#Magical Forest Wall Hanging | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

k4marina · 1 month ago

Text

— vi. Secrets and the Moon || Heart of the Dragon

synopsis: While things settle down secrets are unveiled and you and Daenerys have a conversation about the moon.

warnings: slight mentions of violence/death, grammar most likely, ngl it's a pretty tame chapter.

a/n: all dialouge in italics is Valyrian

series masterlist

5.2k wrd count

game of thrones x fem!modern!reader

[gif is mine]

The walls of scrolls and ancient texts nearly reached the top of the ceiling. The smell of wax and parchment lingered in the room. Sunlight poured down from the skylight window. I’d never seen the room before, not on any website or during the tour of the castle. We were practically underground, in a more older portion of Dragonstone that was most likely withered away in the future. Diamond-patterned shelves filled with scrolls lined the walls on each side with a set of ladders and landings for easy access. A row of tables sat in the middle of the room, a large candle lit chandelier hanging down at the center.

I found the room whilst exploring the lower portions of the castle. It seemed that this was where all the old Valyrian texts were stored after the Targaryen’s arrival and before the Doom. When I’d first entered my head started to spin just off of the sheer size of the place. When I opened the first few scrolls and saw the ancient writing I couldn’t help but thank my parents for teaching me Valyrian Glyphs as well as the modern written form. Suddenly all those hours sitting at the dinner table studying with my father after dinner wasn’t so bad.

So far my search had been fruitless, every lead coming to a dead end. There was practically nothing about either magic being used to bring people back in time or any mythologies relating to my predicament. There were plenty of other scrolls that taught the reader how they can cast various different spells and pyrokinesis. There were even a few that explained how to hatch stone dragon eggs, without human sacrifices.

I scoffed, pushing that one scroll in particular to the side. I’m sure Dany could have used this while she was in the Dothraki Sea.

Hours went by while I poured over all sorts of scrolls, but I found nothing that could explain my sudden appearance or a way to go back. The candles were nearly melted by the time I’d stored away the last scroll and shut the door to the reference room. I would be lying if I said that I wasn’t disappointed. I really thought that if I could find any leads about my situation then it would be on Dragonstone.

I thought that in all of the texts the Targaryens brought over from Valyria at least one would have the answers I was looking for. But I was wrong.

The Valyrians were the first to bound themselves with dragons using blood magic. During the Valyrian empire’s height magic was an integral part of their culture and history. There’s no telling what they couldn’t do. If only they were good at spreading their knowledge, just far enough to Volantis at least, then maybe the ancient empire wouldn’t be such a mystery.

Daenerys sat in a closed off patio, staring off into the distance when I arrived for dinner. She was no longer in her signature dark Targaryen garb, but rather in a more simple and modest gown. Her hair was in her signature braids, but not as dramatic as usual.

“What’s on your mind?” My question pulled her out of her thoughts, only now realizing that I was here.

“Nothing,” she half-smiles. “Just another long day. Come– sit. The food’s still warm.” She motions for me to sit, which I do. “I heard you were busy in the reference library again.”

I sat, laying the cloth napkin on my lap. “Another bust,” a servant places a plate of food in front of the two of us before leaving. “Don’t get me wrong, there was plenty of information, but none that I needed.”

“Have you looked into other sources?”

I sighed, reaching for the wine. “I already have. The Seven don’t really believe in whatever my situation is, and the Old Gods are mostly about nature; forest, rivers, stone.” The knife in my hands easily cut through the piece of meat on my plate.

“What of the Old Gods of Valyria?”

“They're just deities.” I placed my elbows on the table. “We still worship them beyond the Black Wall, but they also don’t provide any information. They’re just God’s you pray to, to keep traditions for some.”

“So that’s it?”

“I still have one person to ask, but she’s already gone to Volantis.”

“Melisandre?” Daenerys frowns, “but she’s not coming back.”

I shake my head. “She is. It’s her fate to die in Westeros. When she returns I’ll have to ask her before she takes the plunge.”

Daenerys nods, slowly, understanding. There’s a moment of silence, the two of us busy eating before Daenerys asks me the important question that’d been lingering in the air since my arrival.

“What will you do if you can’t go back?”

I sit still, but then shrug. “Stay here, I guess. Don’t have any other option, do I?” I look away from her, staring off into the distance, the night sky glimmering. No matter how many times I see the stars, I’m always mesmerized. You can’t get a view like this in the modern world, the light pollution clouding the beautiful night sky.

“I’ll probably explore around a bit.”

“You won’t get married?”

I paused, caught off guard. “I.. I don’t know.” I turned back to her. “I never thought of anything like that.”

“Did you fancy anyone from your time?”

“No,” I thought back. “Sure, I had a few crushes here and there, a boyfriend once, but nothing when I entered University, I was too focused on my studies than the opposite sex.”

“Why? Are you trying to marry me off to some Lord to help your claim?” I teased.

She playfully rolled her eyes. “I’m only asking. If you do end up staying here then I don’t want you to be alone.”

“But I’m not alone.” I said. “I have you.”

She smiled. “I know that. What I mean is that I want you to have someone close to you. Someone to grow old with and perhaps a few children with.”

I mulled over her words. “We’ll see. But my main goal is to get you on that throne first.”

“Would that be before or after we join the Army of the Dead?” She jests.

“Boo, bad joke.” I smiled.

The rest of our night went smoothly, the two of us opting to not talk about war plans or the futures but rather of our childhoods. She told me stories about growing up in Essos, one that wasn't in any textbook and I told her about the modern world. I still remember telling her about modern transportation and technology, her jaw smacking the ground.

We dined till the late hours of the night, only calling a night after we’d drank all the wine in the room. My body slightly buzzed, the alcohol flowing through me. Something that I learned when I arrived here was that alcohol was less potent compared to the future. So while everyone else could get drunk with a few glasses, I was just lightly buzzed.

But that buzz didn’t last long. I was immediately sobered when I saw that the door to my chambers was left open. I stared at the door, silently listening for any movements. I vividly remembered closing my door in the morning. Maybe it was an assassin? But that wouldn’t make any sense. If an assassin was hired he’d go straight for Daenerys, not me.

Carefully, I stepped closer to the door, trying to not make a sound and catch the intruder's attention. I peeked through the gap between the wall and door, but saw nothing. No man dressed in robes waiting for me with a knife in my hand. I slowly pushed the door open, thankful that it didn’t creek.

The receiving room was empty, nothing out of its place. The bedroom was also, oddly, empty. I scanned the room for anything missing or changed, but the room was just as I had left it this morning. The only room that was left was the study. The door was slightly ajar and a faith wrestling could be heard. I took in a deep breath and pushed it open, expecting to see some man, but instead being met with a child.

The kid, possibly around ten years old, rummaged through my drawers. She wore a simple, yet tethered, dress, her long hair tied back. Her hands stopped moving and her body stiffened as she’d been caught. I stared in disbelief, what the hell is this kid doing?

“What are you looking for?” My voice came out more rough than it should have, but I couldn’t care. Was this kid really going through my things?

She didn’t reply, her eyes flickering back to the door behind me. I slammed the door shut, fully blocking any way out and asked again. “What are you doing?”

She still didn’t reply, shaking in fear as if I’d kill her on the spot. She hid her hands behind her dress. I marched closer to her and she stepped back, her back almost hitting the wall. I reached out, grabbing her hands, surprising her.

Scrolls that I’d written were clutched in her grasp, and in the small pockets of her dress. They ranged from menial things like day to day updates from either the Unsullied or Dothraki to sensitive subjects like Yara Greyjoy and her fleet's location or warplanes to take King’s Landing.

I looked back at the child who seemed to be scared out of her mind, tears brimming her eyes. It was clear someone put her up to this. No child in their right mind would travel all the way up into the castle, know where my room and study were, and rummage through my stuff.

“Who set you up to this?” I lowered my tone, trying to seem less frightening. The child's eyes were a light gray with hints of lavender. Her hair was a light blonde and freckles danced around her face. By the looks of it she was either a Dragonseed or the descendant of one.

“I’m not mad,” this time I tried in Valyrian. “I just want to know who told you to do this.”

Her exterior flattered for a moment, but it wasn’t enough to calm her nerves. I sighed, crouching down so that I was eye level to her. “I won’t hurt you, I promise. And I won’t let anyone hurt you or your family. All you have to do is tell me who told you to do this.”

She hesitates, and my grip on her hand loosen. I absentmindedly rubbed small circles around her wrists as a way to calm her.

“The..” she stopped, scared that someone would hear, but I gave her hand a light squeeze, reassuring her. “The bald man. He said if I found him a special letter then he’ll bring me to my mother and father.”

The bald man? Does she mean THE bald man?

“Do you mean the bald man that is with Queen Daenerys?”

She nods.

Fucking snake.

She seems to notice that shift in my mood and quivers. I catch myself before I worsen my mood.

“What’s your name?”

“Alana.”

I smiled, “what a beautiful name.” I stood up, reaching into the middle drawer that she didn’t go through and grabbed a tied handkerchief. I knelt down next to her and untied it revealing a few cookies and bit’s of chocolate. Her eyes lit up and she looked between the sweet treats and me.

“Here, you can have all of this, if you promise to not say a word, okay? You can’t tell anyone that I saw you tonight, especially the bald man.”

She nods her head, eager to eat the cookies.

“But, you have to do one teeny-tiny thing for me.” She looks up at me with her doe eyes. “You have to tell the Queen what you told me.”

Panic, once again, sets in and she rapidly shakes her head. “No, she’ll-”

“She won’t do anything,” I place my hand on her shoulder. “Her Grace doesn’t hurt children. She’ll protect you from the bald man. Both her and her dragons.”

It took some convincing but she’d finally agreed. I placed her on my bed with the snacks and lit a few candles. I called for an Unsullied guard to go get Daenerys while I waited with her.

“You said that the bald man would take you to your parents, where did they go?”

She chews on a piece of chocolate and swallows. “They were taken by the man with the stag. He was bald too. He also had a daughter.”

Stag, bald, and had a daughter.

“Stannis.” I hummed. Knowing him, I’m sure that he’d executed them. Most of the villagers on the island are some form of Dragonseeds, bastards of the Targaryens and most definitely still loyal to them. It’s most likely that Alana’s parents had refused to bow to either Robert or to serve Stannis during his stint on Dragonstone and were killed as a result.

The doors to my room opened and Daenerys, who was dressed in a robe and looked to have been pulled out of bed, walked in. “Did something happen?”

I nod and stand up. Alana peeks at Daenerys from behind me, but quickly hides when they make eye contact.

“I found her going through my things. Apparently, a friend of ours sent her to find something.”

Daenerys looks between me and the little girl. “Who?”

I turned back to Alana. “Sweetheart, why don’t you tell Her Grace what you told me, don’t worry, she won’t be mad at you.”

The little girl holds her hands closer to her. “The bald man. He told me to look through the ladies' things.”

“The bald man?” Daenerys repeats. She turns back to me. “Varys?”

I nodded. “Seems like he’s interested in what I’ve been up to.”

Anger quickly takes over Daenerys and she turns to march down to his chambers. I grab her arm, “no wait.”

“Wait?” She scoffed. “Varys is spying on my own people. He’s using children to do his dirty work and you want me to wait?”

“Yes, I do. Dany, we can’t nail him yet.”

She frowned. “Then what? We pretend that nothing’s happened?”

“That’s exactly what we do. He doesn't know what we know now, we can use that to our advantage.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“Let him believe what he wants to. All we have to do is feed him the information that we want and take the information we need from him.”

“And you are sure this will work?”

I nodded. “Let the spider think that he’s spun his web, it’s only a matter of time before he gets too confident and makes a mistake.”

––

The next morning, after my morning sparring practice and breakfast with Daenerys, I was called down to the caves by Jon Snow. He and his men had made considerable progress mining the Dragonglass. Crates of the volcanic glass were placed around the path leading to the caves. The sound of pickaxes and chisels hammering against the cave walls echoed out from the cave entrance.

Jon Snow stood by a few crates of what I assumed was freshly mined Dragonglass. He wore his usual attire; dark tunic underneath his black and brown leather armor, long black leather gloves and matching boots with dark trousers that had some wear and tear. He’d foregone his fur cloak and armored breastplate with House Stark sigil for the sake of practicality.

Ser Davos, who stood in front of Jon, nodded my ways. He turned as I stepped closer, and their previous conversation came to a halt.

“My Lady, thank you for coming.”

I glanced around us. “You and your men seem to be making quite a bit of progress.”

Jon nods, “we’re grateful that you and Queen Daenerys have allowed us to mine all of the Dragonglass.”

“That’s not why you called for me is it?”

“No.” He motions for me to follow him. We walk around a few crates, coming to a stop in front of a covered wagon, hidden from everyone.

“We found these, deep in the caves. I’ve told my men who first found them to keep quiet about it.”

Ser Davos opens the wagon’s doors and removes the cloth over the objects revealing a cluster of dulled dragon eggs. My eyes widened and I turned to Jon who also had the same shock written all over his face.

“Is this all you’ve found?”

“So far. We found these near the end of the cave before it split off into other directions.”

I slowly nod, half focused on his words. My eyes ran over the eggs, five to be exact, all of them covered in dirt and stone. There were two lighter colored eggs, a white-gray and a pastel pink-purple. The other three were a dark navy blue, a dark green, and a pure black egg. I reached out and carefully grabbed the green egg, wiping away the dirt and debris the best I could. It left off a gold almost iridescent shimmer in the sun. The eggs themselves were hard, the outside covered in a scaled pattern. I gently turned the egg over in my hands, running my fingers over the surface.

I took in a deep breath, stunned.

After Daenerys’ death, Dragonstone was handed off to The Crown. Over the decades, the castle had been turned into somewhat of a vacation home for the Royal Family. The Velaryon’s had contested the decision for many years, claiming that the castle was the last remnants of the Targaryen and of Valyria and that it should be preserved and handed to them as they were the closest to the extinct house. But in reality, they were more interested in exploring the castle than honoring it.

They’d found Dragonegg’s littered all over the island, nestled away in the string of cave networks. Dragon bones and skulls dating back to the dragons the Targaryens first brought to the islands were also found in caves in the island's volcanic mountains. By the time the eggs were found they’d been completely fossilized and turned to stone. Taking inspiration from Daenerys, the Velaryons tried to hatch the dragons in secret, but lacked the (for a lack of better words) magic that the Targaryens held.

But this, this was something else.

I turned to Jon, who’d been watching me, “thank you.” He slightly bows his head, surprised by my sincerity. “Did you find anything else?”

“No, My Lady, that’s all we’ve run across.”

I pressed my lips and nods, looking back down at the eggs. “Alright. Keep mining, but don’t go too deep.” I set the dragon egg back down, “now help me get these to Daenerys.”

––

The five eggs, now properly cleaned of any dirt, sat in a chest between Daenerys and I. Her eyes stayed glued to the eggs as Jon recounted what he’d told me. But, like me, her focus was entirely on the eggs. She dismisses him, leaving the two of us. Silence hangs in the air for many moments, neither of us knowing what to say.

“Did you know that there were eggs on the island?” She finally asks.

“I did,” I sat back, eyes flickering between the chest and her. “But I didn’t know where exactly they were. I just never knew that they were just.. right there.”

She hums. “They look like they’re turned to stone.”

“We can still bring them back.”

“Where would we keep them?”

I shrugged. “I’m sure there's a few warming brazier’s laying around. We can chuck them in there while we deal with the Night King.”

She looks up at me, “are you sure we can hatch them?”

“Yeah, why not? Just need some good-old fashioned Valyrian blood magic.”

Daenerys chuckles. “Alright, I’ll tell the servants to light a few warmers.”

She stands from her seat, walking over and grabbing the dark blue dragon egg, turning it over in her hands.

“How many of these are there?” She muttered.

“Plenty,” I replied, standing up myself. “The entire island is littered with them.”

“What?”

I pour a glass of wine. “The caves under the island are almost littered with them. Some of them are in the caves up in the mountains.”

I motioned her towards the window that faced mountains. “Jaehaerys’ dragon, Vermithor, used to dwell in a cave on that mountain. It’s said that he laid a clutch of eggs in there, but by the time we found them they were completely stone.”

Daenerys steps forwards and peers out the window to the large mountain in the distance. “If the Dragonegg’s were here all along, then why did they die out?”

I shrugged “Hell if I know.” I take a sip of the wine, leaning on the windowsill. “It’s rumored that after Rhaenyra’s death that the Targaryen's love and bond with the dragons was bruised, I guess you can say. People believe that the closer the dragons are to their riders, the stronger the magic. But after a civil war where the dragons pitted against each other and other riders, I guess the magic fizzled out.”

“Well, that’s until you came around,” I motioned towards Dany with my glass.

She stared off to where Vermithor’s cave was. “So many mistakes,” she muttered. “They made so many mistakes and it cost our house everything.”

“But you won’t do the same thing.” I said.

She turned to me, determined. “No, I won’t.”

––

The walls are jagged and raw, a clear contrast to the smooth walls of the castle. It’s dim, squinting my eyes to try and adjust to the lack of light. My footsteps echoed off of the walls.

One, two, three, four… and five.

He lay on the cold ground on top of a sad looking chunk of hay that looked as if it was on its last legs. He’s wearing the same trousers and dirty tunic as he was when he was brought here. His chest has a slight rise and fall indicating he’s alive. His face caked in blood and dirt, making me grimace.

“Wake up.”

He doesn’t move, eyes still closed. Annoyed, I reach over to a bucket on the side of the entrance of his cell, grabbing a cup full of water. I splashed it on him through the cell doors.

“I said, wake up.”

He gasps, coughing and sits up straight, surprised. His head snaps over in my direction, eyes narrowing, but he doesn’t make any effort to move out of the shadows and into the dim light.

“You bitch!”

I drag a chair over in front of the cell bars, crossing my legs as I sit. “That’s no way to address a Lady.”

He scoffs. “Y’er the furthest thing from a Lady,” he licks his chapped lips. “But you’ve got a pretty face like one. Maybe once your Dragon Queen agrees to my offer I’ll fuck you both”

I narrow my eyes, but bite my tongue. “And you really think that she’ll take you as, what did you say? A King?”

“I am a King!” He growls.

“Any man who must say ‘I am the King’ is no true King.” I quote Tywin Lannister.

“I am the King of Salt and Rock.” He brings his face closer to me into the light.

“Your niece and nephew would argue otherwise.” I glare down at Euron.

“That bitch and her cock-less brother? They’re nothing. I’ll kill them just like I killed their father.”

“That ‘bitch’ is on her way to reclaim the Iron Islands, and her ‘cock-less brother’ handed you your own ass, landing you here, in a dungeon.”

“She won’t make it.” He double downs. “The Ironborn don't follow women.”

“We’ll see.” I lean in closer, eyeing him through the bars. “It’s a new dawn. Two Queens are fighting for the Iron Throne, most of Westeros’ noble houses are led by women. I think the Iron Islands won’t mind a woman leading them.”

Euron pushes himself against the wall. “Won’t last long. They’ll get tired of her and crave for their true king.”

I leaned forwards. “That awfully confident of you considering your predicament. It’s almost like you have something under your sleeve.” His demeanor shifts, a wave of arrogance and cockiness falling over him.

He smirks. “Y’wanna know? Hm?” He runs his beady eyes down my figure and I tried not to shiver out of disgust. “Why don’t you do me a favor and I’ll tell you.”

“Really?” I played along. “And why would I do that? Not to be too mean, but you don’t seem to be the type to be strategic, just dumb luck.”

His eye twitches at my comment. He leans forwards, a crazed look in his eyes, as if he’d just hit the jackpot. “Cause it’s the one thing that will make your dragons mine.”

Gotcha.

“Let me guess, a Dragonbinder?”

His face falls, shocked that I already knew about his “trump card” that not even Cersei knew about. His mouth falls open, but no words come out.

“What? Cat got your tongue? You were pretty chatty before, what happened?”

He recovers well, becoming more hostile. “Knowing about it won’t change a thing. I’ll get out of here and when I do, I’ll kill you and everyone in this fucking castle and feed you to your own fucking dragons!”

I stare at him momentarily before smiling. “I’ll count on it.” I stand, getting ready to leave. “You’ve lost, Euron. I look forward to your coming execution. Sleep well till then.”

