushed himself off the bench in one fluid motion, rising to his full height. In an instant, the space vanished between them. Standing, he towered over her, close enough that the temple’s eternal flame wasn’t the only warmth he felt.

“Anytime, Tia.” he said quietly, a sly smirk forming on his lips.

Tia blinked, suddenly face to chest with him. Her eyes, wide and round, darted up to his.

She didn’t want to know what color her cheeks were. He was close enough that she had to crane her neck to look at him, his smile sharp and his eyes dancing in the firelight — her name on his tongue. Her secrets in his pocket.

Oh no.

Her brain didn’t work anymore. She blamed his proximity. Or her panic. Or the heat she felt that dangerously was not panic. She should step away, she knew. Give him space. She didn’t think she knew how to move.

“Mhm.” It was a high, strangled noise. Tia was fairly certain she’d never been a bigger idiot.

Zeph settled in place, as if he belonged there. His gaze drifted over her face, tracing the delicate curve of her cheek, the way the firelight played along her skin. Slowly, unhurried, his eyes lingered on her lips for a few breaths—just long enough for the thought to register.

Meeting her eyes again, he let the silence stretch, savoring the tension—and the surprising way in which she didn’t move away from him. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, teasing. “Anything else I can do for you?”

Maybe Aelios had actually blessed her, Tia considered, by taking away her voice — if only to keep her from answering his question.

She couldn’t look away from him as his gaze burned tracks into her skin. Hazel was too indistinct a word, she decided. His eyes danced in shades of the earth and forests, pine needles and honey gold, and a green so pale it was almost silver, like new growth on a desert plant. The fire splashed sunrise orange across it all.

Caught by his distracting eyes and starry freckles and smirking lips, Tia forgot how to breathe. Every nerve in her body felt taught and electric, crackling like the fire she tended to so dutifully. Her mouth was dry. She tried to swallow.

Tia taught herself how to move again and gave a small shake of her head. Then an abrupt step back.

Panic shot through her as her heel caught on the dragging fabric of her robe — but she managed to catch herself before she could do more than stumble.

It was like the world suddenly snapped back into reality, expanding beyond the tiny bubble that held them. Sight and sound existed for more than just his face and voice. Warmth existed beyond what radiated off his body, close enough to feel without touch.

Currently, all the warmth in the world was concentrated under Tia’s skin. She blinked rapidly as she looked back up at him — now from a safer distance. He still felt very close.

There it is.

The uncertainty, the wariness he had glimpsed in her yesterday. Zeph had caught it then, and he caught it now, pleased to see he could pull the same reaction from her so effortlessly. From a High Priestess of Aelios, no less.

That was satisfying.

His smirk deepened, smug and self-assured. She had flustered easily before, but now? Now he was certain—delighted—that it wasn’t just the natural unease at standing too close to a stranger. She had been quite comfortable mere moments ago, unbothered by the proximity she had initiated. But now, as he examined the heat creeping into her cheeks, he knew.

There was something else causing her to step away, something warmer. Familiar to him, but something she clearly didn’t know what to do with.

And he thought, for a moment, how interesting it might be to discover all her unspoken desires.

Did she even allow herself to have them? Did the church permit it? Did she? Or had she spent so long under the weight of that emblem that she’d convinced herself she was above such things? Above wanting?

A shame, if that were the case. Because Zeph knew desire. He knew the pull of it, the freedom in it, the way it could unravel even the most disciplined of minds.

He could show her how to indulge, if she so desired.

Letting the silence stretch again, he watched as she blinked—using the moment to steady himself, too.

“Well,” He finally said, his voice light, casual. “See you around then, Tia.”

He turned, shoving his hands into his pockets as he strolled toward the entrance, the faint jingle of the charm barely audible beneath his footsteps. Near the door, he paused, plucking a fresh prayer book from the stack—why not?—and, with the same unbothered confidence, snagged one more cookie.

The door slid shut with finality, the sound echoing through the temple.

Tia collapsed into the nearest bench. Her heart was too quick, and she was breathless, and she was never wearing this robe again.

