#Vagabonds of Space

[darks-arts]

Got inspired by this post n made a new troll oc! Hope she has your vote this election ^w^

[sizemorty]

Here is the preview of Vagabond Matchers, the other post had older sprites. Im so happy with this project and hope to get even further with it in the future. I also would like to thank my team and artist @n1ghts1ash and @oxinvaderemixo.

If anyone has any interest at all in testing let me know id love to for anyone to try it.

[evilcoconutz]

How I met Neil Newbon.... Twice

TLDR at the bottom. This literally has 2,944 words so I totally understand if you wanna skip around, I tried adding little chapters to help chop it up a bit. I'm a very details kind of person lol.

This took me like two days to type out, still can't believe this happened to me.

I just wanna say that I got a very unique experience and got extremely lucky. When I say I got LUCKY, you have no idea.... I have a shitty memory and will forget this if I don't type it out. This is mainly for myself to come back and re-read again and again. This is my memory of Fan Expo Dallas and meeting Neil Newbon.

I decided to go all three days because Neil had two separate panels I wanted to attend. One on Friday and the other on Sunday. I went dressed as a Sith on Friday with lil Batstarion on my shoulder with a tiny magnetic lightsaber (Space Cowboy of course). We did some shopping and walking around before trying to get my signature with Neil that I had scheduled for that day. Neil's panel that evening was like 7:45 pm and so we joined the line to get the autograph well before then. Around 5ish I think. I get to the back of the line with my husband, we sit there about five minutes and only one other person lines up behind us. (I only uploaded pics of my druid outfit and not my Sith, just imagine the same shit but with a black dress and black and red pauldron, I also carried my personal lightsaber)

I cannot explain how long this line was. it would be at least 2+ hours before we could get through the line on a Friday, I couldn't imagine what Saturday would be like.

It's been a few years I have been to Fan Expo, the crowds would not get better, and I knew that much.

Having every intention of standing in line and waiting multiple hours just to get his signature, I looked around and saw so many amazing Astarion, Karlach, Gale, and Shadowheart cosplays. Not too far from this amazing cosplay!

We also saw a Damon and Karlach hanging out, a couple of Alfira's too!

A Fan Expo Staff Member goes through the back ends of the line and picks out those who have an "All Days" pass, which included us.

He pulls about 20ish of us aside and explains that if we come back tomorrow, we had two options. *Checks Neil's itinerary on phone* "He's got nothing scheduled before noon tomorrow, if you see him at the table early don't hesitate to get in line."

-----The red ticket-----

So if we accepted this red ticket our options were:

Come back between 10-10:15 am tomorrow and get in line asap, to be first in line, they usually only allow VIP to line up during this time and if we had the ticket, we would be allowed through.

Come to the VIP booth tomorrow between 12:30-1 pm and MAYBE get a spot if there are any left.

Don't accept ticket and rejoin the line.

-----Saturday and the virtual line-----

Obviously we wanted to come back the next day to be there before 10:15, but between traffic and trying to find a parking spot we were late. My hubby almost insisting I get out and go stand in line while he wait in traffic <3 Soooo sweet, but I didn't wanna be there with out him!

Before we even get to the sign floor... yeah... it is so crowded we be sardines. We bee line it for Neil's line and immediately get told we need to come back in an hour because the line was completely full. BUMMER. We decide to walk around a bit more to kill time for said hour. There is so much to do and see at Fan Expo, do not sleep on some of these panels! Free programming and cosplay building, it's amazing!

We come back an hour later and are greeted with a virtual wait line! Yay!

I have nothing against these, but as we accepted our virtual wait ticket, we asked about our red ticket from the day before.

We were then told our best bet was either to wait until 12:30-1 pm to go to the VIP booth or wait for our number to be written on a white board they had put up (virtual wait list number in which we could line up). I wish I had a picture of it, but it was incredibly crowded.

-----Let's Go, Baby!-----

12:30 pm just rolled around and we were curious what the white board number was, it wasn't close to ours so my husband asked where the VIP booth was (we had no idea what this meant btw) and were directed to the other side of the celebrity signing area. As we approached, there was only one couple before us. The Staff asked who we were there to see, "Neil Newbon, we have a red ticket." The couple ahead of us was there to see Jim Cummings, which was the booth next to Neil's. There was a brief walkie talkie moment, I had kinda spaced out and my husband tapped me and said "Let's go, baby!" I was like "Uh, where?!"

"To Neil" The staff then swept all of us through a maze of people, we formed a small train apologizing to any one we bumped into. The very kind woman who was in front of us commented on my dress and metal halfling ears. She said she had seem them at Renfair and always wanted a pair (I told her go for it next time, I highly recommend! <3)

They pushed us into a small waiting line next to those who had been waiting for hours. This felt so weird, like I had skipped the line or something (which yes, but like... not for sinister reasons). I probably had about 10-15 mins max to think of what to do or say.

Right before it was my turn to approach the signing table, one of the workers noted "Yall don't have to be so nervous, I can see yall shaking, he's really nice!" Even while standing at the front of the line one of the other staff members came over to chat with another staff, pointing at Neil saying "He's one of my favorites! So nice!"

The girl that was right in front of me, she was trying to load her QR code and the signal wasn't the best. My heart would have hit my stomach if that were me. Imagine waiting all that time and now your phone won't load! Yikes! She did finally get it, I'm glad I had mine printed. Take screenshots of your QR codes if you can't print them!