––

“Are you sure?” Daenerys asks, tethering between skepticism and fear.

I nodded. “I didn’t believe it either. From what I had heard it was purely a rumor, but he just confirmed for me.”

“A Dragonbinder?” Missandei raised a brow. “I don’t seem to be familiar with that item.”

“You shouldn’t be.” I said. “It’s something like an ancient relic of Old Valyria. It’s a horn made of an enormous dragonbone and is six feet long. It’s said that whoever blows into it will have the power to control dragons, but I’ve never seen it before nor have I known anyone to have ever seen it, let alone have it in their possession.”

“And you believe Euron is hiding it somewhere?” Varys asks, hand folded in his lap.

“It’s alleged when he went to claim the Seastone Chair he presented the horn to impress his followers. How much of it is true is beyond me, but I think this is something we should keep a close eye on.”

“Has it ever been used?” Dany asks.

“I don’t know. I’ve checked the reference library and found nothing.”

“So the horn’s a sham?” Varys says.

“We don’t know that,” I frowned. “A threat is a threat, regardless if it’s been documented or not.” I turned back to Dany. “Look, I’m telling you all I know. There’s possibly a Dragonbinder out there and it could turn your children against you.”

Daenerys sighs, deep in thought. On one hand this could be a plausible threat. History has proven that anything that remains from Valyria could have the power to cause tremendous change while on the other hand, no one really knows if it exists and if it’s an actual threat to anyone.

“If what you say is the truth then that means Euron and his men have a powerful weapon against me and my children. However, no one, but one man, knows where it is and we don’t know if it’s an actual threat or not. For now, we focus on the task at hand, Euron and the Dragonbinder can wait.”

I nod, understanding. “Whatever you say, Your Grace.”

––

The stars shone bright in the night sky, not a cloud in sight. The moon glimmered brightly, a perfect reflection in the deep ocean. It was one of those nights where everything was still, as if time had stopped. There was no sound, no wind, nothing, just pure silence.

I took in a deep breath, relaxing my shoulders and leaned against the stone railing. My eyes trailed from the sky to the ocean, the beach, and then the cave entrance. Wagons and crates were left around along with what looked to be mining equipment. It wouldn’t be long until all of the Dragonglass would be mined away and then we’ll be marching North to face off against the Night King.

“Hope I’m not interrupting you,” a voice called from behind. I turned around to see Daenerys walking closer to me.

“No, you’re not.” I smiled. “It’s pretty late, shouldn’t you be asleep?”

“I could ask you the same.”

I turned back to stare off in front of me, “couldn’t sleep. Thought I would be able to after some fresh air, but the sleepiness hasn’t kicked in yet.”

She comes to stand besides me, a comfortable silence falling over us. I looked back down at the cave entrance.

“Since I’ve came here I've been debating whether the Gods are cruel or kind.” I let out a sigh. “On one hand, they’ve taken me from my friends, family, my home. The other, I’ve been given the opportunity to rewrite history, and right the wrongs of mankind.” I let out a humorless laugh and turned towards Dany. “But regardless of what’s happened, I’m glad I’m here to help you and make sure you don’t go through this alone.”

She reached over to grasp my hand, reassuringly. I smiled, “whatever happens from here on out, I want you to know that. I love you, sister.”

Tears brimmed her eyes and she smiled. “I love you too. I pray that when this is over you can find a way back to your family.”

“But you’d be all alone.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” She smiled bittersweet. “I’ve lost my family, I know the pain. I can’t have you going through that.”

I swallowed thickly, looking up and blinked away my tears. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the moon, above.

I cleared my throat, “when I was a child, I visited my Ñāma, um my Grandmother, in Volantis. One night, when the sky was like this she told me a story about two sisters. The younger one was very sick and couldn’t be out during the day so she and her elder sister would go out at night, making sure not to go too far off from home. And every night, under the shade of a large tree, the elder sister would sing a lullaby to her little sister about the moon. And every night, the younger sister would say ‘The sun is for everyone, but we have the moon,’ and she’d fall asleep with a smile. One night, just like any other, the two sisters go out and the eldest sings a lullaby, except this time, the younger one never opens her eyes and passes in her sleep. And for the rest of her life, the eldest sister, before going to bed, would sing a lullaby to the moon, hoping it would reach her sister, because they always had the moon.”

At this point tears were streaming down both of our faces, and I tried my best not to start crying. “Daenerys, wherever we are, we’ll always have the moon.”

We both burst into tears, pulling each other into a tight embrace, crying in each other's arms under the glimmering moon.

so i've recently composed a "soundtrack" for this series (i put soundtrack in "" bc it's more like a medley) i'm thinking abt working on it while i work on this series, but lmk if u all want to hear it when it's complete or when i've given up.

ALSO!! since we're approaching the height of series (and the end) what should my next game of thrones/asoiaf series be?

TAGLIST:

@wotcherpeak @music-luver25 @your-favorite-god @radiantdanvers @cluelessteam @daenerys713 @ministark @laanswife @idohknow @jromanoff @bdudette @bitchyfestivalbouquet @glitteryobjecttaco @cantbecreative @lovelyteenagebeard @the0twst0shrimp0mc @sucker4seresin @marytargaryen @naneko31 @9tailedfoxfire @iilsenewman @ivyrose9194 @coffee-is-my-oxygen @mysterypotatoink @bitchycolletorvoid @nattysplatty @wifiatthetrainstation @nymeriiiia @llynx7 @pookynknowntranger @riley-625-bell @myathegoat

#game of thrones x reader #game of thrones x fem!reader #game of thrones au #game of thrones fanfic #a song of ice and fire x reader #a song of ice and fire x fem!reader #a song of ice and fire fanfic #daenerys targaryen x reader #jon snow x reader #tyrion lannister x reader #missandei x reader #house targaryen x reader #house stark x reader #timetravel au #modern!reader #house of the dragon x reader #heart of the dragon #k4marinafics

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mcflymemes · 1 year ago

Text

FANTASY SETTINGS / LOCATIONS PROMPTS * fantasy location based prompts for starters, adjust as necessary

[ 01 ] under the shelter of an ancient oak tree in the depths of a dark forest

[ 02 ] a rickety bridge hanging over a massive waterfall

[ 03 ] a tiny village bakery, the shelves stocked with freshly baked goods

[ 04 ] standing beside a massive magical portal. who knows where it might lead?

[ 05 ] the darkest depths of a dragon's lair, gold glittering at your feet

[ 06 ] a vast, empty field with a bright blue sky overhead

[ 07 ] the space between two shelves stuffed with magical tomes and old leatherbound journals

[ 08 ] a rowdy village tavern crowded with drunk, singing patrons

[ 09 ] a winding path in the dark that leads to nowhere

[ 10 ] the crumbling remains of a burnt-out homestead

[ 11 ] another realm, unknown to you, the lights bright enough to blind you

[ 12 ] a tiny tent in the middle of the woods, the fading embers of your campfire still glowing just outside the door

[ 13 ] a tidy apothecary shop crowded with labeled jars and bowls of supplies

[ 14 ] the fiery lair of your mortal enemy

[ 15 ] the hallowed halls of an ancient sanctuary, stone walls covered in vines and light peeking in through cracks in the ceiling

[ 16 ] a civilized throne room, lanterns lit on the walls leading up to the throne itself

[ 17 ] a dewy meadow perfect for a picnic

[ 18 ] a valley packed with tents, knights , and weapons all readying themselves for a major battle

[ 19 ] a bright, snowy glen

[ 20 ] a strange village doused in darkness, the streets teeming with cloaked figures and suspicious individuals

[ 21 ] a chilly cave hidden behind a waterfall

[ 22 ] in the midst of a dangerous battle, bandits attacking from all sides

[ 23 ] at the foot of a massive, venerated shrine, one that's been forgotten by time and worn down with age

[ 24 ] a busy village market, shopkeepers shouting their prices and selling their wares to curious passerby

[ 25 ] a magical greenhouse with glowing plants and precious, healing herbs

739 notes · View notes

comfortless · 1 year ago

Text

All That You Don’t Want

PAIRING: witch!fem!reader x apprentice!König

CONTENT: 18+! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. oneshot. obvious au— so not canon-compliant!, questionable morality, mutual pining, animal death (it’s still alive! but not!), minor character death, power imbalance? technically teacher/student, forced proximity, smut; unprotected piv, creampie, cunnilingus, cockwarming.

NOTES: title from this song! (i will never stop titling my König fics after The Twilight Sad lyrics sorry) i have never written smut in my life i apologize if this is rough!! cover: Robert Bresson, 1951 wc: 7.7k

You never wanted an apprentice, never had the need for some bright-eyed whelp shadowing you for their own benefit. The kingdom had enough competition as far as your craft went— green magic, potion brewing and enchantments, why in the world would you risk teaching someone your secrets only for them to outdo you at every turn? Those with the propensity for magic weren’t treated human, anyway. You saw the looks, uneasy and disgusted, unless of course they had need of you.

The Guild keeps your protected, scrawl your praises in every fresh sheet of parchment passed about, brings in new clients for you to keep yourself afloat without you ever having to leave your little cottage in the forest just beyond the towering walls of the kingdom. So, when you receive the damned letter, how can you refuse?

Green magic couldn’t protect you from the King’s headsman, nor could it keep you hidden away from the constant threat of bandits and other malevolent forces, but the lines in the small letter detailing your new apprentice’s abilities are enough to make you swallow back some of that displeasure.

“… proficient in offensive magics…” and “… formerly in service to the King as a worthy candidate for knighting…” even “… a skilled huntsman…” all tell you that whoever this enigmatic pup is, he would have no qualms hissing at and chasing off a few rogues if they dared step too close to your territory. You picture some ruggedly handsome and charming gentleman arriving at your door with a sword of the finest steel hanging from his side and you loathe the way that your heart seems to flutter with excitement at the prospect.

A fortnight after the letter arrived at your doorstep, you realize that fantasy is often far sweeter than the reality.

You’re busying yourself sorting out a towering shelf with haphazardly placed vials, some labeled and others… well, if you had to guess based on the color of the fluid inside, you should probably toss lest you accidentally poison the next poor woman that comes by simply wanting something to charm the cute farmhand while her piece of shit husband, far too old for her, is off on another brothel visit. You may not be equipped to defend yourself in battle, but you know very well how to make nightshade and wolf’s bane taste like milk and honey.

It’s when you turn with your arms burdened by a heap of unlabeled, possibly poisonous concoctions that you see a figure just outside your window— tall, face shrouded with a blackened veil with only two holes cut out for his moonstone eyes. You curse the way the sight makes you nearly jump out of your skin, dropping everything you were holding onto the wooden floor, brightly colored fluid and glass shards staining a nearby rug you had spent an entire month painstakingly hooking yourself. The specter just tilts his head at you before inviting himself inside. Why bother pretending to be civilized when you look like that, anyhow?

You crouch to collect the shards of glass and wipe away the mixture of maybe-poisons as he enters, not sparing him a glance even as his footfalls lead him to stand uncomfortably close. Perhaps if the entire ordeal hadn’t pissed you off you would have the sense to be afraid, consider the fact that this titan of a man could have been a thief, but something tells you that this is the bright-eyed whelp you had anticipated. The man doesn’t even bother to greet you, let alone kick his muddy boots off at the door, he just hovers over you with his face tilted downward as you scrub up the mess you tell yourself he had caused.

“Leave it to The Guild to send me a dolt,” you mutter below your breath, barely audible as you move to deposit bits of broken glass into a wastebasket at the corner of the room.

“Ja?” The man huffs amusedly.

“Ja?” You question.

“Yes.”

You give him a look, one that suggests you’re in no mood for whatever this is and he seems to stiffen. Any mirth in those haunted eyes of his is quickly snuffed out, replaced with his gaze darting from perusing your backside to the corner of the room, then back up to your face.

He introduces himself as ‘König’. No surname, no title. Though, you supposed in his language, his name was a title in itself. Perhaps your disappointment is more notable than you realize, because the man seems almost nervous around you as you introduce yourself in turn. His fingers curl into his palms in repetition at his sides, and it’s impossible to tell by the small glimpse of his face whether or not he wants to strangle you or bury himself instead.

You rise to your feet, feeling acutely defeated as you lead him around the home, showing him to each room before stopping at the door to his own and crossing your arms over your chest.

“You’ll stay here,” you say quietly, avoiding his eyes as he lowers himself to look at you, thanking you graciously as his hand lingers a bit too long on your shoulder. You gently reach to pry it off, only to feel him grip at your fingers running his thumb over each knuckle before finally drawing away.

You watch from the doorway as he inspects the room. A bed a size two small for a man such as himself sits in the middle, a desk cluttered with spare vials of ink and a few quills made of swan feather, and a towering bookshelf filled with books on simple magic that you haven’t bothered to touch since you were a girl. He seems pleased, despite how very little effort was made for him. As much as you wish otherwise, you almost feel the sting of guilt when you watch him seat himself on the small bed and his eyes light up as he looks to you.

It didn’t take much perception to see the world hadn’t treated this brute too kindly.

He hunts your dinner, bringing home several rabbits that he took his time to skin and prepare for cooking in the yard. Even more, he roasts them over a fire he stoked up for you in a display of gratitude. You watch him from the fogged window as he seats himself by the fluttering flames, watching the meat with a focus that speaks volumes about his own discipline.

“Have you lived on the land for long, König?,” you ask him when the two of you are seated at the table, wiping away the remnants of your meal from your lips with a small handkerchief.

He’s only rucked up his hood enough to eat, the scars lining his jaw run deep, the skin pasty there. He looked far too pale to even be a living thing at all, but his thin lips pull into a grin at your question. “You can tell?” He asks with a slight tilt of his head, the tone of his voice suggesting sarcasm. “Perceptive little witch.”

You furrow your brow at him, surprised by his sudden arrogance. You would have sooner expected the man to tear a hole through you than meet your little question with a cocky response if his twitchy behavior was anything to go by. But… his voice sends a shiver down your spine, the amused lilt mixed with his accent, some natural charm that makes areas of you ache that haven’t been touched in years.

“A man must know to feed himself, ja?”

“Well, I don’t hunt.”

He huffs out a laugh at that, raising a hand to readjust his hood, pulling it back down over his face. König is not pretty, far from it from what you could see, but you almost find yourself downtrodden that he’s hiding himself again when you were only just starting to find yourself curious.

“I will teach you,” he suggests as he clears your table, depositing both your dishes and his own into the washbasin at the far corner of the kitchen. He’s helping, and your eyes merely track him dumbfounded.

“You don’t have to, König— I, um. I’m supposed to be teaching you, remember?” You’re trying to sound authoritative, like a proper mentor but it’s fruitless, really. How long had it been since a man was this close to you, living out in the forest? You had clients, sure, but in your craft you came to know about their proclivities, their ailments, and any interest you may have had died with their innumerable requests.

The Guild had set you up, surely, you decide as your eyes wander over to the man washing your dishes, the man who had prepared your dinner, who had stared openly at your ass. The man who smelled of dew and timber and fire smoke. The man with the most beautiful, tired eyes you had ever met.

You can see the muscles of his back through his tunic, tightly bundled up from where he’s drawn his sleeves to his bicep to wash up the remnants of dinner, mind almost numbing from the sight alone. It felt like some divine torture, to be sent something you adamantly did not want only for that very same thing to make your pulse quicken and throat dry.

“I want to teach you,” he tries again.

You feel sinful for the place your mind goes then. Do the ladies in the kingdom often allow monsters to bed them? Is his size comparable to the stature?

“Okay.” Your voice was tight, barely a whisper.

He finishes up his cleaning and turns to look at you as he wrings his hands over the washbasin, his eyes narrowed and crinkled at the corners. Grinning again like a wolf knowing he’s got his claws in you.

— — —

You go over the standard protocol when dealing with customers seeking remedies with König as you hear the approaching horse whinnying out in the yard. Simple, standard. Most people had a wariness for those who were touched by magic, understandably so. It’s human nature to fear what isn’t fully understood. With König’s imposing height and the veil over his face, you needed him to be extra careful in these situations. He doesn’t seem to take offense at your fretting, merely smiles beneath the veil as you speak and all is settled and well by the time your client wraps lightly at the door.

You swing the door open with a polite smile, hands clasped at the lap of your dress. The smile is maintained even as you catch sight of his face, scars from a horrific burn covering over half of it, his right eye filmed over and sightless in its socket. He wasn’t here to charm a lady or conceal his face with glamours, only for a balm to alleviate the lingering, phantom pains that stretched from his scalp down to his neck. A decent man, and a damned good blacksmith from what you had heard. He was one of your favorites.

König observes from the corner of the room, leaned against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest without a word as you fetch the jar of balm for the client, accept his coin and send him back on his way.

“Oh.. I don’t know how he got that nasty burn but it’s hard to look at isn’t it?”

König gives you a look, something unsaid hinted at just beyond the surface of his icy eyes, and you realize it’s a little too late to pull your words back.

— — —

Days seem to pass by with an awkward tension in the air. It’s not because of his tutelage under you, either, because he’s doing surprisingly well with his studies. Potion crafting is a tricky, fickle sort of thing. One mistake and an entire batch is ruined and the gods only knew when you would stumble upon what was required whilst foraging again. König is careful, attentive as he follows your instruction. He studies diligently, spending his free time reading through his books, often out in the foyer and if not for how skilled he was, you would assume it was all for show. Wishful thinking, a vicious yearning settling in between your breasts that wants for him to try and impress you, to court you.

It’s tense because you’ve found you can’t keep the man out of your head. In the late hour when the house has fallen silent, you could often hear his desperate grunts through the thin slats of wood separating your own room from his. You’ve imagined the sight of him fisting his cock, biting down onto his scarred lip as he whines through his release more times than you would ever confess. The gods themselves couldn’t pry the admittance from your lips that you wait up sometimes to hear him with your own hand between your thighs.

And König had this look about him now, more confident as he walks about. His hands don’t twitch as much when the two of you speak.

It’s the seventh morning as you’re preparing tea for the both of you that he enters the cottage entirely nude (apart from the hood; he seems insistent about keeping it almost entirely on in your presence). His body drips with river water, looking more like the skillfully carved statues that took residence in the castle courtyard than any man at all. You can’t help your staring, and he seems unperturbed by it as he slips behind you to set some freshly plucked milkweed on the wooden countertop. So focused on the cords of tight muscle layering his body, the obscene thing swaying between his legs, you hadn’t even noticed he had bothered to collect an ingredient you so desperately needed.

A man such as he should be seated on a throne, worshipped by a harem of pretty ladies, all pawing at his lap. Yet— he merely had you, ogling him as openly as he seemed to do to you.

“For the elixir,” he hums, sounding amused as he tilts his head to look you over as he had a striking amount of times already.

“Yeah.” You try to subtly clear your throat, cursing yourself for the way your reaction prompts his eyes to dart to the swell of your breasts beneath your dress. “Thanks.”

“You look pretty today.” He’s making everything worse. Turning your quiet life around and filling you with some horrid feeling you’ve avoided for years out here in near-isolation. “You look pretty everyday,” he corrects himself before you can speak. The obscene pillar between his legs seems to grow at the sight of you, and if you were not certain before, you know assuredly now that something has cursed you.

A good, knowing witch would tell him that his compliments were inappropriate, unwarranted. She would tell him to not walk around with his cock on full display and send him off to practice mundane spells as punishment. You are not a good, knowing witch at all if the warmth on your face is anything to go by.

“How was the river?” You ask instead, graciously retrieving a towel from the cupboard to hand to him. Despite how orderly you tried to keep things here, it’s not the water he’s dripping all over the hardwood that has your mind spinning.

“Gut.” He says words in his native tongue, often, and you’ve already grown accustomed to deciphering them. They sound prettier on his tongue than your own. He accepts the towel and merely draping it over his broad shoulders. “Come with me next time,” he offers, all but innocently.

God damnit.

“I made tea.” You’re trying to avoid his undressing stare, busying yourself with the tea kettle. The scent of mint seems to calm you as you pour the tea into your own mug, careful not to spill it out onto the counter with your trembling hands.

“I like you.” Blunt as always, you wonder if he even has any sort of control on the things he says.

God damnit all.