His face was too warm. Tia brought her hands up to feel her cheeks, eyes widening as she remembered the way his gaze had trailed over her, his soft voice as he’d said her name.

The fire popped loudly and she jumped like a scolded child.

Reaching to the end of the pew, Tia grabbed Ranni’s stuffed gecko and sighed as she hugged it tightly to her chest. But beneath the flustered nerves and overwhelming unease — there was that warmth again. The sense of accomplishment that she was doing something with all of her secrets, and that someone (a someone who conjured fondness and amusement and panic) was going to help her with them. A soft smile found its way to her lips.

Tia still didn’t know his name.

Realms of Sun & Shadow

Location: Aelios Temple

With a brief upward nod, Zeph silently acknowledged a guard outside the temple before making his way up the stone steps. As he ascended, a memory of yesterday flickered through his mind—The Champion’s sharp blue eyes, glaring daggers at him, moments before she slammed the temple doors. He nearly rolled his eyes.

Drama Queen.

With a pull, he let himself in, the warmth and the scent of incense hitting him first. At the heart of the temple, a massive brazier blazed—the so-called “eternal flame of Aelios”—its golden light casting flickering shadows over the room’s decorated walls and high-arched ceiling.

It certainly felt inviting, albeit… eerily quiet.

Zeph’s gaze scanned the room until it landed on a small table to his right. Neatly arranged beneath candlelight were incense sticks, small bell chimes, scrolls, and books. He reached for one of the books—then paused, brows lifting.

At the far end of the table sat a basket. Filled with chocolate chip cookies.

A smile tugged at his lips as he plucked one from the pile, turning it over in his fingers. Quickly, his amusement faded.

This felt like a trap.

For a moment, he contemplated the possibility that this was some strange Aurelian scheme—poisoning unsuspecting trespassers with deceptively innocent, delicious-looking sweets. Or maybe… maybe Aelios had sensed his craving and was rewarding him for finally stepping into her temple.

His gaze slid to the eternal flame, considering.

No—Aelios was gone. The sky had made that abundantly clear.

With a shrug, Zeph popped the entire cookie into his mouth. If it was poisoned, he couldn’t tell. He chewed thoughtfully, then grabbed a second one—just to be sure.

His gaze drifted to the chimes, their polished metal glinting in the candlelight. On impulse, he reached out and took one from the table, giving it a few jingles. The soft notes rang through the quiet temple, echoing slightly. Smirking, he tucked the chime into his coat pocket and turned his attention to the stack of books.

His fingers brushed over the spines before selecting one and flipping open to a random page.

"Light eternal, Keeper of the Golden Dawn,
Banish shadows from our path.
Let your fire guide our steps,
Your warmth shield our soul,
And your radiance remind us that,
Even in darkness,
Light is never truly lost.”

Zeph snapped the book shut.

Still chewing, he wandered toward the brazier, gaze sweeping over the temple’s design. Stopping in front of the flame, he tilted his head, wondering what would happen if he simply… accidentally, of course… tipped the brazier over. Would some divine retribution smite him where he stood? Would he damn the Aurelians? How much further could they be damned?

A crackling ember snapped in the fire, as if in warning.

Zeph smirked. Fine. He’d behave.

His attention shifted down a nearby hall, listening for any hint of movement. But there was nothing, only the flicker of flames filling the space.

Is she even here?

Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out the chime and jingled it again—just to see if it worked to summon her. What else were they for?

After waiting a few minutes, he sighed and tucked the chime back into his pocket. Turning, something caught his eye along one of the pews. Narrowing his gaze, he stepped closer, only to find…

A stuffed animal?

Gently, he picked it up and examined it more closely. It looked like some kind of lizard—but not one he’d ever seen before. Green, with golden stripes down its back, a chubby tail, and two massive black eyes staring at him blankly.

The fabric was soft, well-cared for, though its frayed edges showed years of use.

Cute, he supposed. But which child had left it behind? There weren’t many in Dawnhaven—surely it wouldn’t be hard for him to figure out who to return it to.

Zeph hesitated for a moment, considering just leaving with his new found items, but then thought better of it. He'd make himself comfortable, instead.

The temple was warm. It had cookies. And eventually, the Priestess would have to show up—she had a job to do, didn’t she?