So now it's my turn to walk up to the table, but just before meeting Neil, they ask your name + spelling on a card, they ask if you want to add a small quote (5 words), large quote (more than 5 words), table picture, signature, that kinda thing for an additional fee. He has prints you can choose from (unconfirmed but possibly free if you pay for signature, looked like Streamilyish prints). She asked "What are we signing today?" I then asked if cloth was ok, and she said it was fine. I told the lady behind the table my 5 word quote and she was a bit stunned, lol. Looked at me like I was crazy or something.

The person in front of me was one of those whom had been waiting quite a long time in line, she was so nervous to get her words out to Neil, like she had been rehearsing all day what to say. She looked proud afterwards and happy.

I honestly didn't know what I was going to say, I'm one of those people who cross that bridge when I get there. I was not prepared at all, but I was confident I wouldn't say anything stupid.

I cannot tell you how hard it was to look Neil in the eyes. I am 5'0" and this guy is tall, his eye's are very blue and it's really hard to keep eye contact, at least for me.

We walk up to the table and he immediately held his hand out and said "HI! I'm Neil!" I shook his hand and told him my name, he said nice to meet you and looked at my husband.

"And you are?" He held his hand out as well.

"Dakota, I'm her husband." My husband got to shake his hand too!

In the loudest Astarion voice, "HER HUSBAND?!? Oh there's nothing to see here, err umm side eye" He kinda did this looking away motion with his hand. We laughed and he leaned on the table and said "What's going on guys?" Nobigneil? Verytallneil! Even with him leaning on the table.

I chose to introduce my Batstarion first. I plucked him off my shoulder and placed him on the table. I told him I missed him yesterday as a Sith because Batstarion was a Space Cowboy. I had Batstarion hold the lit lightsaber and Neil said "Surely I'm not going to sign him..."

"No, you'll sign the material I made him out of!"

"Alison

Feeling cute

might decapitate

later! Astarion

Maker <3"

Immediately, he smiled and said "That's from one of my recent live streams."

"It is!" I replied with glee.

He asked me to hold the fabric so he could sign it. As he wrote the quote, he read it out loud just like he does on his signing streams. he warned me the marker would bleed horribly and I did not anticipate what he meant...

I thanked him but I wasn't expecting what happened next.

Neil held out his hand again after finishing the signature for a handshake, but then met the top of my palm with his other hand "See you in the Streams" He spoke so genuinely. His eye contact pierced my fucking soul. Dedz. I honestly don't think I even said anything after that, it stunned me.

I quickly swept my things off the table to make way for the person behind me, not paying attention to exactly what I was doing. I was just trying to not waste anyone's time, I only had to wait a few minutes for Neil but everyone else waited hours. It didn't feel fair for me to stay longer.

I am not kidding when I say people waited for hours on end. When he was swept away to a photo op or to a panel he was involved in, people waited. I don't think I ever saw his line short.

We walk away from the booth to an empty corner to wrap up my cloth, I brought like 1/4 of a yard of fabric so I could wrap it up on itself. That's when I notice Batstarion and honestly wasn't even upset.

It so bled....

He meant what he meant...

Batstarion got bled on... lol... accurate.

TBH I'm shocked the cloth survived all of that, the ruffle and shuffle of bumping in to others through that traffic on a Saturday...

I had the idea of going to see what number was, up on the white board it was at 1030. I wouldn't have even been able to line up yet. This felt unreal.

-----The Waiting-----

So! Now it's time to take a photo with Neil on the SAME DAY.

It's almost 1 pm at this point and it was so crowded, we decided to go ahead and make our way to the photo op area. Neil's photo op wasn't until 2:30 pm so we decided to just wait it out.

Around 1:30 my husband noticed a spot had opened up closer to the entrance of the photo op line area. They started calling for last call for Mads Mikkelsen, in booth A. I noticed some people in a hurry to get there, I looked up and I see one of my favorite Youtubers!

FunkyFrogBait! I only got like the side of their face, but the glasses and hair were unmistakable. Here's their channel:

https://www.youtube.com/@funkyfrogbait

Seriously though, if it wasn't them, it was a damn good cosplay! Really wish I could have said HI and spread the love, but I never saw them again.

Anyway...

I bought my FanExpo tickets on mother's day and added the signature for Friday and the photo op for Saturday. This put me in group A for the photo op. Depending on when you buy your tickets and how many people buy them is what group your are put in.

I don't remember what time they started calling for VIP line up for Neil NewBORN. This made me laugh, no one corrected this poor man the whole time.

I think there were three people total that lined up in VIP. As soon as they called for group A line up for Neil Newborn, we were off and got in line fairly quickly. Only a few moments waiting in line and an older man that was just passing by, stopped and asked us what we were in line for. My husband said "We're in line for a photo with Neil NewBON." He just said ok and waved his hand as he left. The lady behind my husband snickered and said "Newborn" as if mimicking the announcer.

"Pfft! I know right!?" Suddenly, I was approach by someone who had this in their hands and they gifted it to me!

I'm actually still wearing it as I'm typing this.

I squealed "OMG!!! Thank You!!!" Seriously! So cute!

The energy of all the people waiting in line, it was very comfortable, we all knew why we where there. Soooo many amazing cosplays waiting in line, we saw a Heisenberg, and several Lady Dimitrescu's, a couple of Astarion's.

-----The Photo OP-----

The line is FULL. We have maybe six people in front of us including VIP.