“I like you too, König. You’re a good apprentice,” you respond, your nerves alight with something that you can’t quite place; a twig on the verge of snapping under its weight.

He laughs soft, and graciously gives you a reprieve from well… that as he steps out of the room to finally dress himself.

Later that evening as the elixir is fully prepared and the client arrives to pick it up, you realize that König is no where in sight. It’s not uncommon; the man certainly lacked his social graces, but he hadn’t seemed to mind the shopfront side of what you do before until you had spoken so carelessly. The client is a nervous little thing, a girl not yet a woman, anxious and shaky as she takes the vial from you with an abundance of thanks. It’s no wonder why she had requested such a thing meant to put a patch over her anxieties and communicate better now. You steal only a spoonful from the cauldron as you empty it, praying that it silences the buzzing of nerves and the fluttering in your heart as you bed down for the night.

— — —

You wake to a door slamming shut in the dead of night, followed by the quieted hiss of what you believe to be a curse in a language that is not your own. It immediately sends you on high alert, thinking back to the threat of bandits and enchanted wildlife or whatever else. Jolted from your bed by the kick of adrenaline, you tiptoe down the stairs to see that… nothing is out of place. The den is as homey as always, every vial and potion bottle in its place on the shelves. The only thing that appeared to be missing at all was a book on your shelf. You knew that book, too. It was a favorite of many of your customers, the ones with weathered skin or features that were not the golden standard of delicate, royal beauty. A book on glamours was not something that would be stolen away by any thief in the night, seeing as it wouldn’t be of much help at all without a dedicated practitioner.

It only really settles in for you that your apprentice snatched it away when you take a peek out of the window and your eyes settle on a darkened corner of the garden. Tall sprigs of lavender sprung up from the earth there, and an even taller man sat, legs crossed with your book in his lap beneath the milky glow of the moon.

König looks… agitated. Even from this distance, the glass and wall and several meters of organized plant life separating you, you can see his hands shaking as he ghosts his calloused fingertips over the pages. His shoulders tense and a fiery look in his eye. He reads the incantations aloud with proper annunciation, forced through his thick accent. Repeats them, several times over. Not a thing changes.

But you leave him be, return to bed, because despite him being your responsibility, his private matters are still his own. As much as you would like to snatch the book from his hands and confess through tears that he haunts your dreaming just as he is now, you can’t bring yourself to do so.

When the book is in its place the following morning with König still in his bed, you read over the pages heavily scented by lavender. The ones that tell you how he sees himself in truth without a single word from his own being. Too tall, too ugly, too ruined.

It’s not enough to say your heart breaks. You feel it shatter somewhere in your chest, little pieces crumbling down into the darkest pit of your middle. Perhaps he’s only doing this due to your careless words about your client the other day, perhaps he wants to be seen as something beautiful for once.

The day is spent with a heavy weariness in your eyes. König picks up some slack for you as you fester in a sadness that should not even be your own; prepares something meaty for you both to eat, incorrectly sweeps some dust from the wooden floors that you know you’ll have to properly clean later on, and even tends to the garden. He’s good with the plants, gentle as he plucks berries from their stems and cuts away only what was required with a sharp dagger.

While you’ve thrown yourself over a cushioned chair, König kneels before you to speak. He’s just finished telling you some gory tale about when he squired for Ser… something, a name you don’t even care to remember. It was a rare occurrence for him to open up, you’ve come to realize that. Maybe it was simply too soon for him, but then again, he seemed to have no qualms allowing you to hear his desperate howling at night or walk about after a bath with his cock fully erect in your line of sight. If words were too much then what the hell was all of that?

“How come you didn’t become a knight, König?” you ask him, your tone sounding a bit more dead than intended. It wasn’t that you weren’t interested in his stories, you were simply still coming to terms with one of his likely innumerable secrets. “The Guild said you were a good candidate, so why?”

You ask your questions, his eyes light up. He’s not used to this, it seems, and the fact that you want to know him at all makes him giddy. His fingers drum against his thighs, eyes creasing at the corners as he smiles beneath that veil and you wonder… wonder how the world could be cruel to someone like this at all when all that you want to do is bundle up with him beneath your thick quilts and kiss him in places only lovers would.

He doesn’t respond to your question, though. Another secret for some other time, you supposed. Instead, he asks his own, “Why are you so alone?”

König speaks freely, you knew that well enough but the words that escape his lips cause you to freeze all the same. His tone is neutral, not accusatory or mocking, but there’s something— something there you can’t properly uproot.

“I’m not lonely.” A little white lie couldn’t be too terrible, yet the thought of betraying your companion in even such a small way, hurting him like you assumed so many others had before is just unthinkable. “I am sometimes, but I like living here,” you correct.

“But you are alone,” he insists.

“I am not. You’re here.”

Your words are like a charm, really, and any rationale König may have had immediately dissipates when you speak them. He climbs over you, the chair creaking under your combined weight as he looks down at you with this hope-filled expression that tugs every one of your heartstrings at once. “Let me kiss you.”

His shallow breathing flutters his veil, the hunger in his eyes more than apparent, and you’ve the sense that a mere kiss would not suffice, turning into a long night with an impossible soreness between your thighs come morning.

You shake your head and he backs off immediately, returning to sit on the floor before you instead with a simple, “Okay.”

The room falls silent for a moment. You wanted to. You’ve been longing to. And yet the opportunity had gone and went; for any normal, sane person your rejection would have been enough. Weeks spent in his company should have taught you that König was a far cry from normal. The man treats you like you’re a doll, not a seasoned witch. Takes to hiding away from any company you may have and spends his nights outside in the dark wishing and failing to change what he was.

“If I tell you why I am not a knight will you kiss me?,” he tries again as you shift to sit upright in your seat.

“What? König, no… that’s not how—”

“I will court you,” he interjects quickly, rising to his feet to stare down at you. The man was practically buzzing with excitement, and you wonder if he intends to bolt out of the house right then to bring back ample gifts of flowers and fine silks just for a chance to mash his mouth against your own.

“You’re not here to court me,” you huff with a pinched brow. Stop making this harder! Why must you always make this harder?!

“I think about you at night.”

The giant professes his affections by telling you that he’s fucking his fist to the thought of you with all the simplicity of idle talk. Somehow, that seemed less alarming than the fact that you don’t even seem horrified. Words fail you when you desperately need them most, merely gaping up at him so dumbly you must have actually belayed interest, because he continues.

“In the river too.”

“König… that’s inappropriate,” you manage to find your voice then. You know that you’re a plaster saint, too, because the thought of bathing where he spreads his seed sends a swell of warmth from your tummy to the aching blossom between your legs.

“Ja, it is… why do you tease me? The way you look…” He trails off with a shake of his head, his blue eyes narrowing in confusion. He was trembling as though afraid, so violently you almost fear he’ll come crashing over you like an ocean wave. You would catch him, drown in salt water and foam, a curtain of sharp teeth and darkness.

He fidgets as he waits for an answer that never comes. What could you say? Admit that the way he feels is a mirror of yourself, that the two of you are only seconds from diving into a pool that you could never resurface from.

But just like before, König retreats up the shadowy staircase, up to his room. Another reprieve, another stone weighing heavy in the recesses of your mind.

— — —

Secrets are stupid, evil things you decide.

You’re staring into the glazed eyes of a dead buck as it stands before you on it’s hind legs. It’s head hangs limply from its broken neck, mouth gaping with each fragile intake of breath. It’s bloated belly leaks it’s own entrails as it takes a shaky step towards you, trying desperately to kick at you with the stiff limbs tucked against its chest.

“I don’t know how to make it go away,” König pants at your side, and despite his shallow, rapid breathing there’s this calm look in his eyes. This has happened before. This has happened before and to a far worse extent than a deer.

It makes sense, now, why something as trivial as casting a glamour simply didn’t work for König. The man was touched by something darker, something the King’s men would happily cut his head from his shoulders for. Necromancy was immoral and frankly, horrifying. Seeing it now, it was really no wonder why this sort of magic would send one directly to the headsman.

The deer huffs a breath, too long and ragged. It’s not used to breathing any more, after all. König steps between you two, his dagger raised. “Just… close your eyes.”

It’s over as quickly as it’s manifested and König does well at shielding you from the aftermath, your face pressed to his chest as he pulls you into his arms and walks you back home. What was meant to be a simple practicing session, resulted in chaos, and you’ve no words to give to fill the silence hanging over the two of you as he finally deposits you by the door.

You stand on shaking legs, a million questions swimming through your mind, but even as you part your lips to speak not a single sound comes out.

He looks exasperated when he finally remedies the quiet. “You’re afraid of me.” It’s not a question, only a resounding fact.

“No,” you lie immediately with a firm shake of your head.

“I will go.” König’s eyes are tired, always tired. He’s already slinking back towards the door when you reach for him, almost clawing at the length of his sleeve in your own desperation. If you were cursed this man was, tenfold, and you couldn’t bear the thought of sending him back out into a world that had hurt him so. One that would assuredly end his torment should this ever happen again. You don’t know whether you’re being merciful or selfish anymore; the definitions all a blur. You only know that the thought of König leaving your side feels like the ache of a thorn embedded in your heart.

“König, please— We can figure something out, we’ll make sure this doesn’t happen again,” you huff as you bury your face against his shoulder. He’s both tense and trembling beneath your warmth. “I just need time to think.”

He cocks his head, a resounding twinkle of mirth breaking through the listlessness in his eyes. “Why?”

König isn’t dull-witted. He knows the words you never have a chance to speak. No one’s ever held fast to his side like this; no one has ever truly wanted him.

You know that the second he pushes his veil up and presses his mouth to yours. It’s clumsy, the force he uses, as if he’s trying to headbutt you instead of give you his affection, but you reciprocate in turn. You breathe shakily against him when you finally bring yourself to part your lips and he immediately begins to languidly lap into your mouth, drawing his arms around you; one finding the base of your neck as the other settles on your lower back, his fingers digging into your velvet dress, bunching up the fabric enough to reveal the meat of your ass.

You both moan as though you’re already having sex, caught up in a tangle of limbs he tastes your mouth as though it were sweet wine; his tongue flicks against your own before pulling back, lapping at your lip, pushing back in in some steady repetition that makes your knees weaker. Your hands find the hem of his tunic, slipping beneath it to feel a wall of muscle layered over his abdomen and he groans into the kiss with such fervor you would think he’s already come. He tears the cloth off the second you thumb over his nipple and drops to his knees clutching at your thighs.

“I need to taste you.” He sounds so desperate, looks so pitiful as though he’ll cry if you don’t allow him to fuck you with his tongue. You’re too far gone to give him anything more than a nod, and he all-too-readily lifts the skirt of your dress, hooks his finger around the seat of your panties and buries his face between your thighs. The first sweeps of his tongue are almost punishing; he wastes no time plowing the muscle into your cunt, writhing and grinding it against your velvety walls. The sound is already obscene, but then he begins to moan.

He sounds even more desperate than those nights in his lonely room, somehow, as he paws at his own erection straining against his trousers and drives into your pussy at a feverish pace. When he finally moves to take your clit between his lips, you grasp at the top of his head to keep yourself upright, moaning so loudly you’re certain that the entire kingdom could hear. He hums, amused at this, places his hands on your ass and pushes your hips for you to grind against his tongue.

When he jerks your panties aside again to rub circles against your asshole, the tautly pulled coil inside of you finally snaps. You curl over him as you mewl, cradling his head as his tongue pushes against your labia and your slit to lap up every bit of your essence. He releases his grip on your ass as you tremble, strokes himself freely below you as he pants against your pulsing cunt. Graciously, he gives you a moment to recover before he’s rising to his feet, tearing off your ruined panties and lifting you in his arms just enough to rub his leaking tip against you, you give him a strangled cry of his name when his length brushes against your swollen clit.

“Let me fuck you,” he rasps, his eyes wide and pupils blown as you squirm in his arms. “Bitte. Please. Let me fuck you.”

“Yes— Please, please fuck me König,” you whine as your arms curl over his shoulders. He doesn’t hesitate when he lies you back against your rug and pushes your knees up to your chest. His fingers flex against your flesh at the sight of your pussy still twitching from aftershocks, soaked down to your ass and pleading to be filled by him. He drops a hand to spread your lips, groaning deeply from his chest as he watches in awe as the tip of his thick cock sinks into you.

You hadn’t realized just how dirty König was until you see that look in his eye, pulling his head out only to repeatedly push into you with a choked whine of sheer bliss. You hadn’t realized how filthy you were until you find yourself tucking your arms beneath your knees to keep yourself in position so he can grope at the flesh of your ass as he does it.

“So— fuck— so schön,” he mutters as he continues to tease you like this. It’s almost hell the way he still hadn’t filled you entirely when you ache to have that long, ugly pillar buried so far it’s bruising your very womb, and it’s almost heaven the way you squeeze against him with each shallow thrust, your pussy desperate to devour his weapon of flesh.

“König…” You’re breathing his name as though it were a prayer, and as though a gift from the heavens his calloused thumb begins to rub over your clit the moment he finally sinks himself into you. There’s resistance, your cunt wasn’t meant to take a cock so large, you’re certain, but he bottoms out after what feels like an eternity, parts your knees with one hand to see your face as he gasps. You take him all, enveloping him in a vise grip and he hissed something in his native tongue, a string of words you can only imagine are praise because the way he’s looking at you now is as if he’s found a goddess all for himself.

“I’m going to fill you,” he declares as he lowers himself atop you, his weight almost crushing. “I’m going to… feels so…” His words fall short as he begins to move, groping at one of your tits as his other hand remains over your mound, flicking your clit. König’s fingers trace against your nipple before pinching it just hard enough to draw a choked mewl from you as your back arches. “Ja, liebling… you need it..”

His pace picks up, thumb deftly rolling over your clit until you spasm around his cock. It’s savage, the fervor he puts into fucking into you, grinding the tip of his cock against your cervix until you cry out, only to draw back enough to bully against your g-spot until you shiver. Your orgasm hits you so unexpectedly and so hard your bite down on your lip enough to draw blood. König licks at your mouth as your sex pulses around him, groaning in tandem with your pretty cries.

He trails small kisses along your throat before biting down as his own climax hits. He alternates between spitting out words that sound like pure venom and moans that make him sound weak as he gives you one more thrust. His cock twitches so violently inside of you as he presses against your cervix your mind entirely blanks. You can’t tell if it’s his semen or your own slick spilling past his cock, painting your thighs when it all ends. You hang limply against him as he carries you over to the chair, keeping you plugged as he pulls you into his lap.

He fully unclothes you as he peppers your face and neck in sweet, open-mouthed kisses, pets you from the crown of your skull down to your back, brings a hand around your waist to pull you close as his other squeezes and squishes at your breasts. König’s gaze is adoring as your eyes meet his, he’s looking at you with a love you’ve never even known, the warmth of summer somehow still present in those eyes like glaciers.

“Will you stay?,” you force yourself to ask as if the answer isn’t already clear, his cock’s still buried in you and the man seemed utterly in love after merely having a sweaty, adrenaline addled session.

König presses his face into your hair, nuzzling at you as he kisses your temple. “You want me to stay?” He sounds bewildered, so fucking broken that he’s confused by the prospect anyone would even want him around, even if he just gave her the best fuck she’s ever had, even if she’s been staring at him adoringly since he found his way to her door.

“Of course I want you to stay!”

“Then… Ja, I will.”

It’s a declaration of love, in a sense.

König drops his hands to your hips as he kisses you again. The desperation has been strangled, buried someplace in your core. It’s sweet now when his kisses become sloppy and overwhelming. He shifts below you as he maneuvers your hips to grind against him, his length already hardening within you again. He noses at your jaw and pressed kisses to your cheeks when you take a moment to breathe. You curl your arms around him and bury your face into the crook of his neck as your ride him, the both of you moaning soft and panting against sweaty flesh. He finishes inside of you once more just as you lift his veil and kiss along his scars.

He bathed you in the river, carrying you down to the rocky shore as though you were a treasure, his hand stroking through your hair as the water laps over your bodies. It’s not enough to simply hold you, either, because one bath becomes two after he’s bent you over a stump and licked you to completion again before rutting into you like an animal.

Nights are no longer spent with a wall between, he takes to your bed without question, ensures you’re comfortable and warm as he holds you through the night. There’s a sort of desperation in you both, two outsiders that have finally found sanctuary in one another.

“I love you.” Followed by: “I love you.”

You’re not entirely sure who says it first.

— — —

“A deer?”

There’s a man in your home that you don’t recognize, looking you over as though you were well-bred cattle rather than a human being at all. Says he’s concerned about a potential necromancer after something foul slipped its way past the castle walls and paraded itself through an annual ball, sullying a few too-expensive and uncomfortably layered dresses and goring a man with its antlers.

König was seated in front of him, rigid with a forced calm you had never seen on him before, hands clasped and unmoving. You know he’s nervous anyway, his shallow breathing speaks volumes for what the veil keeps from you. You round the table to bring them both tea, trying your best to play the part of indifference as the two men speak.

König had said he didn’t know how to make it go away, and of course he didn’t, because how do you kill something that’s already died? Neither of you would have anticipated it finding its way there of all places, and in retrospect, you’re not even certain that the thought came to mind at all, you had lost yourselves in one another the moment you arrived home. Seeing as you both were the only magic-touched folks roving these woods, it was obvious why The Guild had sent this creep to question you.

“Yes. A large buck, it was,” the man continues, winking at you as he takes a sip of the warm liquid in the mug. You wished you had poisoned it, ridding the world of a man that made your skin crawl like this surely wouldn’t be too sinful. Looking to König, you realize that there’s no need for poisons, because the look in his eyes suggests that before this interrogation is over your rug will have a more stubborn stain than spilled potions and come.

“We use green magic,” you chime in flatly, giving König a moment to quiet his fury as the man turns his attention back to you. “Maybe a traveler slipped into the kingdom, it has nothing to do with König and myself. Why are you here?”

If he hadn’t already told you a thousand times earlier that morning when he took you in the garden, laid you down in a bed of blue and purple wildflowers, König would have told you he loved you right then. You were true, protecting him and risking your own head as well.

“That’s the thing,” the man begins with a laugh entirely devoid of amusement. “Your apprentice here was under similar scrutiny while he was in service to the king. A dead man brought back to life…” he waves his hand as he speaks, staring up at the ceiling as though he’s recounting poetry instead of listing the reasoning why he wanted to have your lover decapitated. “… killed ten good knights. We never suspected him at the time, but all of this…” He shrugs his shoulders and raises his brow, looking somehow even more insufferable than before.

You cross the room to gather the letter signed off by The Guild, detailing your apprentice’s arrival and thrust it into the man’s face. “He would have never passed any sort of eligibility exam if that were the case, and you sent him here.”

The man takes the letter with a click of his tongue before he laughs again. “We didn’t,” he says as he taps the signature at the bottom, hardly a signature at all, only a messy scrawl, the guild master’s name even spelled incorrectly.

König didn’t meet your gaze when you looked to him then.

You made a promise to him you would figure this all out, and you would. You just needed to buy some time, slip some wolfsbane into his tea—

“On behalf of The Guild, I do apologize for the trouble this monster has caused…”

There is no time.

“I’ll be sure that he and his rotting pets are disposed of prop—“

You’re clutching at the dagger König had left on the side table without even thinking it over, fingers curled so tightly around the grip, your knuckles felt alight. The man’s voice is silenced the moment he notices as he takes a wary step away from you. It’s not, really, that you could ever even see yourself taking a life, you never have, but the thought of losing König over a horrible chance in the stars that some uncaring god cursed him with makes bile crawl up the back of your throat and white hot fury course through your veins with all the subtlety of a stampede.

It wasn’t his fault.

König places himself between the two of you and curls his arm around you protectively. If lying for him hadn’t already resigned you to the same fate, drawing the dagger assuredly had. He gently pries the dagger from your hand and tucks your face against his chest, just as he had before when he tried to correct the accidental gift of life he had bestowed to the deer, only this time… you feel the pull of his muscles, you hear sounds of the dagger meeting it’s mark as he cuts through the interrogator’s tender flesh. It takes mere seconds for you to know his blade has struck true, the dying man eliciting a weak gurgling cry from his torn throat as König drops the dagger to the floor with a clatter and strokes your hair.

He makes you stand outside while he cleans up his mess.