Sliding into the pew, he leaned back against the wall it was pressed against, shifting until he found a comfortable spot. One knee bent, the other leg stretched out along the wooden bench, and the stuffed lizard placed on his chest, its head just under his chin.

Taking a bite of the second cookie, he chewed slowly, savoring the chocolate as it melted on his tongue. Setting the remaining half on the edge of the pew, he flipped open the prayer book and began absently thumbing through it with idle curiosity.

If nothing else, this wasn’t a terrible place to spend his day off.

Realms of Sun & Shadow

Location: Eye of the Beholder

Kira settled into the furthest, darkest corner of the tavern she could find, fingers curled loosely around the warmth of a coffee mug. She kept her eyes low, never quite meeting the gazes that occasionally wandered her way. Instead, she focused on a small imperfection in the worn wooden table, her attention drifting between the mundane chatter around her. On pure instinct, she sifted through for something worthwhile.

Briefly, a thought crossed her mind, one that had haunted her countless times since her transformation. How valuable she might have been to the King, if he knew of what she was capable of now. Able to eavesdrop from across the room, to hear even the faintest heartbeat beneath layers of noise. If only she weren’t certain he’d have her killed on sight for it.

Most of the surrounding conversation was the usual drivel. Guards grumbling about the cold. Drunken recollections of the previous night. Complaints about food, sleep, or the lack thereof. Speculation on how the Princess was faring, or where her attacker might have gone.

All of it dull. Predictable. Utterly boring.

But then, something… different caught her attention. Her eyes flicked toward the source before she could stop herself.

Unnatural, ashen skin. Two sets of vacant violet eyes. Horns protruding from her head. Batlike wings, pulled in tightly against her back.

Blight-born, and one who had not a single shred of hope to blend in.

Kira’s gaze slid to the company she had been locked in conversation with.

One of them was the guard—the royal guard that she had crossed paths with yesterday, who did not seem to remember her the way she remembered him. And beside him, a woman—another high-ranking Lunarian, judging by her attire alone. Vaguely familiar. Kira squinted, trying to place where she had seen her before. In passing at the palace, perhaps.

She watched them in silence for a few moments, curious how they would interact with someone so visibly afflicted by the blight. To her utter surprise—not with pure disdain. Perhaps a year's time had changed the old guard's heart.

As she processed this, someone new approached. Someone Kira didn’t recognize.

A man. Nobility, no doubt. It was in the way he carried himself, in the fine clothing he wore and the subtle arrogance of inserting himself into another’s conversation. Kira leaned back slightly, uninterested in knowing him, but her focus sharpened as she caught onto their conversation.

The blight-born woman—she wanted to be a Sage?

Kira’s lips pressed into a thin line as she focused her eyes back on the table, listening.

Why play with her?

It was a foolish, naive dream. And cruel, too, for that noble man to be entertaining it.

Blight-born had no dreams, no future beyond what they had been dealt. Their fate had been sealed the moment their veins ran dark. To think she could rise above it, be accepted, be one of them...

Kira had seen the way the Sages looked at her. Fear. Curiosity. Rarely warmth. Then again, she had never given them any to start.

She took a sip of her coffee, thoughts halting as her gaze drifted across the tavern and landed on a familiar shape. A man. Sitting alone, absently pushing food around his plate.

Kira set her mug down, tilting her head slightly, eyes narrowing.

Him.

She recognized that tousled dark hair, the lazy way he sat. Could picture the blood staining her hands as she ripped the dagger out from his torso.

A slow, faint smile curled at the edge of her lips. Had he noticed her yet?

She watched him for a beat longer, then the tavern door swung open.

Ivor entered, his presence sucking the air from the room as he greeted the tavern with his usual boisterous energy, Sya trailing in beside him.

Kira immediately looked away, her nerves prickling. Too many people. Too loud. It would soon be time to—

She froze, a sensation running up her spine.

She wasn’t just being watched. She was being seen.

And, at the same time, approached.

Ivor was making his way toward her, but it wasn’t him that had forced her attention. Across the tavern, the dark-haired man had finally noticed her.