This doesn't feel right, it feels like I just cheesed and speed ran my way into meeting Neil in the shortest amount of time possible without being VIP on the busiest day of FanExpo. WHAT?!?

Granted, I bought my ticket way in advance for the photo op and we got there early, I never thought I would ever be so close to the front of the line like this!

It's time to start the photo op so VIP goes first, but we where right behind them. They bring you, along with 4-5 others into a small room with a table, that you can set your bags on. My husband just held onto ours.

The process of this was so amazing to me, I have never taken a photo with a celebrity before and had no idea what was going to happen. There is very little preparation they give you to take the photo.

Back to back, they give you maybe 10 seconds to prepare. SNAP. Go. SNAP. Go. SNAP. Go. SNAP. Go.

I got a glimpse of the first photo, she had a stuffed Astarion, she had Neil hold upside down. All the others just walked up, posed, left. By "pose" they just did a side hug.

I didn't know what to do so I just did the same thing as everyone else. I walked up and immediately, he went "Heh, Druid..."

At first, I thought we were going to take the same picture as the ones before me, but to my surprise, he touched my antler and said "Ooo pointy" When they called for the picture to be taken he literally yelled

"HORNY!"

I'm sure my face went bright red after that. I said thank you and turned to walk away. He even said "Nice to meet you!" as I left. I was again shocked and didn't say anything! Ugh... Kicking myself a little over that.

As we left, my husband pointed out, Neil really didn't say anything to anyone else. They sent us down a winding pathway to get our prints. We came to a small area and prints started shooting out of the printers so fast, it was actually amazing. (Six Flags take a fuckin note!) Anyways, here is my photo with Neil, my face blocked out because I look like a deer in headlights lmao!

So yeah, if you ever get the opportunity to meet him, you should! 10/10 nicest dude ever. Those bracelets he's wearing are the ones his fans have gifted to him in case you were wondering.

So what's really great about this photo, it looks like Batstarion is leaning on him! <3

I zoomed in and you can really see the red from his signature and his cowboy hat!

This is what he looks like today, it's almost completely gone, dunno if I want it fully gone though tbh.

So yeah. I just wanted all of my memories in a place I could keep them. I don't play with Facebook, Twitter, Insta, Snapchat, or any other social media, so I only post here. I hope you enjoyed my rambling!

The serotoneil was very high this whole weekend! Sunday would be the best day to go if you have kids!

BTW both panels he was in was very entertaining! This clip was from Friday's!

TLDR: I got to skip big lines to see Neil Newbon and maybe saw one of my favorite Youtubers? Batsarion got red ink from Neil's signature.

My Druid cosplay:

https://www.tumblr.com/evilcoconutz/752031078643040256/druid-cosplay-update?source=share

My Batstarion build:

https://www.tumblr.com/evilcoconutz/751141069044023296/lets-write-these-wrongs?source=share

[tatck]

The ships in the vagabond comic concept art.

[womenofwrestlingfashion]

Smackdown 1/5/23

Bayley wore the Vagabond Fur Coat from Space Island ($165)

[axlestuck]

A Wayward Vagabond god tier outfit. I think he'd be a Maid of Breath!

@doyourworsttt

[damarassanctuary]

Megido's Mistletoe

9/15/2023

Mayor you lucky little guy

Speedpaint:

youtu.be/s9t8sQSiqms

[abrosexualvagabondcookie]

GNARP GNARL

[skellymom]

Pencil sketch of my OC Maadienne "Mad Momma" Dax from my "Vagabonds" Bad Batch fanfic series. Yes, it screams SPACE GOTH! The inspiration was from Siouxie Sioux, Mad Max, Arcane, and Chiana from Farscape. Will post the inked version when finished.

[trevlad-sounds]

Monday 31 July Mixtape 347 “Astral Logo”

2023-07-31

Downtempo Cosmic Space Synth Wednesdays, Fridays & Sundays. Support the artists and labels. Don't forget to tip so future shows can bloom.

Architectonica-Logo 00:00

Uncle Fido-They Accuse Anyone 00:07

Cate Brooks-Curig 02:07

Orfeón Gagarin-Salmos Funiculares, Pt. 11 07:08

Alpha Chrome Yayo-The 19th Hole 11:55

Tomer Baruch-Bugs Fly 13:36

E Ruscha V-Breaking Clouds 16:27

Richard Norris-Gamma and Delta 21:36

Apta-TND 24:15

Alexis Lumière-The Ballad Of G.Threepwood 28:39

Dean Honer, Supreme Vagabond Craftsman-I Saw The Frogman 32:14

Binaural Space-Vintage Laser Harp 35:23

Benge-The Dreamer 36:21

Cole Pulice-Astral Cowpoke 40:07

[euanpc]

HMS Vagabond

[eventvenuesingapore-venuexplorer]

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[blog-atechies]

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[evilminji]

Okay, you know how bird don't ACTUALLY look the way we think they do?

They are far more colorful? But only to the eyes of other birds?

And it has to do with how light reflects off them and how their eyes are shaped etc etc.?

Well..... humans can see the most shades of green, right? But! We sure as shit can't see UltaViolet and InfraRed? Or shades BEYOND those. Ectoplasmic colors. Magical ones. Third eye, need to see with your SOUL type ones.

Danny? Could very well still have lil baby "kitten's eyes who haven't open yet" syndrome.

He thinks the Zone is Green and his hair is white.

But it's not.