A sane woman would run, she would count her losses and look back on her time spent with this unhinged man with criticism. You find that you are not a sane woman when you realize the tears falling freely down your cheeks are not of fear or anger at your own situation, but at the knowledge that he’s suffered being shunned on his own for so long; that he’s killed without remorse because this is what it takes for someone like him to survive at all.

When he finally returns from burying the body and scrubbing the blood from your floor, you readily embrace him and he nuzzles into your hair.

“Es tut mir leid,” he huffs out against you, pulling you so close to him you think, pray, he’ll never let go. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” It’s not and you both know it, but you reassure him with your words and soft kisses to his cheeks as he wipes away your tears. “We can not stay here.”

We. Us. Together.

Something breaks in him at your words, and he shuts his eyes tightly to fight back the tears like claws at his eyes.

“So, tell me where we’ll go.”

He tells you of a place he read about in a book, somewhere across the sea and past a stretch of hills where the accidents he may cause won’t have him looked upon like a monster, where you can love one another in comfort, a place he’s dreamed about since he was a boy and found out just what he was when he reanimated his mother’s beloved cat. He tells you of his father’s cruelty, that a cat’s claws aren’t the only thing that’s left him riddled with scar tissue.

He tells you everything as you pack your things and begin a long walk to a shoddy harbor by the sea, his hand in your own as your board the ship to a new home, a new beginning.

#könig #konig #konig x you #könig x you #könig x reader #konig x reader #konig fanfiction #cod fanfic #könig fanfiction #cod fanfiction

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prythianpages · 10 months ago

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Catching Fire | Eris x Reader

summary: When word of Sawyer's nightly endeavors reaches Beron, he summons you both to his office. Meanwhile, Eris is away on a secret mission where he discovers a troubling truth about you.

warnings: violence, mentions of blood and homophobia (bc Beron is an asshole toward his son); A hint of dark Eris torturing your father

a/n: This is part five to my Like An Angel Series, where Eris falls in love with his brother's betrothed. I do try to write each imagine as a stand alone but I don't think this one can.

Eris moves with silent grace as he steps out from the shadows and into the grounds of your family’s home. His father had sent him to Dawn to handle some unfinished business with Nuan so of course, he took advantage and paid the Night Court a visit too. Now, on his way back home, he decided to stop and pay your father a surprise visit.

Determination burns bright in his eyes as he observes the guards patrolling the perimeter. He reaches for his bow and arrow, placing an enchantment over the sound. Each arrow released is laced with a poison, weak so it doesn’t kill but strong enough to knock someone out for hours. A slight smirk plays at the corner of his lips as the guards fall one by one.

Given his status, he knows he could’ve requested to see your father at the gates and easily been granted it. But it’s important that no one but your father knows of his visit.

Eris allows the moonlight to guide him down the cobblestone path, leading to the entrance of your house. He uses his magic to unlock the front door and slips in.

The hour is late but Eris keeps his senses on high alert, in case there are still servants lurking through the halls. Your house is great and vast, adorned with expensive furniture and sculptures. One would think this was a lord’s house and not a merchant’s. He can’t help but notice the fabrics wrapped around some furniture and the random boxes littering the floors. Some boxes are filled with stuff, others still empty. Almost as if your father is planning to move.

He stops for a brief moment when he finds himself in the sitting room. Torches line the walls, enveloping the room in a dim glow. It’s bright enough to discern the family portrait hanging on top of the mantelpiece. Immediately, his eyes are drawn to you. A softness envelops his features, his heart skipping a beat.

It’s only been a couple of days since he had to leave the Forest house and he misses you already.

As he looks at the painting, he admires how the artist managed to capture the brightness of your presence well. Beside you stands an older female, unmistakably your mother. The resemblance between the two of you is striking and the notable absence of resemblance in all ways to the male seated in the portrait leaves Eris feeling a sense of relief.

He forces himself to carry on, tearing his gaze off the painting. His keen senses guide him down a certain hallway and as he walks forward, he takes in every detail. It becomes apparent that the portrait in the sitting room must have been the most recent, for older depictions of your family adorn the walls of the hallway he traverses, each one offering a glimpse of you through the ages.

When he finally reaches the door he was looking for, he takes a deep breath and then reaches for the handle.

Casting a glance toward Lady Raelynn, you take a deep breath and then mimic her stance. True to her words, she had taken it upon herself to teach you how to shoot a bow and arrow. Her movements are graceful and effortless as she notches an arrow onto her bow.

“You’re so good at this,” you say in admiration when the arrow hits its target.

“I’ve had centuries of practice, my dear,” Lady Raelynn smiles warmly at you, easing her stance. Though subtle, a hint of sadness flickers in her russet eyes once more, causing a pang of guilt to tighten your brow.

During your first practice session, you had asked her why she pursued archery, dancing around the real question you had meant to ask…How did Beron allow it? Considering the strict standards of the Autumn Court, you're certain that archery wasn't deemed appropriate for ladies such as yourselves.

Her answer had been short and simple, “it saved my life once.” You’ve heard some stories from the war centuries ago, how Lady Raelynn’s family estate was attacked by Hybern’s forces and she was the only one to escape. You didn’t ask any questions after that, sensing it was a sensitive topic.

“Your turn.”

You nod and then steady yourself. This time, you’re relieved to find your hands steady, lacking the nervous tremble that plagued previous sessions. Slowly, you draw the string of your bow back and then release. It sails through the air, missing the target by a small margin. With a sigh, you lower your bow. You were so close.

“Is that the best you got?”

Your head whips around. You recognize the voice but still, you can’t help but hope maybe you heard wrong. Reality deflates your hope as your gaze falls upon a disheveled Sawyer. Some irrational part of you had been clinging to the hope that it was Eris. Even though he had left a note for you in the book he promised to bring you, telling you he would be gone for a week. The note had burst into ashes after you read it but the words he had written were still engraved in your mind.

Angel, I’m afraid I have some business to partake in for the next week. Allow my book to keep you company and reach out to my mother, should you need help. Until then, I’ll be thinking about you and those sweet lips of yours.

-E

Sawyer lets out a tut in disapproval, pulling you out of your thoughts. He seats himself on one of the lawn chairs in the gardens, squinting at the blinding light of the sun. His hair is a mess, bags under his eyes are heavy and the clothes he wears are wrinkled and not fitting for a male of his status. If High Lord Beron could see him now, you fear what would become of him.

“Sawyer.” Lady Raelynn says in what appears to be a warning, a frown etching onto her features as she takes in the sight of her son.

Your nose crinkles as the stench of alcohol and something else reaches you. He must’ve gone out. Again. When you had bargained with Sawyer and offered to cover for his night endeavors, you hadn’t expected how frequent they would be. Sawyer was becoming reckless, as if each night closer to your wedding drove him further and further into despair. You weren’t handling it well either. The judgmental looks sent your way often followed by scoffs and rude comments as you walked around the Autumn estate weren’t helping your situation.

“What a shame,” they’d say. “I heard Sawyer hates her.”

“There must be something wrong with her. Or him.”

“Clearly, she’s not worthy. I doubt she’ll last long.”

Your fingers tighten against your bow. You didn’t care that Sawyer had no interest in you nor for the rumors that circled around him of his preferences. It was the fact that he was being careless with his actions and you worried about what it would mean for the both of you, if the High Lord finds out.

Sawyer’s lips tug up into a smirk. He leans back onto the chair, grabbing a ripe red apple from the basket of fruit laid out on the table beside him. With newfound focus and determination, you raise your bow. You’re thinking before even acting, and in the blink of an eye, the arrow is soaring. It pierces straight through the apple in Sawyer’s grasp, sending it flying and pinning it to a nearby tree.

“I was going to eat that!”

Your eyes widen in surprise, the bow falling from your grasps and onto the floor. You didn’t miss. Your mouth parts, the beginning of an apology about to roll off your tongue. Not toward Sawyer but toward Lady Raelynn.

“Good aim,” she says before you can even speak, soothing your worry.

She then approaches Sawyer, a disapproving look on her face. She brushes his hair back and gives a small tug, tilting his head to look up at her. “Please go bathe and freshen up before anyone else sees you. Or worse, your father.”

Hurried footsteps draw near and immediately, a tight knot twists in your stomach as a servant who cannot look any of you in the eyes comes forth. She keeps her head bow, shaky hands clasped before her.

“High Lord Beron requests Lord Sawyer’s and Lady Y/n’s presence.”

It's already too late.

Eris’s teeth clench as he reads over a letter that had been left in an open box atop your father’s desk. It’s a letter addressed to his father and as his eyes skim through the page, he feels a dark heat seeping into his bones.

Dear High Lord Beron,

By the time this letter reaches you, I will be far out from your grasp. I sense you’ll be angry but I urge you to not bother looking for me. The thing you seek most is already with you. It’s been with you all this time, coursing through my daughter’s veins. The essence of the sundrop flower lives within her. Not the original intention but when my wife found out I planned to sell it to the highest bidder, she decided to foolishly take matters into her own hands.

Attached to this letter is a journal where I’ve kept all records of the sundrop flower and my daughter. Do with this information as you will. She’s all yours now.

Best wishes,

Jareth

Eris's hands are immediately reaching out for the journal that lies in the box, fingers tightening around it so harshly his knuckles are turning white. He opens it, eyes skimming over the pages and reads just enough to know what’s so precious about this sundrop flower.

When he closes the book, he’s furious. It was no surprise to him to confirm that your father was not a good male. However, it was surprising that he sold you, his one and only daughter, out. He probably killed your mother, too. With the journal still in his hand, he quietly finds and sneaks his way to your father’s room with an urge to seek out more answers.

The sun is beginning to rise when Eris makes himself comfortable on the grand armchair. It had originally been facing the window but he moved it to face your father, who was currently still sleeping. A muscle in his jaw tightens at the peaceful expression on your father’s face.

Not wanting to waste any more time, his magic yanks the covers off from your father. Your father jumps to wakefulness with a startle, eyes wide and frantic as he sits up in bed. The blood leaves his face as he spots Eris.

The heir to the Autumn Court reclines on the armchair as if it were his throne. There’s an air of practiced arrogance around him. He’s dressed in a fine suit, every thread woven with the finest fabrics of deep navy, highlighting the richness of his crimson hair that cascades around his broad shoulders. His amber eyes, gleaming with an unsettling intensity, pierce through the dimly lit room with an almost predatory glint.

“Call for help and I’ll slit your throat.”

“Lord Eris,” your father breathes, blinking back at him in surprise. His gaze lowers to where Eris’s ring clad fingers tap on the journal in his lap. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I came to relay a message from my father. I’m sure you’re well familiar with his impatience. But then, I found this,” Eris says, holding up the letter he found and taking pleasure in the fear that flashes through your father’s eyes. “Planning on going somewhere?”

It’s eerily quiet as you and Sawyer step into the High Lord’s office. You pray to the Cauldron that the glamor Sawyer placed over himself is strong enough to mask the evidence of whatever he got himself into last night. But as you turn around to face Beron, your heart sinks to your stomach. The pure anger simmering in those brown eyes of his is enough to let you know he sees right through it.

“Father, I can–”

You flinch, curling into yourself as a loud cracking sound echoes through the room followed by the sound of Sawyer’s body falling to the ground. He grunts in pain, struggling as he turns on his side to sit up. But a sharp kick from Beron sends him back to the floor, his head banging against the floor.

“You continue to disgrace this family,” Beron seethes with another powerful kick and you hear something crack. “Tarnishing the family name I spent centuries bringing up! Where is duty? Where is honor?”

Sawyer’s brown eyes light with an indignant fire. “Fuck honor,” he manages to spit out, setting Beron alight.

Tears sting at your eyes as you watch the scene unfold before you in horror. You knew the High Lord of the Autumn Court was cruel and violent. But this? And toward his own blood? This was unforgivable. Unjust and absolutely terrifying. It confirmed all your suspicions over the bruises and scars you'd seen on Eris.

Oh, Eris.

A scream catches in your throat and your entire body freezes as Beron continues to unleash his wrath on his son.

“I’ve been generous in offering you a solution and you dare make a mockery out of it?”

“There is no solution for who I am,” Sawyer cries defiantly, despite the blood trickling from his mouth.

The hurt, the agony in his voice tears at your heart–

“I dare curse the Cauldron for making you the way it did!”

“I don’t.” You’re taken aback at the firmness of your own voice.

Beron turns to you sharply, your words reminding him of your presence. You swallow thickly but stand your ground as he walks toward you. While Sawyer has not been the kindest to you, he does not deserve any of this. If anything, you now understand him more. Why your marriage came to be, why Sawyer hates you. It has your heart aching for all the suffering he must’ve endured and is still currently living through.

“You,” he hisses with a pointed finger. “You just marked your death sentence.”

Fear creeps into your heart and a sickening smirk begins to form on the High Lord’s face. He can sense the terror filling your veins. Still, you hold his gaze, though it’s threatening to burn you alive at any given moment.

“You’re undeserving of all the blessings the Cauldron has bestowed upon you," you say.

A harsh slap sends a stinging pain to your face. Your body stumbles backward but Beron holds you steady, gripping onto your arm. His nails cut through the thin fabric of your gown and pierce into your skin. His other hand grips your face sharply by the chin as he studies you.

“What a terrible disappointment you are. I would kill you right now but much to my discontent, I have to wait until after the wedding,” he threatens and then lets out a dark chuckle that sends shivers down your spine. The way he’s looking at you. You’re almost sure he’s thinking of all the ways he’ll enjoy torturing you to death. Your body is screaming internally in panic and there’s a strange sensation stirring in the depths of your chest.

“You could’ve had it all, you know? What every female of your status wishes for. Money, jewels, a good family name."

“No,” Sawyer groans out, keeling over. “None of this is her fault. It’s all mine. I was careless. Eris warned me but I threatened her to stay silent.”

You release a breath you didn’t know you were holding as Beron releases his cruel grip on you. He turns back to Sawyer, who remains on the floor and you’re quick to come between them. A foolish move but you worry Sawyer doesn’t have it in him to take any more blows. Nor do you want him to.

“I do not care who is at fault for I am putting the blame on both of you anyway. But,” Beron pauses to lift a finger. “Let this be clear to you both that this is a warning. One more mishap from either one of you and it’s over. You think you know pain? I will have you longing for something as sweet as pain.”

Beron looks over at you both, delighted in the sight of your trembling form and his son, who remains on the ground. Bleeding. He’d say his message is pretty clear but just in case...

“Oh. One more thing,” he says as he makes his way toward the door. His hand grasps the door knob but he pauses, wanting to make sure you hear his next words well.

“There will be a bedding ceremony at your wedding.”

Eris wasn’t above inflicting pain onto your father. He meant it when he said he’d do anything to keep you safe. What a harsh twist of fate it was that the person who helped bring you into this world was also the same person content with you leaving it.

Your father didn’t deserve you. Eris feared he, himself, did not deserve you either. But he’d be damned, if he allowed the ruthless hand of fate to have you at its grasps.

This thought crosses his mind as he gazes down at your own father’s hands. Eris had brought your father to his study, forcing him to sit at his desk while the Autumn heir loomed over his shoulder like an oncoming storm of darkness.

His hands reach for his belt, where he keeps his favorite dagger sheathed at all times. “What hand do you write with?”

Jareth’s body tenses. He turns his head to look up at Eris with wary eyes. “My right, my Lord,” he replies with quiet hesitancy.

“Good,” Eris says. The only warning Jareth got before Eris brought his dagger down, piercing through your father’s hands. He muffles his scream with his free hand as he twists the dagger further into his skin. “That means you won’t need your left hand anymore.”

“Here’s what I need you to do if you wish to live.” Eris roughly pulls Jareth’s head taut to his chest, forcing his gaze upwards. The hand at Jareth’s mouth lifts and finds its place against his throat. Eris gives a tight squeeze in warning.

“I need you to write a letter to your daughter. Confess the truth. Apologize for all the wrongs you’ve done. Then, you pray to the Mother that y/n has it in her to forgive you… because I sure as hell never will.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Jareth mutters hurriedly, desperate to live. His right hand shakes as it finds his quill, eyes glistening with fright under the intense gaze of Eris.

How pathetic, Eris sneers quietly as he sits himself on the chair directly across from Jareth. Though small, he needed to put some distance between them both. He fears if he didn’t, the primal instinct urging him to protect and defend you would consume him whole.

Eris leans back into the chair, bringing the journal filled with details of your father’s twisted experiment with you to his gaze. Every so often, he casts a glance toward your father, who continues to scribble words down with haste. The more and more he learns of the truth, the more it sickens him. And the more he wishes to give in to that primal instinct, to unleash the beast that lurks deep within him.

But he knows how much it’d hurt you if he killed your father. Even if your father deserved it. Ironically, Eris can only pray to the Mother himself that you would find it in you to forgive him for what he has planned for your father instead.

After what feels like an eternity, Jareth lets out a deep exhale. “Done.”

Eris lifts his gaze, slowly taking in the sight of your father like the calm before the storm. The older male’s face has turned ashen, coated with a sheen layer of sweat that Eris can scent.

The Autumn heir rises from his seat, leaning over to take a brief look at the contents of the letter. The corner of his lips lift into a sinister smirk.

“Looks like you won’t be needing your right hand either.”

Eris watches from a distance, bright flickering flames casting an eerie reflection in the darkness of his eyes. Your house is catching fire with a ferocity that thirsts to devour everything in its path. The letter your father had written to you is secured into the breast pocket of his coat along with the journal.

It all makes sense to him now. Why on that night he rushed to comfort you, you had not been concerned at all with your bleeding hand. Why the scar on his lower abdomen had magically disappeared after you touched it that same night. Why the yellow flower you had embroidered and proudly showed him looked familiar. Why your father would refer to you as a flower a lot. Why his father was obsessed with obtaining it for himself.

The sundrop flower surged through your veins.

A long, long time ago, it was whispered that a solitary drop from the Cauldron had spilled over in what is now known as the Dawn Court, giving birth to the radiant sundrop. The golden flower was no ordinary bloom as it possesses the ability to heal any ailment or injury. It blooms at a different location within the Dawn Court every fifth century or so. A phenomenon carefully overseen by the reigning High Lord of Dawn. As it is rumored that whoever beholds the flower is immortal, for nothing can harm or kill them.

Eris has no idea how your parents managed to not only find but obtain the flower before Thesan could. The sundrop is a divine creation, blessed by the Cauldron itself. A divine creation whose essence is intertwined with your very being. As Eris’s thoughts drift back to you, he feels a stirring deep in his chest.

His hand instinctively reaches for his heart, his breath catching as a tumultuous wave of emotions washes over him. Fear, panic, anger—all swirling within him. Yet not his own. No, these emotions are coming from you, echoing loudly through the bond.

A sense of foreboding settles over him. Something is terribly wrong.

a/n: Sorry for the lack of Eris x reader interactions in this one and the lack of softness this series usually holds but it was necessary to build up to the future parts. The next part will make up for it. Hope you still enjoyed! and also hoped you enjoyed the continued Tangled references lol and the one quote from the Avengers as well as some House of Dragon ones. I know a lot of information was dropped in this part so if you have any questions, just let me know. There's just three more parts to this and the bond snapping for reader is coming soon 👀

tagging: @fabulouslyflamboyant5 @fxckmiup @stormhearty @skyesayshi @sfhsgrad-blog @crazylokonugget @evergreenlark @secretlyhers @mybestfriendmademe @ib525, @96jnie, @kennedy-brooke, @scooobies, @sillysillygoose444, @lilah-asteria, @glitterypirateduck @thatsassyhufflepuff @acourtofbatboydreams, @mal-adaptive-dreams, @dandelionfairyyy

if you asked to be tagged and I didn't, please know it was a mistake and just let me know again so I can add you!

you can find a sneak peak to the next part here

#eris x reader #eris x you #eris x y/n #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra x you #eris vanserra x y/n #eris vanserra imagine #eris vanserra fanfic #acotar imagines #acotar x reader #acotar fanfiction #eris vanserra angst

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invisible-lint · 8 months ago

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Everything Could Be Okay: Prologue

Andras x Reader

Summary: a prologue for what will be a Rhys x Tamlin's sister!reader

Warnings: angst! very brief mention of pregnancy loss

Word Count: 1,078

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

You knew you were already too late. You could feel it in the ache of your legs. The pounding of your heart. The breath panting through your lips as you race through the trees. He had made his decision, sending another to tell you, worried that seeing you again would change his mind. You knew that you couldn’t stop him, but perhaps you could at least say goodbye.