Her gaze flicked back to him. His eyes were locked onto her, unwavering and bold, even as she held the stare for a few heartbeats.

Annoying.

Slowly, deliberately, Kira smiled at him. Just enough to bare a sharp canine, running her tongue over the tip in a lazy taunt. A dare.

Something flickered in his hazel-eyed gaze.

Good.

Satisfied, she turned her attention to Ivor just as he reached her table, her expression softening.

When he greeted her, her expression shifted into something almost—almost—pleasant. She could still feel Zephyros’ eyes on her, but she ignored him, keeping her focus on the giant before her, her mind catching on the word “friend” as he said it.

She supposed, if she were to have one, Ivor would be the closest thing. Loud, larger than life, overbearing. But that vastness was almost comforting. His presence filled the space around him so entirely that, for a moment, there was no room left for anything else—no room for thoughts, for ghosts, for the weight of the past and present pressing against her ribs.

She recalled the quiet of the forest, the shared hunt, the moment of understanding between them. And for the first time in a long time, she smiled.

A real one—small, but genuine.

"Good morning," she replied, voice steady, quiet. "The day has been…. fine, I suppose."

Gesturing to the empty seat across for her, she asked, “Would you like to sit?”

Her own invitation surprised her.

She didn’t offer company often. Didn’t want it often. But today—

No.

It had only been to shield herself from the ire of Zephyros and his royal guard master, if it were to come. A protective measure, nothing more.

“How has your morning been?” she continued, keeping her gaze fixed on Ivor, despite catching Zephyros gesturing at her from the periphery.

---

_{Interactions: Ivor @SkeankySnack
Mentions: Coswain & Persephone @PrinceAlexus, Nesna @enmuni, Nathaniel @Echotech71}

Realms of Sun & Shadow

Location: Eye of the Beholder

Zeph sat alone at his usual table in the tavern, scowling at his meager breakfast. Leftovers from the feast—but no pastries. He took a swig of coffee to make up for it, the bitter warmth doing little to improve his disappointment.

Around him, the tavern bustled with early “morning” activity—guards and townsfolk coming and going, the clatter of plates and mugs, the occasional bark of laughter. But he stayed quiet, nursing his drink, letting the dull hum of conversation blur into the background.

His gaze flicked across the room and landed on Nesna, not far from where he sat, sticking out from the crowd like a sore thumb. She was talking to two of the royal guards—and someone else. A slim, dark-haired man, dressed like a scholar. A sage or some type of wealthy merchant, he’d guess. Zeph studied him for a moment, sizing him up, then dismissed the thought. Nesna seemed to be settling in well with the townspeople, despite her rough start. That was good, he supposed.

His attention shifted back to the royal guards—particularly Lord Coswain. Zeph had known he was in town. The barracks had been buzzing about it ever since he and Zeph’s old unit arrived. Still, seeing him in the flesh stirred something bitter in his chest. The grizzled old man had aged since Zeph last saw him, lines etched deeper into his face. It had been some time since they'd last seen each other—a little over a year. He had no intention of speaking to Coswain, but even so, Zeph was relieved to see him alive. Though, he wondered why Coswain was here.

Strange, how despite Zeph being cast out from the unit, they’d both ended up in the same place anyway.

Just as he considered getting up, a familiar blond Lunarian guard—Voss—slid into the seat across from him, coffee in hand. "Where's Hawthorne?" the man asked casually.

Zeph raised a brow, meeting Voss’s dark brown eyes. "...Who?"

The fellow guard looked at him like he was slow. "The Aurelian recruit? Heard old Volkov stuck you with a trainee."

Zeph leaned back in his chair, unimpressed. "News to me."

Voss chuckled, shaking his head. "Figures."

Of course, Volkov would saddle him with an Aurelian. Clearly, he wasn’t letting Zeph off easy. He wondered if Aliseth had gotten a similar punishment, or something worse. Had he seen a Psychic magic user to pry his mind apart yet?

Zeph sighed, taking another slow sip of his coffee. "An Aurelian?" He already didn’t like where this was going.

"Yep."

Zeph swirled the liquid in his mug, considering that for a moment. "You know where he’d be?"