His hair is Starlight colored. Frost. His suit is specifically "the void between stars" colored. Which looks... different? Then black? No, no, guys. How can you guys not see it? It looks REALLY different! How did he not NOTICE before?! They're not ever CLOSE to the same shade! It's like calling salmon and hot pink the same. You know... if you were to compare an actual fish and some irradiated, violently glowing version of "hot pink".

......guys?

His gloves are.... guys, these ares stars. Pressed so close together there's no gap. His body is the night sky, all rearranged. He's wearing SPACE, guys.

*continues to stare at his gloves for the next five hours*

Now... why is this relevant? Because! Danny slowly, as all humans do, adjusts! It's like finally having glasses after years of blurry vision. He... forgets, what it was like, not NOT See Zone Colors. Not completely, mind you, but enough he has to be reminded.

And the Zone? A Realm of the Dead. Specifically, the great catch-all and highway of the Dead. They get EVERYBODY. Misfits and vagabonds. Those who don't quite fit. Funky lil dudes. And of course, assholes, but everybody has those! See, Zone colors?

Are DIFFERENT.

They're all of um!

It's like looking at the technicolor, stobe light, multi galaxies in one, Sun. Tingly(tm)!!! You get used to it. What helps? Is that as garish as the Zone is? The painting and grand tapestry of it all? Keeps changing. Like weather. If it's too much for you, you can stay inside your Lair until the current Color changes. Until the designs shift. Vibe changes.

There are even glasses for that! "Temperate" areas for people to set up, that get headaches or are just... kinda killjoys. Too each their own. Though the stormy areas? Those guys are freaks. Watch out for those guys. They're the kind who stare directly are stars until their eyes burn out.

Where was I? Oh yeah! Danny!

No longer a wee baby, smol baby, twig-o!

Sad. We miss it.

But he did get used to Seeing The Colors. Got a handle on his powers. And! Finally worked with his parents on how to safely turn the portal OFF. There was much booing. Cries of "kill joy" and "booo! You suck!". But? Like? Dude DID have the right to protect his home. Go to college. What can you do?

Problem with THAT is? Baby grew into his "built like a brick shit house of constantly running off to literally tackle the Supernatural excellence" Fenton genetics. He Tall. Muscles! And he PUMPING out "somethings fucked up with me" Vibes!

Add in his DEEPLY Sus off hand comments. Weird ability to tell when someone has or is about to die. Basic immunity to the cold. Fuckin EYE GLOW?

Ha ha... *Horror movie screams from his college dorm mates*

Clearly a demon!

He gets kicked out. Well... not kicked out. He's a model student and broken no rules. They'd never survive the lawsuit. But... he's? STRONGLY INCOURAGED to finish his education elsewhere. Repeatedly. By like... 15 colleges.

Sam is not just livid, she's actively foaming at the mouth.

Breathe, Sam! Remember what your doctor said! Your mortal body can't handle that kinda Vengance spiral! Think of your blood pressure! Breathe!!! (Were not for the laws of this land... and the weak, fleshy constraints of her mortal form!)

Thankfully? Tucker's been interning, remotely of course, with Wayne Industries. He asked his manager where he could find some of those scholarship forms. (Since Gotham University is just a touch out of Danny's price range.) Manager wanted to know why. And oh! Oh holy shit. Apparently? Danny is the hot new office gossip.

People in the main office are OUTRAGED. Danny's "too spooky"?! Too FUCKIN SPOOKY!? Are you KIDDING THEM? Even juicier, a Meta kid from some wacky ghost hunters turned scientists. From a line of Supernatural hunters. Wants to be a aeronautics engineer.

Ooooooh how SPOOKY! Better watch out! He'll design an ENGINE at yooooou!

Fuckin casuals. Non-Gothamites are WEAK. "Too scary" their collective asses. Yeah, maybe the kid SHOULD come too Gotham. He can be the weird kid. Mildly unsettling or something. His powers won't be SHIT in Gotham. Just remind him to buy a gas mask.

So! Danny gets his Scholarship! Merrily packs his bags for darker, Gothic hellscape hills. Unaware... that Constantine has been following reports of a "demon" that he's? 80% sure is a Banshee but MIGHT be a winter spirt with a shtick? For the past 13 colleges. He's getting closer. And this sucker is a strong one.

Not "this is going to cause me serious, life imperilling danger" strong. But more? "Man, that cat is HUUUUUGE". Could he still get mauled a lil? Yeah. Scratched to all hell and back? Probably! But DIE? Unlikely.

He just needs to know why the FUCK this spirit his hanging around colleges.

Which is made harder... by the fact that what HE sees? And what OTHER people see? When they look at this guy? Separate things. Yeah, he'd LOVE to give you guys a description! IF HE HAD ONE.

@the-witchhunter @hdgnj @hdgnj @spidori @babbling-babull @nerdpoe @lolottes

[hexedevolution]

'So much has happened' was an understatement - no doubt on both of their accounts since they ended up here as the result. Viktor didn't really have time to respond directly to that as Jayce had spilled into a dialogue. It was rather apparent whatever Jayce had bottled up over the passing year was well overdue to spill over. Some things never changed... It was a relief. A steady continuation in this all-changing time.

Viktor nodded, showing he was listening. He smiled slightly knowing that it worked out for now. At the time, Viktor was drawn elsewhere and seemed only to focus on that. He felt what - at the time - felt like a heavy weight pulling at him internally. A different sensation to the charge. It wasn't until he finally rested after healing Huck he found he was able to detach from his husk and found himself here.