Your dress catches on a branch, tearing, but you heed it no mind as you keep running as your destination comes into sight. Two sets of eyes fall upon you.The green eyes of your brother, filled with pity. The gray eyes of your husband, filled with regret. Your brother nods before stepping away, giving the two of you the moment you so desperately need. You throw yourself at your husband, clinging to his tunic, the silver that had been rimming your eyes finally spilling over.

"Don't do it. Don't leave me," you sob.

He says nothing, gently brushing the tears away from your eyes, somehow managing to keep his own at bay.

"Andras. Please," you beg.

He speaks finally. "You know I must. For the Spring Court. For Prythian."

"To Hell with the Spring Court! To Hell with Prythian! I need you!" You pause for a moment, voice growing soft as your hand finds your stomach, cradling the babe growing inside. "We need you."

He places a hand over yours. "That's why I must go. There is so little time left and I will not let my child live in a world that's been corrupted by Her. I cannot bear the thought of it. It may be a fool's errand but it is the only thing that I can think of that might save our child. Save you."

You nod, a fresh wave of tears leaving you unable to speak.

He holds you for a moment, wishing it could be different. Wishing there was a way he could protect you without sacrificing himself. A way to live and see his child born. But there was not and so he must. He breathes in deeply, taking in your scent for the last time and kisses you on the forehead before stepping away and nodding at the other male.

Somehow, you manage to stay on your feet as he leaves you, watching the magic that transforms your love. You walk over to the wolf that stands in his place, placing a hand on either side of his muzzle before pressing a parting kiss there. The wolf gives you one last longing look before slipping through the hole in the wall.

You drop to the forest floor as your legs finally give out, sobs wracking your body. Your brother sinks down next to you, pulling you into his arms, holding you tight. As if by holding you he could prevent the shattering of your heart.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, voice cracking. "I tried to talk him out of it. Tried to convince him to stay..."

You ignore him, too focused on your own broken heart to listen to him try to make himself feel better. He picks you up then, standing to carry you home. If you can call it that anymore when such a vital piece of it is now gone forever.

You were in the gardens the day he died. Wandering aimlessly, fiddling with the gold ring hanging on the chain around your neck. You felt it as he drew his dying breath. Perhaps you had been mates after all. Perhaps this was as close as you'd ever get to feeling that bond, that golden thread that would never be, emptiness filling your chest as you sink to the ground amongst the roses. If it had snapped, could you have convinced him to stay? Could you have convinced him that you needed him, needed the other half of your soul? A hollowness fills your chest where you had always imagined the bond might form linking you to him. But it never did. Emotions burn in your throat, and somewhere someone screams. It’s a raw, primal sound filled with grief. Could that be you? You’ve retreated so far into yourself that you don’t even know anymore. Your hand falls to your stomach where it will swell with child, curling around yourself to protect the babe, as if this grief is an enemy you need to protect them from.

You’re not sure how long you lay there, curled in on yourself, feeling everything and nothing at the same time. You knew this day was coming. He may as well have been dead the day he crossed the wall and went into the human lands. You press his ring to your lips, the gold band cool from the night air.

It is not your brother who finds you, but Lucien. He picks you up, carrying you into the house that no longer feels like a home. He carries you to your room, tucking you into your bed. He sits next to you, stroking the hair back from your face just like your mother had when you would wake from a nightmare as a child. But there was no waking from this one. He tells you how Tamlin is already going to find Andras’ killer to see if his death has brought the hope we so desperately need. You pray to the Mother, hoping that it hasn’t all been for nothing. And as your eyes grow heavy, the grief finally dragging you down into sleep, you hear as Lucien softly sings a lullaby his mother sang to him as a child.

Months have passed when you wake with a start, tears streaming down your face. You'd dreamt of the forest again. Of losing your love, your home, your soul. Your dream followed him into the mortal lands, to where the human girl had shot him with the ash arrow. You had asked her about it, needing to know. Needing to know if he had been in pain. If he had suffered.

Your hand falls to where your child should be growing, letting the tears stream down your face as you stare up at the canopy of your bed. He had done it. Andras had been successful and now the rest was up to your brother. He just had to get the human girl to fall in love with him and your husband's sacrifice would not be in vain. Everything you lost would mean something. And maybe, one day, everything could be okay again.

Chapter 1

A/N: This is my first fic with more planned! If you liked it feel free to send a request!

Thanks @azsazz for inspiring me to give fic writing a try!

divider by: @tsunami-of-tears

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar imagine #maasverse #fanfiction #imagine #acotar x reader #acotar x you #andras x reader #rhys acotar #rhysand x reader #acotar fic

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bones4thecats · 11 months ago

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How Did They Meet TWST Bruno! S/O?

Type of Writing: #5 - Poll Result Characters: Rook Hunt, Che'nya, Neige LeBlanche, and Idia Shroud Name: How Did They Meet TWST Bruno! S/O? Original Poll Link: Here

A/N: This is such a random mixture of characters, lol

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

🏹 He had heard about you through many different rumors

🏹 You were a brand-new member of Diasomnia, in the same year as he was, and there were many different students running rumors around that you had the ability to see the future

🏹 Rook got interested after hearing about how powerful you were, but, due to how dangerous you seemed, nobody dared mention your name

🏹 This guy pretty much has zero fear in his body, so, one day, he left Pomefiore and set his sights on going to the one place he knew you'd be; Ramshackle

🏹 He knew many things about you, mainly from watching you, an he understood that whenever you overheard someone talking about you, you would go into the nearby woods of the run-down dorm and mess around with the rodents

🏹 Or you'd go inside and hang around with the Prefect, and, by what Rook had asked them, they gave you the best words, saying how kind you were

🏹 And they also mentioned how uncomfortable you were around a bunch of people, since you grew up very isolated due to your ability and people from your hometown viewing you as a 'monster' and 'cursed'

🏹 Rook lunged down from a tree, a small rat crawling on his hand, and once he saw you jump back and begin hyperventilating, he chuckled and walked up to you, pushing open your palms, and laid the small rodent in your hands

" I suspected this little rongeuse was yours, Voyant du Futur! Also, I thought of an amazing name for her little chiots! What do you think of Apolline? "

Rongeuse - Rodent (F) / Voyant du Futur - Seer of the Future / Chiots - Pups

😸 As a new member of the dorm that was opposing Diasomnia, you were rumored by many in both schools of being a 'hidden demon'

😸 Che'nya, much like Rook, gained interest in you when you realized how close you were to your dorm's head, who in-turn was close to his dorm leader, and then him

😸 One day, he had gotten into a hint of a mess after the Noble Bell College incident, and he was walking around the school, contemplating on what he should do or who he should mess around with

😸 And that was when he stumbled across Royal Sword Academy's equivalent of the mirror-chambers, he remembered the rumors he had heard about you, and he set his sights on your dorm's mirror

😸 He stumbled through the passageway and looked up at the castle your fellow members, and you, rested inside

😸 And, using his unique magic to become invisible, the trickster began to stroll around the surroundings

😸 Che'nya walked into the forest and began to look around for you, using his beastman hearing to figure out where you were, and, eventually he caught up on the low cooing of yours

😸 By the time he had followed a duo of rats, he had gone into an open-field deep inside the wooden-area, and this was one that not many had gone into, some say that at the cottage within, the Sleeping Princess stayed until she grew old with her prince

😸 He watched as the rats crawled inside through the old and broken walls and he sighed as he waited, and once he heard the door open and your voice emerge, he lunged upside down, setting his magic off and scared you to your core

" Great Sevens! Who are you? Oh no, please don't tell me Hambregrande and Aura did something bad again! Wait, why am I asking you that, did you guys do something bad? " " Oh no! I'm not here for them, Y/N! I'm here because of the rumors swirling about the campus! Would you care to answer those for me? "

🐦 Like the previous two, Neige had heard about you through rumors and campus-legends, you were the youngest in a pure-magical family, but you were cast aside just because of your ability

🐦 He had wanted to meet you for so long, but, he hasn't had the chance, what with the VDC and whatnot getting pushed into his schedule

🐦 But, when he finally got some breathing room, Neige had wiggled his way out of the sight of the seven brothers and began to sneak his way towards your dorm

🐦 You resided in the dorm that the Sleeping Princess made, and he understood how dangerous you may be, since you were rumored to have gone to Night Raven College, their rival school, for your first year, before transferring over with your cousin's efforts

🐦 The naive-boy had snuck through their mirror-chamber and through your dorm's mirror, before asking a friendly pigeon for some guidance to where you were

🐦 He's grateful he can speak to animals well right now

🐦 As the white-bird flew through the woods, Neige followed, and once the bird landed on a branch and pointed with its beak, he looked through the branches and leaves and saw you sitting there with a rat

🐦 He had been told by many people to never touch such a disgusting creature, since they harbored diseases and were overall just gross, but, seeing you just talk to them like humans made his heart swoon

" Excuse me? "

🐦 You jumped back, and your rats swarmed onto your back and crawled onto your head, trying to calm you down, oh, why did he just come out of nowhere, he should've made some noise to aware you!

" I'm Neige! Neige- " " LeBlanche, yes, uhm- I know you well from my cousin, Merrion. He says you're an amazing person... " " Oh! I suppose you could say that, I mean- I don't want to sound narcissistic, sorry! But, are you perhaps Y/N? " " Yeah?... W-why? " " I just wished to meet you, to see if the rumors were true and all! So, could you answer some for me? Or, if you don't want to, you don't have to! It's fine! "

🐦 Oh, how was he going to recover from this?

🎮 Idia was not very amused when a rat crawled into his room to grab something, what was it? Why, it was a little piece of metal that he needed to fix-up Ortho's arm

🎮 He hid himself inside his hoodie as he ventured outside, and he was getting even more nervous as he neared the mirror room and he watched as it crawl through the one that lead to Ramshackle

🎮 Thanking the Great Sevens for it not being something like Octavinelle or Pomefiore, Idia followed suite

🎮 And while he was still nervous of running into somebody like Grim there, he had to push his thought behind himself, after all, he knew how much Ortho needed his arm repaired

" Where did you get this, Astilla? "

🎮 Cue frozen Idia

🎮 He had heard about you so much, you could supposedly see the future just at random or by doing some kind of ritual, like one of those witches inside of his video games or animes he watches

🎮 This guy literally began to contemplate going back to his dorm and using a piece of wood to fix Ortho's arm

🎮 But, before that happened, a rat tapped on his show, making him scream and cover his mouth, and once he saw you jump back and scream, he did as well

" Who are you?! " " Who're you?! "

🎮 Oh no, Ortho's gonna have to give him CPR after this encounter

🎮 Your rat crawled up his legs and burrowed itself in his hair, making you lightly chuckle as you covered your face closer with your green cloak, but, he could still see the outline of your face

" I guess Hombregrande likes how warm your hair is, huh? " " Y-yeah- I guess so... " " I'm Y/N L/N, and you are? " " I-Idia Shroud... nice to meet you... "

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girlkisser13 · 5 months ago

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artemis cabin headcanons

the hunters of artemis

• when a hunter join the hunt, they no longer get periods as a blessing from artemis. (another reason to become a hunter?? jk i love women WAY too much).

• obviously, they’re all feminists.

• most of them can't take sexist jokes, so be careful unless you want to get shot with an arrow.

• they keep in touch with the girls that have left the hunt.

• when two hunters fall in love, artemis usually shows mercy, knowing the vow spoke of leaving behind the company of men not women.

• they’ve definitely bumped into the valkyrie on more than one occasion. artemis doesn’t like them very much because she doesn’t want her hunters to become einherjar.

• she’d rather they have the peace and calmness that they deserve.

• much like the camp half-blood necklace beads, the hunters have charm bracelets. they get a charm in the shape of a moon once they arrive and then a star shaped one every ten years they serve artemis.

• trans girls are ALWAYS accepted into the hunt.

• but if a trans guy wants to join the hunt (pretransition), artemis will straight up refuse to take them, subsequently kicking of their gender crisis.

• she’ll also do this with pretransition trans women (to their great confusion).

• the minimum age to become a hunter is sixteen, unless there are special circumstances (it just doesn’t sit right with me that most of the hunters are in their preteens).

• this is a big decision and shouldn’t be made at such a young age. let these girls go through puberty and find out whether they really want to forsake men forever.

• plus, it’d actually benefit the hunters to be more physically mature; they’d be a lot stronger and therefore faster due to the muscle development.

• they have a hotline number that women can call if they feel extremely uncomfortable or fearful in a situation.

• they'll discretely escort her out and then beat the shit out of whoever is scaring her. <33

cabin exterior

• the cabin is primarily made of wood, with vines and ivy creeping up its sides, blending seamlessly with the surrounding forest.

• the cabin's roof is adorned with silver tiles that shimmer like moonlight, casting a gentle glow at night.

• carvings of various wild animals, such as deer, wolves, and bears, are intricately etched into the wooden walls, symbolizing artemis's connection with nature and wildlife.

• during the day, the cabin appears almost invisible from a distance, thanks to its natural camouflage of leaves and branches, making it a perfect sanctuary for the hunters.

• the entrance is flanked by banners with the symbol of the moon and arrows, representing artemis's hunting prowess and her role as the goddess of the moon.

• hidden paths and trails lead from the cabin into the deeper parts of the forest, allowing the hunters to come and go without being seen.

cabin interior

• the walls and floors are made of polished wood, giving the cabin a warm and rustic feel. the wood is adorned with carvings of forest scenes and animals.

• soft, silvery lanterns hang from the ceiling, casting a gentle glow reminiscent of moonlight. at night, these lights give the cabin a tranquil, otherworldly ambiance.

• the bunks are arranged in a circle around a central hearth. each bunk has a curtain made of light, airy fabric, providing privacy while allowing the occupants to feel connected to the room.

• the decor includes tapestries and rugs featuring scenes of forests, wildlife, and the moon. the cabin is filled with plants, flowers, and small potted trees, making it feel like an extension of the forest outside.

• each hunter has a personal space to store their gear. this includes a rack for bows and quivers, hooks for coats, and shelves for other hunting equipment.

• the central hearth is always burning with a controlled, magical flame that provides warmth and light. it's surrounded by comfortable seating made of logs and animal pelts, perfect for gathering and sharing stories.

• a section of the cabin is dedicated to practicing archery and other skills. it includes targets, dummies, and plenty of space for physical training.

• one corner of the cabin has shelves filled with books about nature, wildlife, and mythology, along with maps of various hunting grounds and sacred sites.

cabin traditions

• they have an annual remembrance day on the first full moon of june where they honor the fallen hunters of that year. artemis always ensures that there is a beautiful strawberry moon lighting up the sky.

• when they visit camp half-blood, they to have archery contests with the apollo kids (and other kids that have archery skills). they share their advanced skills and techniques, often leading to informal training sessions where the campers learn new tips and tricks from them.

• they hold special training sessions particularly focused on survival skills, hunting tactics, and self-defense. these sessions are a blend of physical training and imparting the wisdom of living harmoniously with nature.

• the hunters hold workshops on making traditional hunting gear, such as bows and arrows, and other crafts related to their way of life. these workshops are hands-on and give campers a tangible connection to the hunters' lifestyle.

divider by @strangergraphics

#percy jackson and the olympians #heroes of olympus #pjo #hoo #pjo hoo toa #pjo fandom #hoo fandom #pjo series #hoo series #pjo tv show #pjo disney+#pjo cabins #artemis #diana #artemis cabin #cabin eight #cabin 8 #the hunters of artemis #hunters of artemis

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camelidae · 4 months ago

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Art tour of my room/studio! I caught the bug for buying little pieces from other artists to brighten up my space a few years ago – it’s addicting! (and wonderful!) I want to make sure I get everyone’s names in here (at least the ones who have an online presence), so be ready for a long post!

It always feels a little ignomious hanging art in my bathroom, but I get distracted brushing my teeth a lot so it’s important there’s nice stuff to look at! I love my big crocodile print by Amanda Myers so much. He’s so Green and so lovely and he has so many teeth to contemplate while I brush my own.

I felt a little bad putting this magnificent tiger by Paleopanthera (paleopanthera.com) above the toilet, but the colors just work so nice and it makes my bathroom look so rad ;~; Do you think the tiger’s mad at me? Does he look mad?

I got this little scrollwork shelf from ScrollSawArtbyBC (etsy) and I love it so much! Makes a perfect little nook for my sink things~

And who is this peeking out from some of my nature treasures? Why it’s one of Becca Jane’s little blue snakes (BeccaJane.com). One day I’m going to save up my pennies and buy one of her big beautiful platters and on it I will serve the prettiest of pastas~

Also adorning my nature shelf is this beautiful mix-media plaque by Cephasparagus (insta). She also seems to adore collecting little bits of nature like an aesthetic magpie - my kind of gal!

I have a bevy of these little animal prints by Amanda Myers (Admers on etsy) on my walls – I love how combine with my pressed leaves and flowers to bring that "forest hermit" vibe I've always strived for.

The stained glass folk flower piece is from Leadleaf_ (insta) - it really makes my little terrarium corner look cozy and magical!

I got my Artistic License and my Poetic License from Kenspeckle Press (kenspeckleletterpress.com) - they didn’t even make me take an aesthetics test or metaphorically parallel park. (Plus another beautiful thank you card from Amanda Myers.)

The little kitty mug from Heikala (heikala.com) is what I drink iced cocoa from almost daily. I like how the ice clicks on the enamel <3

I still maintain that the embroidered flower pendant from DandelionDoiley (etsy) is the cutest thing that I own. Feels like holding a jewel! And the Hope pendant from BonbiForest (etsy) is such a lovely design with cheerful colors <3 The hummingbird I got from a local artist on a trip to Yellowstone, and the gold pendant is from a local artist where I live!

#art #decorating #studio tour #aesthetics #small artists #original art #art studio #decor #animal art

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yoonia · 6 months ago

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the bedroom hymns ● chapter xx

⟶ Chapter summary | Once the gate of secrets about your mother has been opened, it seems that magic is slowly guiding you to follow the traces your mother’s left behind in this realm. As if her shadows still remain, and you are now tasked to find every piece of her still left behind.

Author's note | I never expected that the break I took between this chapter and the last would go so long. I'm so sorry for the long wait. I hope the longer chapter makes up for the lack of update

chapter xx. traces

The scent of the forest hangs heavily in the air—the remnants of rain, the rich fragrance of earth, and the slightly humid, yet strongly pine-scented breeze.

As you walk between the trees, a thick white mist rises from the ground around you, making it somewhat hard to look at what you are stepping on or where you are going. This place is dark, even if there are still some streaks of light visibly falling from the sky. But those lights don’t seem strong enough to pierce through the thick foliage, nor can they penetrate through the dense fog moving together with you. Not enough to illuminate your surroundings so you can see better. Only enough to show you the unmoving shadows that are present around you and helping to stop you from crashing into trees or stumbling against a boulder hiding beneath the undergrowth.

Still, the darkness cannot stop you from searching through the woods to find out where you are.

You hadn’t exactly expected to be in the depths of a forest like this when you first stepped through the magic door. Perhaps you should have expected that your secret exploit would be a peculiar one tonight, given the circumstances leading you here.

The silver door that you had chosen for this evening’s adventure was completely different from the ones you went through before, after all.

Hidden at the end of the hallway where the treasure rooms are located, the door looked more like a sculpted wall ornament, sunk deeply into the stone walls with nothing more but a small alcove marking its existence and floral embellishments carved on its surface. You may have walked past it many times before, yet never once had you ever paid much attention to it, thinking that it was merely a decorated wall to grace the treasure rooms’ hall.

It wasn’t until early this evening that things ended differently—when you walked past the hall after leaving the library much later than usual. You were carrying with you the book which had caught your interest while spending your free time reading in the library—the Encyclopaedia of Ancient Monsters and Magic Beasts—barely even thinking of anything other than to quickly bring it back to your bedchamber so you could continue reading through the pages. You had every intention to later compare everything you learned from that book with the texts written in the ancient spell book you acquired during your trip to the Mage City of Aeris. What better way to do so than to be in your private quarters, lest to have your tutors questioning your new book had they saw it in the library.