Voss snorted. "She. And no.”

Zeph went still, his cup hovering near his lips before he set it down. He grimaced internally. An Aurelian woman. Because historically, they had been so receptive to direction and constructive criticism. He could already feel the headache forming.

"I’ll find her," he muttered, though it was supposed to be his day off.

Voss leaned back in his chair. "Where were you last night, anyway? You missed cards. Tav took all my coin this time."

Zeph just smiled, a mischievous glint in his hazel eyes. "Busy."

A blond brow lifted. "Oh? Found yourself a new friend?" Voss smirked, clearly assuming Zeph had spent the night entangled with someone. Zeph let him think so, staying silent and letting the insinuation linger.

His mind, however, trailed back to Ivor and the Priestess, to the night before—the cavern, the blood, the cold.

As if conjured by thought, the tavern door opened again, and in strode Ivor, accompanied by the serpentine innkeeper, Sya. As always, Ivor’s presence was impossible to miss. The giant man greeted the room with a booming voice and a grin. Zeph raised his mug in return, along with a few other patrons.

Tracking the giant’s movements, Zeph watched as he made a beeline for—

Zeph’s heart skipped.

Red hair. Glowing eyes. Flickering candlelight casting shifting shadows over fox-like features.

As if he wasn’t sure if he was seeing things correctly, his gaze narrowed, trying to make out the rest of her face from across the tavern. And then, as if sensing his stare, those fiery orange eyes locked onto his.

He didn’t look away. Neither did she.

They held each other’s gaze for a few long heartbeats. Then, a slow, knowing smile curled at her lips—just enough to reveal the razor edge of a canine. Her tongue flicked over it, deliberate. And then, as if dismissing him, she turned away, her expression smoothing as she looked up at Ivor. Her smile softened, her manner relaxed, as if she hadn’t just bared her teeth at Zeph.

What the fuck is she doing here?

Zeph exhaled slowly through his nose, expression unreadable.

"Hale?"

Zeph blinked, realizing he’d completely tuned out whatever Voss had just said. He tore his gaze from the woman in the corner and looked back at the guard.

"You know that one?" He didn’t bother being subtle about it, gesturing toward the redhead.

Voss followed his line of sight, brow furrowing. "Not really. Seen her around. Think she runs an herb shop or somethin’."

Zeph scoffed, smirking. "An herb shop?"

His gaze flicked back to her. She was still speaking with Ivor, composed and unbothered, as if Zeph’s presence meant nothing at all.

He downed the rest of his coffee and stood. "I’ll have to stop by sometime," he mused.

Voss chuckled. "Sure you will.”

"But first," Zeph sighed dramatically, "Seems I’ve got to go find this Hawthorne person." He made it sound like the most exhausting task in the world.

With a lazy wave to Voss, he shoved his hands into his pockets and stepped back out into the cold.

Honestly, he had no interest in asking around for the Aurelian recruit. He barely spoke to the Aurelian guards, and the thought of mingling with them sounded miserable. Volkov had known exactly what he was doing with this. The prick.

So instead of heading for the barracks, he decided to check on Tia.

An Aurelian he could tolerate.

She had burned through a lot of energy saving his life last night. It was only right to make sure she was alright. Plus, maybe she, or her Keeper—the ever-charming Champion—would know who this Hawthorne person was.

And if the Champion didn’t let him speak to the Priestess?

Well. He’d find a way. He always did.

Realms of Sun & Shadow

Location: Alchemy Chambers

Eris blinked, a bit taken aback by the guards sudden shift from drowsy warmth to rigid formality. She hadn’t meant to startle her—or to send her into a flurry. Pulling her blanket tighter, Eris watched as Charlotte scrambled to the hearth.

“Oh, you d—” The words died in her throat as she thought better of it. Charlotte was nervous. Eris could have lit the fire with magic in an instant. She had been doing so the entire time she’d lived here—the logs beside the hearth more for decoration than anything. But in her current state, drained from the night before, the help was welcome. And Charlotte, it seemed, needed something to focus on.

Eris could empathize with that.