Emotions were free-flowing here. So all the fear of what happened to him, the worry of what was to come and the grief of leaving Jayce came all at once. Yet, even though he could acknowledge them all and feel they were present - he wasn't destroyed by them... It was at that point Sky had shown herself. He lost one friend, to regain another.

"It was the logical outcome," Viktor mused. "The Hexcore was becoming a danger to all of us... I had to take it as far away from everything as possible. Myself along with it, now it and I are one and the same..." Viktor had some weight to his words, as if he wasn't really in approval of this combination.

His avatar seemed to drift in and out of being solid. At times it was as if his face was made of stars before returning to some resemblance of 'normal'. "We have seen the Anomaly from here, also- Oh!" Of course, he hadn't updated. "Sky is here, Jayce. We can only determine that some part of her became trapped inside the Hexcore when it-...When it killed her." He sighed, clearly it still weighed heavily on him. "We are still trying to figure it out on this side of things, but as per the usual for the wild runes, it doesn't remain readable for long."

His face, that appeared creased with his thoughts softened. A small huff, laugh-like, came from him as he shook his head lightly. "It seems so... Looks like it will be your turn next time to save me."

He frowns slightly at the lessening of grip but he was understanding as well, this entire situation...whatever he had become, whatever was happening. It declared a level of caution so he simply tried to focus that he was no longer...well seeing, moving, being thrashed mind and body.

His brain still felt the strange buzzing of white noise if he was in his body he expected he would be flexing his fingers to calm the rising panic attack but body and whatever he was in here felt disconnected, the fear was there but not as strong...

"It's great to see you again in more ways than words can currently explain. So much has happened since we've been apart. " He blinks slightly, looking once more to the space now that his eyes aren't as frantic.

"I suppose I should start with a correction and a thank you. I didn't completely understand your leaving, but it did more good than harm. I was beginning to settle once more without the close proximity of the hex-core that was inside you, and well, the constant stress of you awakening and everything going on... I finally began to calm and realign."

He swallows can an ethereal mouth feel dry? because it did right now.

"heimdinger and a man called ekko came to see me, they had found...signs of corruption similar to the plants born from the hexcore underground. Naturally we went to the closest probable source, the core deep underground...there was anomaly, a wild rune, something beyond explanation...i touched it, like the fool I am...it changed me, psychically and sent me spiraling into sights beyond explanation and time and space...in truth, if you hadn't left I wouldn't have built some sort of bulwark of sanity to defend against what I saw...keeping me as me..."

"and now...im here, wherever...here is..." he chuckles sadly.

"I suppose now you are 2 for 1 on saving my life."

[thatbloodymuggle]

MASTERMIND (vi)

SIX - FROM ASHES

SUMMARY: A child of light and dark, you are the Night Court’s best kept secret. After decades spent in hiding, you yearn to stretch your wings. But you quickly learn that freedom comes with a price, as you find yourself trying to outfox the fox in his own den.

PAIRING: eris vanserra x reader

WORD COUNT: 7.2k

SERIES MASTERLIST

WARNINGS: language, lots of plot building, reader-centric, non-canon usage of real history

A/N: no eris in this chapter, but he'll be back soon🫠

“No luck?” the High Lord of the Night Court drums his fingers along the oak of his armchair.

“She’s stubborn as a mule,” a disgruntled Cassian slumps into his usual spot at the meeting table, “I think I’d have better luck convincing Tamlin to join our court.”

Rhys’s leisure finger-tapping halts, his knuckles turning white as he grips the arms of his chair so tightly it starts to splinter. Beside him, Cassian runs a hand through his unruly hair, shoulders tense. And across from him, Mor’s despondent eyes study the stem of her wine glass as if it’s the most interesting thing in the world. The rest of the table is a mixture of similar states of frustration, anger, and worry: Azriel’s jaw ticks, Feyre’s hopeful smile falters, Amren’s eyes roll. Everyone shifts with unease at the thick tension in the air, hallmarked by the glaringly obvious empty seat between Mor and Cassian. Well, everyone except Nesta, whose stone-cold expression doesn’t so much as twitch at the admittedly predictable news.

It’s been three months. Three months since you returned to the House of Wind in a heap of heartbreak. Three months of Azriel’s shadows chasing you down as you hop from court to court like a vagabond. Three months filled with visits from nearly every member of the Inner Circle. But despite their best attempts, their most heart-wrenching pleas, you remain steadfast: you are not the woman you used to be, and until you can find her, the Night Court cannot be your home.

“Where is she now?” Feyre breaks the heavy silence.

“Winter Court,” Azriel grunts, “She moved from Dawn last week.”

“And now that she knows we’ve found her, she’s probably gone already,” Cassian grumbles, face still sour from his rather unpleasant encounter with you.

The waning wood of Rhys’s chair finally snaps, sending pieces of splintered oak flying through the air. Feyre winces beside him, and for the first time Mor’s eyes move from the crystal glass. 

“This is getting ridiculous,” Rhys seethes, “We’ve given her space. She’s had her fun running around like a nomad. It’s time for her to come back home.”

Azriel grunts in agreement, the muscles underneath his sculpted arms flexing as he crosses them across the table. Feyre pulls her bottom lip between her teeth in contemplation.

“We can’t force her back here if she’s not ready,” Feyre counters softly.

“Yes, we can,” Amren snaps, “Ready or not, serving in this court is her duty.”

 “If we force her against her will, she’ll never forgive us,” Cassian grumbles, his wings fluttering slightly in a sign of irritation, “She made that painfully clear today.”