You had your arms wrapped around the book when you turned the corner where the magic door was hidden, clutching it against your chest while picturing the images you saw from it. You were so lost in your thoughts that you almost believed you were imagining things when the plain embellishments on the wall suddenly began shimmering.

As if the carvings on the wall were reacting to your presence.

Perhaps something else had caused it? Something that had been in your possession for the first time as you travelled down that hall this time, maybe?

You cannot help but wonder as you reach down, gently tapping the sling bag hanging to your side where the book is now being kept secure. Thinking about it now, you remember that the glimmer of light coming from the carvings had not been all that had drawn you toward the hidden door.

While you were still struggling to make sense of what was happening, your necklace was also beginning to show a reaction. It felt subtle at first, yet the warmth pressing on your skin from the back of your ruby amulet was hard to ignore. It reminded you of how your necklace showed some peculiar reactions during your last trip, when it seemed to respond to the magic found in Aeris.

As you came to a halt, the warmth coming from the gemstone started growing stronger. Your eyes flew to the alcove as the magic essence of the portal began to emerge, revealing to you that the sculpted embellishments had been something more than just a wall ornament.

The whisperings of the magic came to you next, enchanting you to come closer, compelling you to reach into your pocket and pull out the silver key. At first, you weren’t quite sure what you were supposed to do. Looking at the carved wall in front of you, there was no possible guide telling you how you were going to use your magic key on a piece of carved ornament.

But then the carvings on the wall began to change form. The plain grey shades painted on the carvings slowly turned into silver plates right before your eyes. The linings beneath the alcove shifted into what appeared to be a doorframe, and then a keyhole emerged between the carvings of a pair of wings on the side which you have never noticed before.

A baffled laughter climbed up your throat as you watched in disbelief. “A door? This was a door this whole time?” you wondered loudly as the silver door took its final form right at the center of the dark wall.

You could barely process what was happening even as the scene was unfolding right before your eyes. The door seemed to have enchanted you with its charm, drawing you closer towards it as the silver carvings magically glimmered brightly like the moonlight.

Reaching deep into your pocket, you keep your eyes on the door as you pull out the magic key. Your heartbeat skipped a beat as you carefully inserted the key and turned until a resounding click echoed through the empty hall. There was no handle emerging from the door, yet it opened on its own, bringing in a strong cold breeze that felt nothing like anything you ever had encountered before as it slowly widened right in front of you.

Another peculiarity happened as the magic portal was activated. As you pushed the door wider, the usual sight of the dark blue void wasn’t what appeared in the opened doorway. Instead, you saw the sight of a dark forest, as if it had been hidden right on the other side of the wall instead of across the realm—wherever your new destination might be.

To be able to see the new world that you were about to step into was a new experience. You wondered if you should be wary about stepping in. But this was unlike your previous excursions, where you had to go blindly into the portal without having any clue where you were going to end up next. What laid before you seemed like a challenge, and at the same time, a promise.

A promise of a new and exciting adventure that you would regret never getting into. A new world to learn.

So you gathered yourself together, not even bothering to think about how you were going to miss supper by stepping out of the castle so late. After quickly grabbing your coat and a sling bag to carry your magic books along with you, you stepped through the door and began your journey across the realm.

So far, everything about this new adventure of yours has been out of the ordinary, just as much as how it began.

As if the events leading you to open the portal hadn’t been peculiar enough, the magic portal had sent you emerging at the center of a dark forest. The portal, which had appeared as a part of an alcove which was built into a wall, opened up on what seemed to be the mouth of a small cave once you got to the other side of it.

“Magic is a very peculiar thing,” was the only thing you could say as you looked back at the portal which had manifested between the alcove forming the cavern’s entrance. Unlike the other portals, you were able to see the dark hallway that you had just stepped out of. Only you were made to feel as if you were looking at it through a tinted-blue glass as the void manifested around the opening like a protective shield.

It still baffles you even now to think about it, as you are trudging through the thick woods, continuing your journey without even knowing if you are going in the right direction.

Only fates know how long it has been since you came to this place. With nothing but the night sky above and trees in a myriad of shapes and sizes surrounding you, it is hard to tell how much time has passed.

The white mist keeps growing thicker as you keep going, covering the ground beneath. You can barely see your own legs as every step you take going forward seems to be engulfed in the peculiar mist as you get deeper into the forest. This has been going on for a while, and you are beginning to wonder if you will ever find a way to get out of these thickets.

At least you have reached the part of the forest where the trees are no longer as dense as before. Yet, despite being no longer close-packed together, their sizes seem to grow significantly larger that they still fill the forest with their presence. Their thick boughs spread wider here to make up for the thinning foliage above, leaving nothing more but fractured streaks of moonlight streaming down from the night sky. Still, it barely helps you see your way through, as the white mist continues to gather thickly around your legs and is slowly climbing higher, as high as your elbows.

The forest is also quiet.

The sound of gravel, fallen branches, and dry leaves crunching beneath your boots becomes your only company. Thick bushes and tall wildflowers growing as far up to your waist are spread between the thick trees. One too many times, the tips of your boots would get tangled in them, if not coming in contact with sharp rocks that are hidden under the mist.

While none of these obstacles would be enough to tip you over, they are still enough to make you grow more cautious. To be wary of where you are stepping your foot next.

The shadows around you are still, adding the eeriness which makes you feel as if you are being swallowed by the darkness around you. The temperature is slightly colder than the darkest hallways of Stargrave. Colder than the damp alleyways of the slum area back in Smotia.

But the air also feels like a comforting embrace here that you barely feel the urge to tighten your cloak to protect yourself. How odd, indeed, you wonder to yourself as you continue to walk deeper into the forest while feeling like you are walking in a dream.

A dream that is more peculiar than the one that you have been getting lately.

Even the trees growing around you appear like parts of an eerie dream as you look closer. The trunks are thick and massive, twisted and bent in sinister shapes and appear as if they are decaying as they grow in various shades of grey. The same thing appears on the sweeping branches that seem to grow out of those giant trunks like twisted hands reaching into the darkness.

Yet those limbs don’t appear bare. Not all of them. Some of the thicker ones are full of leaves, growing in dark teal that appear almost black, yet are glowing like jewels under the night sky. The ones that are bare without leaves almost look like giant fingers, pointing out through the darkness as if they are trying to reach out to you as you walk underneath them.

Below, the undergrowth begins to grow denser. With more bushes and rough hedges thickly covering the ground, high grass reaching almost to your knees and small tree buds popping from between the giant ones. The flower beds grow more scarce around here that the forest now appears to your eyes in monochrome colours of grey and deep teal.

A rustling sound coming from somewhere nearby catches your attention—sounding almost like a clear snap against the silence that has befriended you—and you come to a sudden halt. The sudden shift of movements brings your sling bag swinging forward, knocking against the back of your calves. The weight of the books inside the bag adds an extra punch as it swings along your body, while the weight of your cloak tries to drag you sideways with it when it falls around you.

“Ouch,” you hiss at the sudden impact while adjusting your sling bag and straightening up before gravity has the chance to bring you down.

The rustling sound continues, causing you to grow more alert this time. Spinning, you search for the sound. Scanning through the trees around you isn’t helping much, however. The foliage is still too dense, the space around you is still too dark, and it is making it hard for you to determine where the sound is coming from. So you wait, all while doing your best to grasp the change in the air and force yourself to listen to any other noises that may follow.

A gust of wind bursting through the foliage makes you realise that the sounds may not be coming from anywhere around you. Nowhere close, for sure, as you see no movement in the dark even when the wind breezes across once more.

It’s coming from above.

The thought soon registers in your mind just as a blip of darkness steals away the barely-there moonlight penetrating through the thick foliage from above. You look up, drawn by your curiosity when another rustle of leaves, followed by a burst of cold breeze, lures your attention to the night sky.

And that is when you see it as it happens right before your eyes.

Beyond the top of the trees reaching so far up high to the night sky, something massive passes above you. Flapping its giant wings with leisure, it glides across the starry sky, covering the ground below with its shadow before it disappears from sight as it continues its journey.

It isn’t until another passes by with the same motion, and then another, drifting in the air so gracefully that it almost feels like you are still dreaming when you begin to understand what you are seeing.

Dragons.

A wave of cold shivers runs through your body. Before you realise what you are doing, you are already moving. Your legs are unsteady, yet they still carry you forward, even if your steps may be a little too haste. Navigating through the thick woods will surely be a hassle, particularly in this unfamiliar darkness and while you are trying to catch up with the movements of the dragons flying above.

But you refuse to give up.

You refuse to let go of any chance to get a better look at these magnificent beasts that you had only seen pictures of in the books you have read—more significantly, in the book that you are carrying now inside your bag—and you wish to see more of the place where these giant beasts truly exist.

With one hand clutching tightly on the sling of your bag and the other wrapped firmly around the handle of the golden dagger that you keep hanging on your hip, you march forward, following the cold trail of wind left behind by the flying dragons.

You keep your gaze forward, with only short glances to the sky above to look as a few more dragons come flying by. Some are much smaller than the ones you saw before, a few more that look to be average in size, and then the last and largest one glides across the sky, shaking the trees around you with each flap of its giant wings.

So you begin to run.

Racing through the twisted and bent trees, you try to keep up with those dragons before you lose sight of them The snapping sounds of your rapid footsteps crossing through the undergrowth coming in your way follow you, yet they are barely noticeable when the air is filled with the sounds of their flights—the flaps of their wings, the gentle swish of their tails, and their staggering roars and high-pitched calls as they get further away from the woods.

You ignore the slight pain you feel as bare, low-hanging branches reach out to you like bony fingers—snagging your cloak and hair, snapping and nicking at your skin. Yet not once do you falter, not even allowing yourself to slow down when running out of breath. And you continue to run until you finally reach the end of the woods.

The trees open up to a spread of high grass which ends with a wall of low boulders merely several feet away, right where the levelled land ends before it drops into what appears to be a ravine.

You look up, following the movements of the last dragons as they glide above the wide length of the chasm, heading towards the tall mountain on the other end. Right atop that mountain, you see the sight of an old castle appearing in the darkness, its walls rising in dark stones that glimmer under the stars and the moonlight shining from above. Built to look like it serves as the crown of the mountain, the castle seems to blend into the rocky cliff below.

Much like the Stargrave Castle.

The only difference is that your new home doesn’t have giant dragons of all sizes, shapes, and colours flying around it in a circular motion as if they are worshipping it. As if they are protecting their home.

Gaping at the astonishing sight before you, your breath is caught. You can hear the sound of your heartbeat getting louder as you watch the last dragon you followed joining the others circling the castle on the rocky mountain. The sounds of their calls echo through the night. Like a birdsong.

Speechless, you can only admire this sight in silence with goosebumps rising on your skin. You simply cannot believe it.

You know exactly where you are.

E'l Alora.

The dragons’ lair.

The place that you had just learned and read about from the book that is now weighing down your sling bag—the Encyclopaedia of Ancient Monsters and Magic Beasts. The book which tells you about the monsters of the night that you are now seeing right before your eyes.

This place is real, you muse, finding yourself moving forward before realising it as if you are drawn by the sight of dragons—real dragons—flying so elegantly in the dark sky.

You stop by the boulders, and a cold shiver rushes through your body as you get a closer look at the ravine before you. The widespread of chasm that looks like a dark void, separating you from the mountain and its glimmering black castle standing on its crown.

But as you lean forward to take a good look down below, you are caught by surprise at what you find hidden down there. Instead of seeing a massive fall of rocky walls ending into an abyss, you can see that there is life. Life other than the dragons.

A civilization growing on the walls.

Houses and buildings are built into the rocky mountain wall, levelling from the highest part of the wall to the lowest section down below, with long-winding streets and ramps connecting one to the other. A shadow of a bridge appears in the darkest part of the ravine, crossing between the town on the wall to the foot of the cliff far beneath the dragons’ castle.

And just like how the rocky mountain across the ravine is now lively with those giant dragons floating in the sky, the town below you is wide awake. There are lights everywhere, illuminating the town as they are set alight from the buildings and homes, and there are streetlights standing on the edge of the road, allowing you to see everything from up high.

You can see the people from the town moving in and out of those buildings, strolling up and down the streets, with carriages and carts led by massive horses driving on the streets like what you see in any regular towns. And they all seem to be going about their evening as if it is just any normal night.

As if having giant dragons flying in the sky is a normal occurrence to have in their everyday lives.

Drawn by your curiosity, you follow the path from the top of the hill which you are stranded in that leads you towards the bustling town below. With the hood of your cloak pulled up neatly back in place, your hands clutching the sling of your bag and your dagger sheathed nicely against your hip, you ready yourself to continue your adventure.

To get a closer look at this odd town, to meet the residents you see finishing their nightly activities, and hopefully, learn more about how they are able to live peacefully alongside the magnificent beasts gathering close by, with nothing more but the deep chasm separating them from one another.

The human town of E’l Alora was already a breathtaking sight to look at from the top of the cliff. But nothing beats being at the center of it where you can have a closer look at everything.

Houses, apartments, shops, and other buildings built with dark-coloured stones reflecting the moonlight seem to be blending into the rocky walls. They appear as if they manifested from the cliff walls on the side of the ravine instead of being built against it. Some buildings are several stories high, with open staircases and balconies made up of muted grey-coloured stones, allowing the darker facade of the building to stand out more. Some houses are built low enough that they seem to sink into the rocky walls, with rocks carved in slates to form structures and roofs framing each house.

The stone-covered road looks sturdy, smoothed nicely to follow each dent and curve of the ravine walls as it connects each house and building. As you walk down the road and finally get a good look at it from up close, you notice that some of the stones seem to sparkle and glitter, as if there are broken pieces of diamonds or gemstones implanted into the stones.

Being in the town means you are not only getting the first look at the townspeople—most of whom are still doing their routines and working even as the night is growing late and the sky darker—but you are also getting a closer look at the flying dragons above. You can even feel the hard whoosh coming down between the draft of wind each time a dragon flaps its giant wing.

It amazes you to see that while you are marvelling at this new experience with wonder, the townspeople you come across seem to be more nonchalant about the presence of these giant beasts. Even when the dragons are so close, flying right above their town, sometimes gliding lower than the others as if to have a closer look at the town and their neighbours.

Strange how they can simply carry on with their evening, with only a small few of them who would occasionally glance up with fond smiles on their faces as they watch the dragons gliding closer.

To say that you are completely stunned to be able to witness this seems like an understatement. A glorious shudder runs through you when you realise how privileged you are to be experiencing something like this.

Something that you would have never come across had you not been gifted the chance through your father’s magic.

Sighing deeply, you lean back in your seat, your eyes never wandering away from the open window beside you as you continue to look out and enjoy the scenery. You had continued walking until you reached the town square before you finally stumbled into this place; a three-story building divided into three different functions—a small tavern on the ground level, rented rooms on the second floor, and a private apartment on the top floor.

You have found the tavern as the perfect place to find shelter, while earning you the front seat of what is currently unfolding in this town. This part of the town is built on a section of the wall which extends toward the center of the ravine, getting you a bit closer to the foot of the mountain where the castle is built.

Staring out at the dark castle standing atop the mountain, with your book about dragons lying on your lap, your mind wanders to the one person you cannot help but wish to accompany you right now.

You wonder what it would have been like if only Yoongi had been here, sitting in this dimly lit room together with you, his sharp eyes watching every movement coming from the dragons. You wonder what kind of stories he would be sharing with you, or what type of jokes he would be throwing at you had he seen you looking flabbergasted the first time you arrived in this place.

It is really hard not to think about Yoongi at times like this, although you cannot say that you understand the reason why. It’s not like you have known him for your entire life and so deeply that he would be the first to come to your mind while you are travelling across realms.

Yet he haunts your mind in every second that you breathe. Always coming into your thoughts either when you are feeling lonely or when you find yourself lost in a strange place.

The way Yoongi constantly preoccupies your mind makes you believe that you are seeing his shadows everywhere you look. Never missing the trails left behind to show you that he may have stepped foot in the places that you are visiting.

It happened to you back in Aeris, when you saw the crest of The Brotherhood of Jorn stamped in various places you came across—on the bulletin boards, on the streetlight poles, and some on the walls of the back alleys. You have been seeing the same thing here ever since you first entered the human town of E’l Alora, when you caught sight of the same crest stamped and painted on the gates and announcement boards that the townspeople use to put up the local news, even on the walls of a few of the establishments that you walked pass by while heading to this place.

Even here, right in this tavern, you can see the same crest marked on the wall across the room, where a long table is set as if it was prepared specifically to hold a group meeting.

“We leave our crests in places where we often use as our rendezvous spots. Places for us to recoup, gather information, find work, or have a little downtime between our expeditions. The crest is a mark of our trail, showing our gratitude for the people who welcome us, and the people that we owe our strength to. It also lets them know that they can rely on the brotherhood whenever they need us.”

Yoongi shared this when you talked about seeing his crest everywhere you went. You can almost picture it now in your head, the mercenaries wearing various armours and disguises gathering on that same table, Yoongi amongst them, boasting about their journeys while sharing drinks and hot meals as they gather at that long table.

As always, thinking of Yoongi makes you smile. Even better when you imagine listening to him speak. You love how deeply he often speaks about the things that he brings up in your conversations, even when he is discussing something as benign as the weather. Often with a smug smile on his face when he talks about all the things you have no knowledge of.

You wonder what he would say if you had the chance to share the things that you have been learning for the past week—how much you have advanced in controlling your energy and mana and making use of it in exchange for your locked magic. You wonder how he would react if you share with him what you have recently learned from Lord Gordan—about the true nature of your skills that you may have inherited from your mother.

Would he somehow recognise the skill, or maybe he would be able to reveal who you are based on this peculiar skill alone?

Knowing how knowledgeable he is about magic and everything else related to this realm, you wouldn’t be too surprised if he ever learned about your mother. There is a sense of unease when you think about it, however, to think of the possibility that he may know more about your mother and your heritage than you do.

Thinking of Yoongi takes you back to the day before, when you came to the city of Aeris. Your findings of the Mage City and its spectacular perks seem to be pushed to the sidelines whenever the cloaked figure you saw that day comes to mind.

Looking back, you wonder if your desire to see Yoongi again has grown so strong that it is taking over your sanity. You were quite sure that the figure had spent a brief moment standing right outside of the magic shop. His presence a lurking shadow in the bright city, watching your movements while you were in the shop.

Chasing him was an instinct that you couldn’t resist to follow. Drawn entirely by your curiosity, and perhaps the dire need to see if it had been the one you desired to see the most, only to be led into a futile chase through the city.

Regret still follows you to this day, only because losing his trail in the bustling city square had left you with no answer. Nothing to stop you from wondering why that figure had felt so familiar to your eyes.

At least your trip hadn’t ended with you coming home from the Mage City completely empty-handed.

The shopkeeper of l'Équinoxe had been kind enough to wait for your return. She asked no questions when you came back to the shop, simply welcoming you back with a smile before helping you purchase the spell book which she had gone to fetch for you. The same spell book which had later taken away a few hours you had late in the night as you spent it reading the pages.

Cold breeze flows through the open window, pulling your wandering mind back to present. It pushes against the void that has been growing in your chest from Yoongi’s absence, causing your entire body to tremble.

As you reach out to grab your discarded cloak to find some semblance of warmth, a large cup of hot steaming drink manifests in front of your eyes. It lands with a soft thud when placed on the table before you. The scent of fresh herbs mixed with spice and rum fills your senses, warming your chest before you even have a taste.

“Here you go. This should help warm you up. It’s a specialty of ours in this town,” says the tavern keeper as he stands to the side of your table.

Lord Merryl—as he introduced himself to you earlier when he first approached you to offer you shelter—is a tall and built man who is only slightly taller than Lord Gordan, with greying hair that grows as long as his shoulders and a thin dark beard dusted in grey covering his sharp jaw.

Thinking about how you met previously warms your cheeks. You must have seemed like a lost puppy when you walked past the tavern earlier, your eyes wandering around as you tried to take everything in while figuring out where to go. When Lord Merryl first came to you and invited you into his establishment, he did so in the most gentle way that one would do to offer a safe shelter for a stray getting lost in a strange town.