As Charlotte stood before her, their eyes met, and for a moment, Eris felt a warmth that had nothing to do with the fire. A rush of something she couldn't quite name had been ignited as she stood in the taller woman's shadow, struck by the sharp contrast of Charlotte’s steel-blue eyes against her raven hair.

“There’s nothing to forgive, Miss Hawthorne,” she said hastily, needing a distraction herself now. She shuffled around Charlotte in her cocoon of a blanket, waddling closer to the fire. “You did nothing wrong. We all need sleep, don’t we?”

She cast a glance over her shoulder, her gaze trailing over the armor Charlotte still wore, likely having slept in it.

“We’re safe here, in the tower,” she added, glancing toward one of the darkened windows. Her quarters sat high in the spire of the Alchemy Chambers, above the rest of Dawnhaven. Despite everything, she did always feel more secure here than she would have at ground level.

A flicker of memory surfaced—Charlotte’s steadying hands, the way she had practically carried her up all the winding steps the night before. Eris’ cheeks warmed further, and she quickly turned back toward the fire, hoping the flames would disguise the flush creeping up her neck.

“Besides,” she added, voice softer now, “I would have been worried if you’d gone back out into that storm.” A pause. The fire crackled, filling the space between them.

Quick flashes of memories replayed in her mind.

Aliseth, his tight grip on her hand. Charlotte, putting herself between Eris and him. The stonemason, simmering under barely controlled anger. The blight-born Priestess, crying. The Princess, cold and silent. Charlotte, waiting for her.

“Thank you for helping me last night, Miss Hawthorne. How can I ever repay you?”

Her gaze drifted across the hall to the small kitchen. She pulled the blanket down from her head as the fire’s heat seeped in, letting her mess of brunette curls tumble free.

“To start, do you like tea? Or coffee?”

---

_{Interactions: Charlotte @SpicyMeatball}

Realms of Sun & Shadow

Location: Royal Residence

Flynn’s eyes lit up the moment the word “all” left her lips. A rush of selfish excitement washed over him at the thought of having her by his side all day. It wasn’t just that he could use the help—though he certainly could—it was that he wanted her there. He wanted to know she was safe beside him. He wanted to enjoy her company. To have someone with him who wasn’t just serious, no-nonsense Orion—who, frankly, wasn’t nearly as easy on the eyes.

But beyond his own desires, pride settled deep within him at her answer. Despite everything, she chose to step forward rather than retreat, to take on more responsibility instead of shrink from it. She was resilient—just as he’d known she was.

However, his smile faded when she mentioned the prisoner. His brows furrowed, a slight frown tugging at his lips as contradictions caught in his mind. The stranger had helped Amaya—yet he’d found himself in a cell for treason.

Confusion flickered across Flynn’s face as yesterday’s events replayed in his mind. Halcyon. That was the name he’d given at the tavern. He’d made insinuations about Flynn’s family, even told Flynn to call him brother. He nearly shuddered at the memory of those ghostly eyes looking back at him.

The treason wasn’t surprising, but helping Amaya? Perhaps whatever game he was playing only involved being a thorn in the side of Aurelians. Flynn supposed, for the moment, it was a relief that Halcyon would only target him if given the chance.

Then Amaya’s voice softened, and his focus snapped back to her—spiraling thoughts frozen mid sentence as she lowered her gaze away from his.

For a heartbeat, he just looked at her. He wanted to say something that would lift the weight from her expression—to remind her that she didn’t have to carry so much guilt. That the knight had fulfilled his oath and bought her and Elara precious moments to escape.

But a knight had given his life for her. A person. Not a mere obligation to be dismissed—sworn by oath or not. No words seemed sufficient to honor that sacrifice.

“We’ll make time,” he promised, certain of it. “He’ll receive the honor he deserves.”

He longed to pull her closer, to make her forget all her worries. He longed for her to help him forget his.

But instead, he swallowed the impulse, letting out a quiet breath as he stood. Turning to face her, he extended his hand, palm up—another invitation. His lips tilted into a soft smile.

“Come on, beautiful,” he said, his tone warm. “Let’s get dressed. Then we’ll head out.”

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_{Interactions: Amaya @c3p-0h}