Mor sets her wine glass down on the table, and the soft clink draws everyone’s attention. They all stare, waiting with bated breath for her to speak.

During the first few weeks of your disappearance, Mor was an emotional wreck. She visited you each time she caught wind of your new location. She couldn’t stand to see her sister, her own flesh and blood, destroyed by the same male who hurt her centuries ago. But as the weeks stretched into months, and each visit became more and more reviled, she’d begun losing hope. It was a pain like no other—being unable to connect to the one person she loves unequivocally. The emptiness in your eyes, the disdain in your lips, only grew with each attempt, until she’d given up completely. Until she’d resigned herself to sulking in the corner of the room, staring at inanimate objects with a permanent frown on her face. 

“Leave her be,” Mor’s uncharacteristically cold tone slices through the air, “If she wants to wallow in her own self-pity, then let her.”

Azriel shifts in discomfort. His shadows swirl around the empty chair, as if mourning your absence. His wings twitch behind him, itching to search every inch of Prythian until he relocates you—or throttles Eris Vanserra’s throat.

The aftermath of your abrupt departure was explosive, to say the least. Watching you return bloodied and bare at the hands of him was far too familiar. It was a sight Azriel had witnessed once centuries ago—one he so deeply wishes could be cleansed from his memories forever. Once the panic that accompanied your return had settled, it was a blazing fury that took its place. The second the Autumn Court heir stepped into the Spring Court for his monthly meeting with Cassian, the Spymaster had him pinned against a tree with the Truthteller to his throat. It took every ounce of his will power, along with Cassian’s incessant reminder that Eris would be no use dead, to keep Azriel from slitting his throat on the spot. 

With your unabating avoidance of the topic, the Inner Circle is still ignorant to the details of your affair. Azriel, on the other hand, knew from the second he laid eyes on you, crumpled and broken on the living room floor. The rest of the Night Court entourage was quick to catch on—but it was him, the true limerence, who knew it from the start. And with his centuries spent pining after a female who can never love him back, he is unable to fathom the notion of a male rejecting a bond gifted by the Mother herself.

“She needs us,” Azriel avoids Mor’s penetrating gaze, “We cannot leave family behind.”

Red, hot ire contorts onto Mor’s features, but her retort is cut short by Rhys’s commanding tone.

“So we don’t force her,” Rhys crosses his arms over the table, “We deliver a message. Tell her that if she wants to keep her position in this court’s assembly, she is to report back to the House of Wind within the week—otherwise, we’ll find someone else to fill her position.”

Nesta, who’s been eerily quiet, scoffs humorlessly, “If you think that’s going to work, then you must truly be dense.” Rhys’s nostrils flare and he grinds his teeth. Cassian places a steadying hand on her thigh underneath the table, but the eldest Archeron sister continues, “If you’re going to give her an ultimatum, you might as well chain her up and lock her here. She’s far too intelligent, more than all of you combined, might I add, to fall for something as foolish as reverse psychology.”

Rhys leans forward and a menacing snarl curls onto his lips at his sister-in-law’s insubordination. Feyre shoots a warning glance at her sister, but the damage has already been done. 

“I’m not chaining anyone up,” the High Lord seethes.

“It sure seems that way,” Nesta retaliates, ignoring Cassian’s blunt nails digging into her thigh through her leathers, “It’s your fault she’s too traumatized to come back here. You sent her there. You encouraged her to get close to him. So maybe you should stop projecting, and give her the space she needs to sort her shit out.”

 Pure, unbridled rage blazes in Rhys’s violet eyes. His fists slam against the table, sending red liquid sloshing out of Mor’s glass. Feyre flinches, and the two Illyrian warriors keep their eyes down. But despite the fury pouring from the High Lord, Nesta keeps her chin held high, her eyes narrowed in a punishing glare. 

“The only person at fault is that Autumn Court piece of scum, girl,” Amren snaps, her cold eyes just as deadly as Nesta’s, “We’d be better off getting rid of him, once and for all.”

“He’s no use dead,” Feyre counters, placing a steadying hand on her mate’s shoulder.

“He’s not much use alive either,” Azriel grumbles.

 “I’m done with this conversation,” Mor abruptly stands from the table, her doe eyes void of emotion, “Do what you will. I don’t care.”

“Sit down,” Rhys’s tone is commanding, leaving no room for debate. She purses her lips, but reluctantly follows his instructions. Mor diverts her gaze back to the stem of the wine glass, retreating to her earlier fascination with the unfascinating object. “As much pleasure as I’d take in seeing the light leave the bastard’s eyes, we’re not killing Eris,” Rhys reasons, “And as it stands, I see no better option than leveraging her position as a member of this court’s politics.”

Nesta narrows her eyes, and he matches her glare. 

“It’s worth a try. We’ve all tried reasoning with her, and it’s only pushed her further,” Amren affirms before grumbling under her breath, “Stupid girl.”

Rhys relaxes back into his seat, but the tension in his shoulders remains, “Well, then if we’re all in agreement, I can draft a—”

“Let me talk to her,” Nesta interrupts.

“No,” the syllables roll off Rhys’s tongue before she can even finish her sentence.

The table falls silent when Feyre immediately retaliates, “Yes.”

The High Lord and Lady stare at one another, each unrelenting. The youngest Acheron sister cocks a brow, as if challenging her mate. Her pink lips are pulled tight, shoulders back; leaving no question that she is, in fact, his equal. Rhys bristles as Nesta’s voice sounds through the air once again, but keeps his gaze trained on Feyre.