Looking back at it now, you realise that he wasn’t the only one who had given you a friendly welcome.

When you first walked into the town, you had expected that the magic inside your necklace would take effect, shielding you from others. Yet, aside from the soft hum still following you through the vibrating ruby amulet, nothing else happened. Bereft of the usual warmth of its protective spell, it simply clung onto you with its lightweight pressing on your skin.

It didn’t seem to matter, however, when instead of gaining accusing stares and cold shoulders from the townspeople that you met, you only received warm smiles and kind greetings. There were even some who came up to you, giving you directions and showing you where to go, until you finally reached the town square where Lord Merryl found you.

It makes you smile just thinking about it. To realise how good it feels not to be invisible.

Murmuring your gratitude, you pick up the cup and take a dainty sip. A voluntary hum slips out of you as the warmth spreads through your body, instantly calming your senses and washing away your weariness. “This is lovely.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Lord Merryl’s lips rise to a smile of pride. “I meant it when I said I would have the perfect ale to soothe your mind.”

You cannot help but laugh as you recall him saying those words when he first came to you earlier. “Yes,” you nod, “I suppose you’ve only proven your words to be true.”

Releasing a deep sigh, you embrace the warmth now coursing through your body. Turning back to look out the window, you can feel your body relaxing as you continue taking in the view and doing some more people—and dragon—watching.

The town indeed feels lively with the townspeople walking up and down the street, some lingering in the town square to enjoy their downtime while others are still working in their shops and the open establishments that are visible from where you are sitting. The sounds of their muted chatters and faint laughter fill the night as they greet each other upon passing by. You can see small groups of people sharing friendly conversations on the side of the street, and there is a faint sound of musical strings echoing from somewhere down the road.

Street musicians, you wonder with a smile. A town really couldn’t go without one present.

At one glance, this place does seem like any other town you’ve been to. And it would’ve been that way if not for the fact that there are dozens or more dragons flying above their heads right now, their high trills and calls echoing through the ravine, causing your chest to tremble along with the noises they are making.

“Quite a remarkable view to see, isn’t it? Sometimes one can forget how uncommon our lives are because we’ve gotten so used to this, until we remember that not all in this realm can experience living in a place like our home,” Lord Merryl muses as he notices how you keep following the dragons’ movements with your gaze.

You simply cannot help it, after all. Unable to look away from the mythical beings that you have always believed to be a part of a myth, or Ancient creatures that should no longer exist in this more modern time.

And they are quite a sight to look at.

Most of the dragons have stopped circling around the dark castle a while ago, leaving only a couple of the larger ones flying up there as if keeping a close watch of their territory. You can see the shadows of the ones who are now perched on the towers and the rise of the wall around the castle from afar, while you see some of the smaller ones now flying close to the human town, floating in and out of the ravine, allowing you to have a clearer view whenever they glide right over the town square.

You are beginning to understand the reason why Lord Merryl had given you the seat by the window when you first came in. The place in his establishment which allows you to have the perfect view of the town and its special perks. He must have noticed how mesmerised you were with the sight of the dragons, unable to resist glancing back up at them while you were walking down the street, making you look vulnerable, lost, and—quite understandably—disoriented.

“I’ve learned quite a bit about E’l Alora and its dragons, yet the book that I’ve read so far had insinuated that this place was a sacred land which only existed in Ancient times. So please excuse my disbelief and ignorance which you may have seen for yourself when I first arrived here,” you share with him while pasting a smile, leaving out the fact that you have only been reading the book today.

It wouldn’t matter if you had spent all afternoon studying all the facts and myths about this place from your book, getting lost in the tales and the history of dragons. You had only stopped when the untranslated texts at the end pages caught your eyes, leading you to carry the book out of the library to study them more despite having been forbidden to do so.

What little information written in the textbook about this place hadn’t been enough to prepare you for what you have found so far. Which means that there are bound to be more secrets about this place waiting to be unveiled.

“It was already a pleasant surprise to find that this place exists, much less to find out that even the dragons still live here, right where their home castle still stands. Still so marvellous and grand.” Your body shivers, feeling the excitement building up as you think about what other things you may find simply by being here.

“But what’s more surprising for me to find is that there are mortals living here, in a town that looks like it had manifested from the mountain, and that there is a peaceful life shared here between the mortals and these magnificent dragons.”

There is a pride smile on the tavern keeper’s face when you look at him again. “This is the life that we’ve all known for centuries,” Lord Merryl claims as he takes the seat at the table, right across from you. “The dragons protect us, and we protect the dragons.”

Eyes widening, you straighten up in your seat, intrigued to hear more. Seeing firsthand the way the townspeople and dragons together has already shown you how special and different E’l Alora is compared to many other places you have been to. But to hear about how directly connected they truly are as they share the same land to live in is quite an intriguing fact for you to learn.

“Most of the people who live in this town are miners and artisans, but there are also knights and fighters—” He stops and looks over his shoulder as a small dragon floats by. You can see through the window the people who stop on the street to wave. At first glance, you think for a moment that they are waving at the midnight-coloured dragon who seems to be making a show as it circles back and makes another pass, until you see a shadow riding on its back, just as Lord Merryl gently adds, “—and riders.”

You take a double look at the dragon as it shoots back up, flying higher up the mountain, carrying the rider—wearing all black from head to toe—along with it. “You—ride those dragons?” you ask with a soft gasp, which has the Lord chuckling softly.

“Only the chosen ones do,” he says with a grin. “Every mortal living in this town, men and women, train their whole lives to ride and fight alongside the dragons to protect this land. When they officially come of age, those who are trained will be tested, and those who pass the test will be bonded with the dragon so they can become the dragons’ riders.”

“Tested? By whom?”

Lord Merryl’s eyes crease a little on each corner when he smiles. “The dragons themselves, of course. They choose their riders.”

“H-how? How do the dragons choose their partners?”

“The Dragon King and his court rule the land to this day, and they set up the rules which made bonding between a human and dragon possible to happen. The Dragon King rules from his home castle. Together with his court, he leads the ceremony where a rider is chosen by inviting the chosen ones to the King’s castle,” he explains with a slight nod towards the castle above.

Tilting your head, you try to picture a whole court testing out the chosen townspeople to find the right person to ride a certain dragon. Throwing a quick glance at the dark castle above, you are beginning to understand why the dragons seem to consider the property as their home.

“When a dragon requires a rider, whether it is because the dragon itself has come to age or if their previous rider has passed their time—be it from old age or if they have passed on—the King’s court will summon a few selected candidates for a new rider and have them tested, both physically and mentally, in front of the court and the dragon that is to become their partner.”

Leaning back, you can feel your jaw setting into a hard line, something that you have to do to keep your mouth from gaping in awe. “Sounds like a rigorous process. And you said that the riders have many years of training?”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Lord Merryl nods again. “You are correct. Becoming a rider of the dragons is an important task for us. It gives us a purpose in life and a privilege to care for our land.”

You cannot help but smile, because it does sound like a privilege to bond with these Ancient beings. To be trusted enough to work alongside them.

“And what happens when one isn’t chosen? Or does that not happen, since you said everyone had to be prepared for it?”

“The rest of us run the town,” he says, nodding out the window where you can see the people lounging around the small patch of garden at the center of the town square. You only notice now upon closer observation that each person wears proper attire showing their roles in this town—shopkeepers, waitresses, and a few people who look like physicians and scholars.

“Sometimes, we even get work in the castle to serve the Dragon King as he is very, very old,” he says with his grin deepening when he takes in your reaction, “or they can serve the Ancient Gods and the Moon as the priests and priestesses, even though not many of us pray at the temples nowadays.”

“What about you? Are you also a rider?”

“I used to,” he answers with a gentle voice. The pride you see in his eyes seems genuine. Only this time, there is a hint of longing in them. A reminiscence of the past that he misses the most. “I was for a long time, and then I retired once I was too old to be up there in the sky, and Alastair, my dragon, chose my oldest son to replace me.”

Unable to hide your astonishment, you let your smile grow as you picture him up there, flying with his dragon. “Does that happen a lot—to have someone who is your kin to replace your position?”

“Only with the ones who are deeply bonded with their riders, and I’ve become bonded with Alastair after riding with him for a long time. I was only eighteen when I was chosen, so it felt like I grew into adulthood with him by my side.” He briefly looks out the window with a faraway look in his eyes, as if he is looking into the past that has been engraved in his memory.

“But it didn’t mean that my son had it easy,” he continues with a chuckle. “He still had to go through the same tests to earn Alastair’s trust. Alastair is quite an old dragon himself. Winning his trust was a hard feat and my son had to prove his worth in front of the court until Alastair was pleased enough to bond with him.”

Just then, two dragons glide across the ravine. One has scales in the shade of purplish-black and the other dark tan. The latter looks slightly smaller than the other. Neither has a rider on them, yet the bigger one has something similar to a horse saddle attached on its back, almost blending into their scales.

Another question sparks through your mind as your curiosity grows. “But where do you ride these dragons to?”

“The knights will journey with the dragons to patrol around the mountains, keeping this place and its castle safe from harm. Some will go flying across the nearby lands that are still under E’l Alora’s territory in search of resources, while others fly with them down there,” Lord Merryl replies, tilting his head towards the ravine.

Your brows immediately rise. “What—down into the ravine?”

Lord Merryl seems to enjoy seeing your expression when you are left in shock and he chuckles deeply. “Inside that dark ravine are mines—lots of them. Most of the ones who are chosen to ride the dragons are miners, while some others become knights who serve to protect our land and its people,” he explains.

”The dragons who work alongside the miners will fly us down there and lend us their powers to open up the mines, dig through the rough terrains, fly our workers into the deep to gain the resources found deep within the mountains, and then bring our quarries back to the surface.”

While your mouth drops open, he continues, “These mines were discovered many centuries ago by our ancestors—mages and elves who built their homes here in the mountains. The same ancestors who first built a deep connection with the dragons. They taught us how to maintain the mines without ruining the mountains and communicate with the dragons so we can nurture this land and the mountains together for both our gains.”

“Mines?” You try to picture it in your mind, an elaborate mining system hidden in the depth of the chasm. Something which your book has failed to mention. “And what do you gain from these mines?

Lord Merryl leans forward onto the table just then, waving out the window as an open carriage passes by down the street. Its driver, sitting on the front bunk with his hands on the horse’s rein waves back. His gloves are tainted in black—a similar shade to the pile of minerals filling the back of the carriage to the brim.

“Minerals, like iron ores and other metals that are then made into weapons and armours. Stones to build our homes and the streets we have here in town. And various kinds of gemstones.” He settles back in his seat, his gaze falling onto the ruby amulet hanging from your neck. “Just like the one you are wearing now.”

Startled, your hand comes up to your necklace. The ruby amulet hasn’t been giving you any obvious reaction since you got into town, yet it seems to shimmer under the soft lights illuminating the tavern.

“These mines are the reason why this town exists. It shapes the lives of the people here. Those not chosen as riders will also work to develop the quarries we gain from the mines and make a business out of selling the raw materials and the goods that come out of them. We have blacksmiths working on the iron and metals, builders processing the stones, and artisans working on the gemstones. We often trade goods with other cities, so that might be where you had gotten your stone from.”

Your mind travels back to Aeris, remembering how you have found different kinds of goods which were made of materials that you have never seen before. Weapons and armouries made of irons that are unbreakable and highly resistant to flame and magic attacks. Leather goods which appeared almost as if they were made of materials similar to the skin of the flying dragons. Amulets made with gemstones and metals that the shopkeepers claimed to have been ‘acquired from esteemed sources’ which would be able to be imbued with any kind of magic and spells.

Running the tips of your fingers across your necklace, your mind travels back to the shopkeeper of l'Équinoxe, reminding you of what she said to you about the necklace.

“Seems like your necklace was crafted many years ago, and the ruby is a specific kind of gemstone that is rarely found nowadays in modern cities like ours.”

Clearing your throat, you cannot help but ask, “How old do these dragons get, if I may ask?”

“They live a very long age. The Dragon King has lived almost as old as the Ancient beings you read in your books. Alastair was born around the same time my great-great-grandfather came to this world,” he fondly speaks about his former partner. “There are older dragons that are still around, and young ones—as young as my youngest. More dragons are still being born in the present day, even though they are born a few years or decades in between.”

It would have been hard to imagine if you hadn’t seen them with your own eyes—the different sizes that the dragons appear in seem to determine their ages, which are also so clearly discernible from the lines and ridges of the skin and the sizes of their horns.

“That’s truly remarkable.”

Your gaze meets with one of the locals who is walking past by the window looking in. Wearing a thin, dark-coloured chest armour marks him as one of the knights that Lord Merryl had mentioned. He greets you with a short nod which you return with a smile.

“You said that you haven’t gotten a lot of visitors lately. Don’t travellers often come by here?” you ask Lord Merryl, even if deep down, you can already guess what his answer would be.

It would have been hard for a place like E’l Alora to be kept secret, forgotten, except for the stories and myths that have been written in the books. Not when they are still producing matters and goods that are spread within this realm. “What happens when you need to trade your goods? Your products? How do you provide for the people?”

Lord Merryl grows silent, but it appears that your question had amused him dearly, judging from the glint you see in your eyes. “I’ve had a feeling that you aren’t just any regular traveller,” he surmises with a smile. “You seem to know more about what it takes to manage your people.”

This is quite unexpected. It’s not often that you are made to feel like you are being stripped down, of being forced to reveal the truth behind your disguise as an anonymous traveller. The only times you ever felt this way were during those moments you came face to face with Yoongi, when he seemed to be able to look through your facade. For him to look deep enough that you felt seen.

“Sometimes one can learn so much through the experiences and the people they encounter in their journey,” you find yourself answering.

Which isn’t a complete lie. Throughout the weeks you spent exploring new places through the portals, you have learned much more than what you are taught under your tutors’ guidance.

“That is the reason why I travel to different places in the first place,” you continue to admit, both to yourself and your kind host, “You can say that I’ve been going to places in search of knowledge. Anything that I can bring home and make use to guide me through life.”

“Speaking like a true intellectual.” Lord Merryl lets out a deep chuckle. “You have earned my most respect, young, mysterious scholar.”

Having no idea what to say to that, you simply laugh it off.

“It has been long since outsiders come to visit us. For leisure, that is,” Lord Merryl continues after a beat of silence passes. “A long, long time ago, this used to be a prosperous land. E’l Alora was highly regarded not only as the dragons’ lair, but a small kingdom ruled by the Dragon King, notorious for his powers, magic, and old wisdom left behind by the Ancient beings who created the realm. His knowledge, together with the treasures hidden in the mountains, were all parts of the legacy left behind by our ancestors.”

“What happened?”

Lord Merryl lets out a sigh. “Have you learned about the war?”

Your back stiffens as your mind works hard to file through everything you have learned so far.

It wouldn’t be wrong for you to assume that he is talking about a war happening in this fairy-tale realm, a topic that you are still learning from your tutors. But for some reason, those lessons aren’t the ones running through your thoughts right now. What comes to mind instead is the only story of the war that you spent your entire teenage years learning back at the Citadel.

The history behind the rise of Nythelean Empire.

You recall the story which spoke of how your father survived the fall of his previous empire, how he managed to move his family, his army, and his people to safety. How he found shelter beyond the Elcester Forest—which you have learned to be one of the few hidden passageways connecting both realms—and under the protection of Mount Orrum, to later use the rough terrain of the mountains to defeat his enemies.

A narrow victory which left a deep wound in your father’s soul as it came with a price—losing his home and the one person he loved the most.

You are beginning to suspect that the old war may have something to do with this magical place, knowing what you know now, that Stargrave is still a part of Nythelean’s territory. There are still so many things that you have yet to learn, so many to unravel if you truly want to know more about your true home and your legacy, but so little time has been given for you to catch up with what you have missed.

“Not much of what was left from the old times, I’m afraid,” you admit while wondering inwardly, especially nothing about the wars happening in this realm. “Nothing more than what I’ve read in the books, which I’m sure has been made distorted enough through the years that followed.”

A nod. He doesn’t question you further before finally sharing his story. A small part of history still unbeknownst to you.

“It was many decades ago when the war erupted in this part of the realm, affecting only the sacred lands and kingdoms that worshipped the moon and its magic. The war was known to be the Great Siege, when a small kingdom suddenly grew strong enough to rise into an empire, and challenged other—older—empires to kneel before them. They came to siege many sacred lands, places built by the Ancient beings that we all know to be our ancestors, to take and conquer as much land as they could.”

Lord Merryl’s eyes are filled with grief and sorrow that you feel guilty for making him talk about the past. But at the same time, you want to take this chance to learn more about this place. And perhaps, you can learn more about the history that you have never studied before.

“Must I assume the war reached this land also?”

Lord Merryl nods. “Indeed,” he says. “At first, we had no reason to join the war, as we never had any direct connection or alliance with other kingdoms, until they came pushing at our borders, demanding us to submit to their king.” He grits his jaw tightly with anger as he speaks of their old enemy, and you can feel the pure rage coming out of him.

“The Dragon King refused to stand down, and neither did the people living here, so we defended our land the best we could. Many dragons had fallen during that war, so did the humans who fought alongside the dragons to protect this land.”

Just then, his expression seems to shift. The deep, sorrowful grief is still there, but there is a hint of pride and longing in his eyes as he talks about those moments during the war. You had seen this same look before, when your father talked about your mother and the old days he spent together with you and your mother when life was peaceful and free.

“We fought our best, and while we didn’t come out as victors, once the war ceased, any direct connection we had with the outer world was severed at the hands of the Dragon King and his court,” Lord Merryl continues, “it was his way of protecting his homeland, what was left of his kingdom, and the dragons and the people surviving the war.”

As you continue to listen, something about what he just said tickles your brain, making you wonder what it is about his story which puts you in such unease. Something about it felt quite familiar, yet you cannot seem to put your finger to remember how.

“Ever since then, E’l Alora became nothing more but a myth. The dragons who fought the war and the surviving ones you see now are known as mythical beasts that only exist in your history books and old scriptures, believed to have been extinct after the war.”

Just like how it was portrayed in the book, you bitterly wonder, as your fingers curl around the hardcover of the book that you have on your lap, while Lord Merryl’s eyes glimmer in anguish. “When in reality, they still exist, surviving, protecting their home and their people, keeping themselves in this dark, secluded place for as long as they need to be.”

His voice then shifts into a more hopeful tone as he carries on. “We do whatever we can to survive through the shift of time, just as you expected we would, for us to sustain our way of living,” Lord Merryl says with a teasing tone, drawing a smile to your face. “Our farms aren’t as vast or as prosperous as others, but we make what we do with the limited resources that are hidden beyond these mountains.”

As Lord Merryl nods towards the rocky mountains across the ravine, you finally understand what he meant earlier when he spoke about the dragons and their riders going around the land beyond the mountains. You picture them exploring beyond those rocky peaks to a land of green that is hidden from view, filled with crops and other sustenance for the townspeople of E’l Alora.

“We also have our local merchants who would travel in and out of the territory through a hidden route that only the townspeople know about as they make trades of our products with goods from other places beyond the borders. Most of our remaining neighbours and alliances are loyal when it comes to keeping us hidden, making sure our trade wouldn’t risk our secret from spreading out. That is how we are surviving today.”

With another nod, he points at the crest that you kept on looking at earlier. The insignia left behind by The Brotherhood of Jorn. “The only outsiders that we have ever welcomed so far are the mercenaries. We have some of our former knights and dragon-riders-to-be who decided to join the mercenary army to travel to different places while helping us to keep up with what has been going on in the realm. They also act as the middlemen between us and the outer world, allowing us to keep our home hidden from any sort of threat from outside our borders.”

Looking at the crest, you are beginning to see them in a new light. The stories and rumours that you have once heard from your father’s men continue to echo through your head whenever you look at them. But now, it feels like you are looking at a different side of the mercenary group which many others may not have been able to see.

“Aside from these trusted people, the townspeople aren’t exactly easy to trust strangers. Even those who knew anything about this place and dared enough to travel this far wouldn’t be so bold to enter a territory filled with cautious townspeople, much less living dragons.”