“Clearly, all of you have failed miserably getting through to her,” Nesta’s cold tone softens slightly as Cassian kicks her foot underneath the table, “I’ve—” she falters, “I’ve been there before—in that seemingly impenetrable darkness. So let me talk to her.”

The anger laced onto Rhys’s features wavers, his lips dipping into a frown. His hard gaze softens, and he releases a long sigh. “If the High Lady wishes it, then so be it,” he relents.

Feyre fights the triumphant smile tugging at her rosy lips. Nesta does not.

With that, the plan slowly unfurls. Azriel will begin his search first thing in the morning, and once he relocates you, Nesta will pay you a visit. Much to her displeasure, Rhys still insists on writing his stupid letter for her to deliver. However, with agitation clear in the air, Nesta decides to let him have this small victory—if only to preserve his fragile ego. Through it all, Mor’s eyes don’t waver from her wine glass. But despite her detachment, a small sliver of hope dares to break through the solemn room. Everyone is wary, for hope has proven time and time again to be futile. And still, they can’t help but latch on to it for dear life.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

A wise philosopher once said, “By three methods we may learn wisdom: First, by reflection, which is noblest; Second, by imitation, which is easiest; and third by experience, which is the bitterest.” But in all Confucius’s wisdom, you wholeheartedly believe his list should be reordered. 

First should be imitation, which you agree is easiest. You’ve acquired wisdom through imitation for as long as you can remember. From immersing yourself between endless shelves of books, to regurgitating the words of Prythian’s most treasured scholars, you are well practiced in imitation. And despite its short-sightedness, it has granted you wisdom, albeit superficial.

Second, in your mind, is experience. In your 70 years of existence, you’ve only recently started to dip your toes into this derivative of wisdom. And it is your precisely your thirst for wisdom that has driven you to seek experience in the first place. It’s that insatiable hunger, like a demon lurking on your shoulder, that initiated the cascade of experiences that has stripped away your sense of self entirely, leaving you an empty canvas, ready to be remolded. But despite the soul-shattering pain that has come along with experience, you don’t agree with Confucius. For reflection is far more bitter.

How does one practice introspection when they’ve lost their sense of self? When all there is to reflect on is an empty void, filled only by imitation and limited experience? It was meant to be an impossible feat, you suppose. If wisdom was so easy to come by, then wars wouldn’t ignite. Hate wouldn’t fester. And love would prevail.

It’s that void that plagues your mind as you stare into the crystal-clear lake below, shimmering with the reflection of a ghost of a woman. Even as you stretch your lips and wiggle your fingers, watching how it mirrors in the water, you don’t recognize the being staring back. The irony of it is glaring—staring at your physical reflection in search of that otherworldly one. But what else can you do when you’ve traversed all travelable land, met every breed of faerie, and still your only semblance of self is that tug deep in your chest that grows duller each day?

The woman in the lake ripples as a bright, orange fish breaks the surface briefly before swimming back down into its depths. With a long sigh, you peel your eyes from the crystal-clear water and divert your gaze to the surrounding trees. They shine a deep, emerald green underneath the beating sun. After several days spent traversing the mountains, creeks, and valleys of the Day Court, you’ve found that this little nook, tucked quietly along the southern border, is your favorite.

The rolling hills and warming, golden rays are something out of a children’s book. The nights are short; a stark contrast to the beautiful darkness of Velaris. And although you do miss the winking stars and smiling moon, something about this place feels…calming.

During the first two months of your excursion, you stayed far away from Night and Day, and you avoided Autumn like the plague. Feeling so disconnected from yourself, you opted for the more foreign parts of Prythian. A week in Summer, followed by a few days in Spring, before venturing into Dawn. Winter was your favorite. Without a real home, and with a handful of supplies, the biting winds were vicious—but they numbed the ache in your chest. That is, until you were sniffed out for…what is it, the sixteenth time now?

Your lips dip into a scowl at the thought. Each time you feel like you’re on the brink of something—of some kind of clarity, some self-discovery—Azriel’s meddling shadows rip you away from solitude. You know that your family means well. But telling them, time and time again, to kindly fuck off is becoming rather tedious. You’re not heartless; it’s quite the opposite, really. Each time you look into their eyes—their pitiful, dejected eyes—it rouses a storm of emotions deep inside your gut. You can’t stand the way they look at you like some helpless, wounded animal that bites at any helping hand. The way they look at you like you’re broken. It’s an unwelcome confirmation of your deepest fear: that you are, in fact, irreparable, crippled by the only person who’s made you feel alive. 

So, you continue to bite at their helping hands, constantly moving in search of that stupid introspection Confucius speaks so highly of. It’s how you’ve found yourself here, in the place that your mother once lived in, the place she once loved. It’s odd; exploring land that is technically your home, but that you’ve never seen before. You can’t help but wonder what your life would look like had you grown up outside the walls of that library. You imagine that you and your mother would have lived in a quaint cottage in this little nook in the south, where the hills stretch so far into the horizon, they seem infinite. You imagine you would have grown up swimming in this lake, climbing the luscious, green trees until your fingers splintered. 

The soft smile on your lips drops instantly as you catch sight of a dark movement in your peripheral. You whip around, just in time to see tendrils of shadows retreat into the trees. A scowl contorts onto your features. The stupid Spymaster should have known that his shadows wouldn’t fare well in the blistering daylight of this court. 