“I—but I didn’t see all of that when I first got here,” you admit to him as you recall the way they had all treated you when you first entered the town. “The townspeople I’ve come across with have been quite friendly. Even though I did catch some who seemed wary of my presence and kept their distance, there weren’t so many that would have made me feel unsafe or uncomfortable.”

Chuckling softly, the man nods his head. “That’s just how our people are, perhaps. Most of us still retain the same hospitality we had in the past, or perhaps the long period of time we spent living in solitude has made us long to have a connection to the outer world which we’ve lost.”

In a way, you can see it. Your own experience of living in constant hiding, years spent in a life similar to being hidden in a shroud, has made you long for something similar. Had that been the reason why you felt so connected with Yoongi since the first time you met him? Because you were so lonely that his presence instantly filled the void that you harboured inside?

“But most of us are adequate judges of characters. So do the dragons, in fact. If anyone sensed that you came bringing danger with you, then you wouldn’t have been welcomed with such hospitality.” A pause, and his gaze suddenly drifts down, stopping at your necklace. “Your necklace may have also turned to your favour in finding your way to our homeland. Just as I mentioned, the gemstone looks like one acquired from our mines. For us, it would be easy to recognise something that was obtained from our land.”

On instinct, your hand moves to grab onto your amulet. Its glow reflecting on Lord Merryl’s face, which seems to be the reason why his attention keeps being drawn to it. “You think that the necklace guided me here?”

He slowly nods. “I’d like to believe that there may be forces leading you to find a way to this place. For what reason, that is yet to be determined,” he says with a gentle smile, while your mind wanders back to how you found the magic door the first time.

Looking back to it now, you realise that there is no such thing as a coincidence that the door revealed its true form when you passed by the hall earlier. You wonder what kind of force played a hand in you finding this place, to be following the trail that leads you to where your magic necklace seems to have come from.

The same way you did when you found your way to Aeris.

Lord Merryl’s gaze lingers on your necklace while you are in deep thought. His voice draws you back to him when he muses, “That necklace—must have been something special for you.”

Twisting the ruby amulet between your fingers, a tiny wave of grief washes over you. “It’s—it was handed down to me by my mother.” The only thing of hers that you get to keep, you realise as sadness fills the cavity in your chest. “I was made to promise to keep it in my person every time I am to leave home. It was said that the necklace is meant to protect me.”

Looking up, you are surprised to see a slight change happening in Lord Merryl’s gaze. There is something there for a moment. A look which reminds you of the way Lord Gordan looked the last time you talked to him about your mother—recognition, longing, mixed with a hint of sorrow.

“Perhaps protection isn’t the only thing that has been ingrained in your necklace,” he says, just as that ineffable look in his eyes fades before you get to find the meaning behind it. “Some amulets can serve as a guide, showing you which directions to take and helping you to find what it is that you are searching for in need be.”

“That is possible,” you whisper. “That’s right. In this realm, anything is possible.”

Even the impossible, you wonder, as you marvel at how peculiar your life has been ever since you crossed the realm.

Silence falls between you for a brief moment, until a movement catches your attention and your eyes drift towards the open window again. Just as the old, largest dragon that had guided you here earlier suddenly appears, gliding gracefully across the chasm at a slow, leisurely pace.

From this close distance, you get to see the details of its midnight-black scale and the row of pointed horns framing its head, going back to its spine and then disappearing across its long swishing tail. Its crimson eyes are widely opened, almost as if it has sensed your presence and is now trying to find you among the mortals living in this town.

But when the dragon circles back and slows down almost to a halt right in front of the tavern, its gaze flickering to where Lord Merryl is sitting, your lips tip up to a smile.

“Alastair?”

Lord Merryl chuckles softly as he nods, greeting the giant dragon who responds to his former rider with a deep, long trill before he then takes flight. The flap of his wings sends a wave of thick dust across the town square and onto the tavern’s walls, drawing a series of laughter from the people who are lounging outside.

“He got curious and came by to say hello,” Lord Merryl says with a deep chuckle while sounding like he is talking about an old friend that he dearly respects and cares for the most. His smile widens when you softly laugh along with him. It makes you feel giddy on the inside, completely amused that the mighty dragon has chosen to acknowledge your presence in his home.

Last night, your dream brought you to a different place.

Instead of finding yourself standing on the top of a cliff, looking down at a thriving land of greens with crystal-like rivers and posh structures in white, you saw yourself walking up a hill covered with a widespread of green grass.

Perched gracefully atop the verdant hill is a temple that appeared almost twice as high as the local churches you had often seen in the capital city of Smotia. With structures built from bone-coloured stones, the temple appeared like a sculpture of light under the cerulean sky.

In your dream, you were as barefoot as always as you walked the winding path leading towards the entrance of the temple. Flanked by whispering trees and blooming wildflowers, their vibrant hues appeared as muted as the sunlight warming your skin.

Approaching the temple, you were greeted by the grand staircase covered in the same bone-coloured stones which formed the temple’s structure. Each step of stairs felt both cold and smooth under your feet as you slowly made your way up. As you came to the entrance foyer, you were welcomed by majestic columns of white lining up the halls, rising to support the roof that seemed to touch the heavens. The massive entrance door stood at the center of a stone wall adorned with intricate carvings depicting scenes from myth and legends—most of them you have seen depicted in your history books.

Upon entering through the threshold, you were greeted by the cool, tranquil interior and a faint scent of waning incense. The temple was empty, aside from the flickering candlelights that aligned the low dais built on each side of the walls within the grand hall.

It felt like you were drawn by an unseen force as you walked toward the center of the hall, stopping where lights filtered through from above. Looking up, you caught the sight of the dome ceiling above, made up of a thick glass that looked more like clear crystal, it allowed some sunlight to penetrate into the grand hall.

At the heart of the temple stood a grand altar draped in a layer of golden silk and adorned with garlands of fresh flowers. A marble statue of an Ancient stood at the center, surrounded by unlit candles, golden bowls filled with red wine, and golden plates filled with offerings of fruit, bread, and fragrant oils that were laid at its feet.

The walls at the far back of the hall were just as pale as the rest, yet the entire surface was covered in tapestries. Banners made of silk in pale ivory colours, each one with the symbol of the moon painted in gold in the center, insinuating that this place was where worshippers come to pray to the moon.

You tried to take another step forward, wishing to have a good look at the Ancient standing at the altar—a tall figure with long silky hair wearing the attire of a hunter, with swords attached onto either side of its hips and a set of bow and arrows hanging on its back—when a strong breeze came rushing in. It came so suddenly that you were forced to close your eyes, shutting you off from this peculiar place until the breeze faded.

Barely a minute passed as you kept your eyes closed, yet you could feel it when the world you saw slowly began to shift.

The temperature rapidly dipped. The cold breeze carried with it the same menacing scent of decay which always followed you each time these dreams ended, causing your blood to run winter-cold which had you refraining from opening your eyes.

But you rarely ever had any control of yourself—of anything at all—while you were in a dream. There was nothing stopping you from opening your eyes, to witness what had unfolded in the mere seconds that passed.

Everything that you saw previously—all the vibrant colours, the elegance that was part of this temple, and the alluring beauty which captivated you—had withered. The temple was no longer whole.

The stone pillars were now damaged and fractured in places. So did the artistic stone walls which were now filled with splinters and covered in soot. Parts of the roof were now gone, with the crystal dome partly shattered, leaving not much barrier between you and the dull-grey sky above.

The floor that had been clear and bright-coloured was now covered with dirt and dried blood, with a thin layer of fog crawling around your feet. The grandeur you saw at the altar had wilted to ruins—the flowers had dried out, the draperies and banners were charred and singed, candles were fully burned and melted, and the offerings all scattered and spilled on the floor, the bowls and plates all toppled and broken in pieces around the broken statue. The striking figure of the Ancient depicted by the statue had become shapeless, with its face chipped in multiple places and gaping fractures soiling its upper body to leave it almost completely disjointed.

Once again, you were made to witness how quick and easy it was for life to wither and wane, the unseen beauty of this unknown world fading right before your eyes, merely moments before you were pulled away to wake.

Sleep felt like nothing more but broken fragments as exhaustion weighed on you all morning since you woke up.

Not even your busy, daily routine could help get your mind out of your eerie dream when it kept returning to you whenever your mind was idle.

Fragments of last night’s dream kept coming back while Lady Laurel had you reading different passages of the books that were part of her lesson—Ancestors Of Magic, Languages Of The East, Ancients And Emperors—that would have usually piqued your interest.

Not even the etiquette and ballroom dance lessons with Lady Abigail could do much to distract you from the grim visuals of the broken temple. As someone who has known you her whole life, she didn’t miss the lack of focus that you put in her lesson that she finally gave in and sent you back to your bedchamber with her scolding,

“Rest and clear your idle mind before you hurt yourself.”

And when Lord Gordan wasn’t there for your afternoon lesson to help take your mind off of the haunting shadows of your dream, you chose not to remain in your bedchamber as advised by your governess. Instead, you stripped out of your day dress and slipped into a different attire—a pair of dark breeches and boots, with a loose tunic as your top to make it easier to move around—and marched towards the royal courtyard with your shortsword in hand, searching for a way to keep your mind from becoming idle.

Anything to keep your body and mind busy. To get the images out of your head and tire yourself out just enough so you wouldn’t dream again in the night.

Even if it meant challenging a knight or a royal guard in the middle of their sword training to have a spar with.

“You have quite an outstanding form, Your Highness,” Sir Stephan, the tan-skinned royal guard who had volunteered to be your sparring partner exclaims as he watches you return to your position after blocking his strike. “That wasn’t an easy feat to follow.”

“I told you to not underestimate me, knight,” you retort back with a smile, enjoying the adrenaline rushing through your body. It has been a while since you felt so alive, to be able to move this freely and use your entire body to its full potential the way you did when you had to practice your sword fighting with your father and his knights.

Amused, the guard’s lips twist to a smirk. “I must do well to remember not to show you such disrespect,” he says as he swings his sword back into position, showing you that he is serious.

Not that he has been taking things easy from the start.

While your arrival at the south courtyard earlier had sparked confusion and shock from the royal guards, he was the only one who didn’t look at you as if you were completely out of your mind. He was also the first to step up and volunteer when you openly asked to have a sparring session.

“I wouldn’t dare shame the royal knighthood nor Her Highness by not doing this seriously,” was his promise when you told him not to hold back, and it pleases you to see him making good on his words to you. For you to not be treated like you were made out of glass, like how other royal guards have been treating you.

Through your sparring, getting a closer look at your opponent, it didn’t take much to understand why.

At first, you recognised him as one of the royal guards who has specifically been assigned to guard you during your evening routines. With a closer look at his face and the way he swings his broadsword against your shorter one, you finally remember him as one of the guards escorting you the night you departed from the Citadel.

The same guard who slipped away from the line of escorts to fight off the unidentified figures pursuing your carriage into the Elcester Forest that night.

Your fight continues, and as he still keeps the same fortitude as he would had he been sparring against his fellow guards, you return it with all that you have.

His strikes are strong, with each clash and contact making it obvious that your sword is much lighter than the one he uses. But it doesn’t mean that you are going to make it easy for him to bring you down.

The hilt of the shortsword feels good in your hand. There is a welcomed weight in your hold as you swing it against your opponent. A presence that you hadn’t expected to be something that you have been missing the most. When you strike, your eyes are focused and your hand is firm, and you catch him by surprise when you make a quick work on your feet and make a clean swipe against him, coming close to nicking at his sharp chin before he deflects your attack with one quick swing of his sword.

A series of cheers echo from all around you as the guards witness him stumbling back. Only slightly, but enough to show that your attack is enough to rattle him.

You can tell that your sparring has gained some more audience, with the guards putting their training on hold to watch you fight one of their strongest fighters. Their voices are loud across the courtyard as they encourage the fight while taunting their comrade. It should make you feel self-conscious if only you are not too immersed in giving a good fight against the guard.

“Be careful, Stevie. Don’t want to see you lose a chance for promotion if you hurt the Princess,” you hear the captain of the guards speak from the side.

“I have a feeling that I should be the one to worry about getting hurt,” Sir Stephan jokes back to his comrade between each strike of his sword, his voice drowning under the loud clangs of the swords coming upon contact as you keep blocking his attacks.

As he slows down while responding to his comrades’ taunting laughter, you take the chance to make another move. Taking advantage of his lack of focus, you thrust your sword toward him. He blocks you with one swing and you shoot forward, spinning on your heel and swinging your hand back, slamming the hilt of your sword against his stomach. Sir Stephan recoils with a grunt upon impact.

“Oh, Fates,” he curses with a cough. A rough chuckle comes from his lips as he recovers to shout at his friends laughing at him, “Told ya.”

You quickly step away from him while everyone whistles, cheering for your move. “Stay focused, Sir Stephan. Don’t want you to actually get hurt,” you playfully taunt him as you move into position, ready to continue.

Seeing this prompts Stephan to strike first, swinging his broadsword down to your side, which you block using the back of your sword. The sound of the deep grunt escaping his lips draws more taunting from the other guards.

“Already getting tired, Stevie?”

Letting out a heavy laugh, your opponent cleverly responds without missing a beat. “I think the Princess is just a bit too tough for me to handle, that’s what.”

“Good thing you volunteered in our place since if you lose this fight, there’s no way any of us could defeat Her Highness.”

“Maybe we should recommend your early retirement, old man. Her Highness can always take your place.”

“Right on. The Princess isn’t even sweating and yet there you are trembling. Even your form isn’t right.”

Their compliments please you, even if some of it is far from the truth. You can feel sweat coming down between your brows and in between your breasts. Your breath is growing shallow, and if only any of the guards weren’t so preoccupied with keeping a close watch on each strike of sword clashing through the sparring, they would have noticed the way your legs are beginning to quiver as you block another strike from Sir Stephan’s broadsword.

As your exhaustion sinks in, what comes into your nearly idle mind is not a part of the dream that you wished so badly to forget, but the words of a wise man who has followed you home ever since your visit to E’l Alora.

“Before you go, I must be honest and admit something. Lest I regret it in case we never meet again,” was what Lord Merryl said to you last night before you left E’l Alora to return home. The look that he was giving you then stayed in your mind until you came back to the castle. “You remind me of someone.”

“Someone you knew?”

His lips twitched to a soft smile. “Long ago, before the war, before this land became as secluded as the way it is now, we used to have travellers coming through our town, often staying with us for a time to experience life here as our guests. There was one who Alastair and I had the privilege to get acquainted with during that time. A female traveller who claimed to be a scholar and was travelling through sacred lands in search of knowledge about the Ancients, much like you.” Once again, you saw a glimpse of longing in his eyes as he spoke. “She looked quite like you, and I am quite sure she was around your age when she frequently came to visit us.”

Then his longing gaze fell on your necklace for one last time. “And she was wearing a necklace similar to yours.”

Sir Stephan’s sudden strike snaps you back to the present. His move isn’t as fast as his previous offences, but the blow of his sword rattles your entire arm the moment it makes contact with yours. You barely manage to deflect his attack, the clash between swords and the force that he uses pushing you back a step. Yet you are still capable of cutting his blow, even if it comes with a cost.

Your knees buckle as you pull your sword back. Snapping your sword down, you stab its tip onto the ground to keep you from falling on your knees.

“Your Highness, is everything all right?” Sir Stephan calls out gently, sounding concerned. Yet he makes no move to approach you, something which you respect coming from him.

Laughing nervously, you straighten up and shake your head. “Seems like I was right all along. I’m quite out of practice.”

The guard looks relieved to hear this. His lips twist into something which resembles a pride smile. “For the record, you are still much better than some of the guards here,” he compliments you as he slowly lowers his sword. “And in a much better shape as well, seeing that you are still standing on your two feet.”

“I take it as a compliment.” Sheathing your sword, you bow your head slightly towards him. “Thank you for lending me your time. We should do this again next time.”

Lifting his sword and crossing it against his chest, Sir Stephan greets you with a formal bow. “I’ll be ready to spar with you again, Your Highness. If ever you need to.”

You turn to greet the other guards with a slight bow before turning away to leave. Behind you, the captain of the royal guards begins rounding up his men to resume their sword training. The sounds of them shuffling back into their position and the clanging of swords follow your departure.

Except for Sir Stephan.

Even without looking over your shoulder, you can feel the heat of his gaze pressing on your back. It shouldn’t bother you so much to have him watching you go, as he is simply doing his duty as your guard ever since the Citadel. Yet it suddenly feels unsettling how familiar his presence feels for you, even as you put distance between you.

He reminds you of someone. Of a moment in time that is lost in your memory. Yet your mind is too exhausted and you are too weary to figure out how.

You try not to dwell on it as you make your way around the small rising leading to the West Tower. Avoiding the side corridor where the entrance of the tower is located, you choose to walk a bit further towards the door hidden behind the hill.

At this time of the day, this side of the tower is quiet. Only the palace maids use this access door, yet you have learned enough to know that none would be passing here during the time they are finishing most of their late afternoon duties.

Crossing the threshold, you arrive in a small hall connected to the long winding stairwell going up to the upper floors. Amongst them is the corridor leading towards your bedchamber, where you can finally rest—both your mind and body—for the day.

Your mind is once again idle as you begin to ascend the stairs. Idle due to exhaustion, yet still enough to silence all thoughts and wonders.

For a moment, you feel hopeful about dragging yourself towards your bed, even if your legs still tremble while you climb up the stairs. The shortsword feels as if it has gained weight as it keeps bumping against your thigh in your journey back to your quarters.

Yet in that comforting silence, your senses are on high alert. Sharpened enough to feel a peculiar sensation rising within that stairwell.

A feeling that is quite similar to what you have often felt whenever you come across any silver doors hiding your father’s magic portals.

Curious, you begin to proceed cautiously. The logical part of your mind is telling you that it might just be in your head. There is nothing up there other than the long corridors of the west wing of Stargrave, where your bedchamber is placed.

As you continue going up the stairs, there is really no mistaking it—the soft hum of magic reverberating through the air, beckoning you to come close.

With one hand wrapped around the hilt of your sword, and the other reaching up to touch the silver key hanging on your necklace—placed together alongside your ruby amulet to make sure that you would keep it close to you at all times—you continue to proceed.

Right before you reach the floor connecting you to your private quarters, you arrive at a landing.

There, right to your left, appears a small archway that seems to have been built into the wall. Similar to the door which took you to E’l Alora, it appears like nothing more but a wall ornament. It seems impossible for it to serve as a door. Not at this part of the tower, when the small windows placed on either side of it are showing you a massive fall towards the shoreline below.

At the center of the archway, what seems to be a carved wall ornament appears to be a plate made up of old wood. It has silver hinges on one side—the only sign allowing you to identify it as a door—and floral embellishments pressed across the surface. The silver embellishments are marred by patches of reddish-brown rust, hiding the silver shine under the uneven, flaky crust spreading on its surface.

Standing before it, you realise that the humming spell is more muted here compared to the ones you have heard and felt from the other magic doors. Yet the sensation you feel all through your body is just the same.

Your racing heartbeat. The pulse of warmth surging through your skin. Even the way your necklace is vibrating against your skin feels just the same.

Cautiously, you slip the key off of your necklace. With a deep breath, and your curiosity rising, you silently pray that the door truly opens to another magic portal instead of sending you plunging into the rough sea below.

The key fits perfectly in the keyhole and it opens with one click, immediately opening as if there is an unseen force helping you to reveal what is hidden beneath. The ripple of magic which appear in the form of a blue mirror manifests right before your eyes, opening the way for your next adventure.

“I suppose there is no rest for today”—you sigh—“yet. Here we go.”

The flow of magic engulfs you as you take a step into the portal. It clings onto your body like a cold glove, causing tingles on your skin while your heart palpitates as your own mana reacts to it. This time, the humming spell sounds more like chants of prayers. Still spoken in a language that you are unable to comprehend.

Your journey across lasts only for a blink of an eye before the heels of your boots land on solid ground. A cold breeze washes over you, filled with the scents of moss and petrichor. Not in the kind which you would often find in the countryside, but more at places that are mostly deserted—like castle ruins or abandoned churches, perhaps unexplored caves in the wild.

Releasing a deep exhale of breath, you open your eyes, only to have the rest of it getting knocked right out of your chest. As if reality comes crashing on you with a hard punch as you realise where you are.

You have emerged right in the heart of an old temple.

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