“Fool,” you shout out into the air. Only the birds chirp back—but you know the message was received.

You reluctantly haul yourself from the grass and begin your trek back to your temporary abode. The grass quivers beneath your stomping feet. Is a week of peace and quiet so much to ask? How many hurtful words does it take for them to give up? You don’t slow down as you approach the abandoned cottage. The hinges of the broken door groan in protest as you swing it open. Sun rays peak through the holes in the roof, shining down onto the dirty, wooden floorboards. It smells of rust and mildew, a testament to its centuries of neglect. But with only a handful of coins left in your pocket, it does the job.

Your hands tremble with agitation as you haphazardly throw your few personal belongings, strewn about the small house, into your single bag. You don’t have time to spare. Azriel surely knows he was caught, and he no doubt alerted Rhys immediately. Someone will be here soon with another futile plea to bring you home. You can only hope that you’ll be out of here before they arrive. Just as you snap the buttons of your bag shut, the hinges of the door groan again behind you.

You squint your eyes shut and clench your jaw, willing yourself to maintain some semblance of composure. You can tell by their light footsteps that it’s not one of the males—thank the Mother, because if Cassian returned he would be hobbling back to Velaris missing a limb.

“Isn’t this charming?”

That aloof tone could only belong to one person. Your tight grip on your bag loosens slightly, and your eyes widen with surprise. You turn slowly, brows furrowed as you take in Nesta’s appearance. Her golden-brown hair is braided on top of her head as usual, not a strand out of place. She wanders around the dreadful space, studying each dust-covered corner as if you’re not there. The initial shock fades, and the frown returns to your face.

“I didn’t know you were doing Rhys’s dirty work now,” you retort coolly. 

She pauses her mindless exploration and turns on her heels. Her cold eyes are striking, as always, and she doesn’t hide her scrutinizing gaze as she scans you from head to toe. You’ve looked better, it says. Nesta looks dreadfully bored as she replies, “I’m not—Well, I suppose I am,” she pulls a crumpled piece of parchment from her brassiere, “He requested that I deliver this. But if I were you, I’d burn it.”

Your eye the letter in her hand warily, as if touching it will somehow transport you back to the House of Wind. Nesta rolls her eyes and waves the parchment in her hand, “If you don’t take it, then I’m going to have to answer to his bruised ego.”

Reluctantly, you take the letter from her waiting hand and blindly set it aside, “Is that it?”

“Pretty much,” she quips.

“You’re not going to grovel and plea for me to come home?” you cross your arms over your chest.

“I don’t grovel,” she scoffs.

The tension in your body unfurls slightly, but you remain alert. You know Nesta is honest—but why on Earth would Rhys send her here?

“I’ll see myself out then,” the eldest Archeron sister juts her chin slightly in a farewell nod. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, watching intently as she turns on her heel and strides back towards the broken door.

“Wait,” you blurt before you can stop yourself. She pauses, ears perked expectantly. Maybe it’s her complete nonchalance, or her abrupt bluntness. But the way Nesta looks at you, like a real person and not some kicked puppy, strikes a chord within you. It stirs a realization that it’s not company you want to avoid, but rather the wrong kind of company.

“You can stay, if you’d like,” your voice is hesitant, but doesn’t waver.

Nesta turns slowly. Her icy eyes remain, but a ghost of a smile plays on her rosy lips, “Okay. But not in this dump.”

You roll your eyes at the way she crinkles her nose in response to the mildew seeping through the walls. You’re sure you don’t smell much better, not having had a proper bath in at least a week.

“Fine,” you deadpan, “We can walk.”

Nesta lets you lead the way, out of the abandoned cottage and into the green beauty of Day. The sun shines as brightly as ever as you fall into a comfortable rhythm, striding leisurely side by side. You note the wonderment in Nesta’s piercing eyes, drinking in the sweet breeze that hallmarks the Day Court. 

“I’m surprised it took you so long to venture here,” she remarks, “I’m not sure I’ve seen such…serenity before.”

You shrug as you step over a fallen log, “It’s nice.” Understatement of the century. “I quite liked Winter, though.”

Nesta snorts, “What did you squat in there? An igloo?”

She can surely feel your glare burning holes in the side of her head, but her eyes remain trained on the full-bodied trees above. 

“A tupiq, actually,” you retort. In retrospect, an igloo would have been better. “I liked the cold. It was…numbing.”

An unspoken tension hangs in the otherwise crisp air. You’re not sure why the small sliver of vulnerability rolls off your tongue. It’s not a new revelation—but saying it aloud, for someone else to hear, is different.

“A stark contrast to the blazing inferno that drove you here,” Nesta states flagrantly. 

A dull tug deep in your chest halts you in your tracks. Your eyes narrow to slits, and Nesta finally meets your punishing gaze.

“What’s your play here?” you hiss.

She quirks a brow, “There’s no play. I didn’t realize Eris was a dirty word.”

His name rolls so nonchalantly off her tongue, and you physically stumble back with a wince. You haven’t heard his name in months. It was a boundary not even your half-sister dared to breech during her many unwelcome visits. Hearing that four-letter name brings on a swirl of feelings you’ve tried for so long to suppress. Nesta’s piercing expression softens slightly as she observes the change in your demeanor. She opens her mouth to apologize, but you speak before she has the chance.

“It’s not—he’s…he’s not,” you try, and fail, to keep your voice steady.

She nods slowly and wets her lips before replying, “Well, I’m glad you’re not letting a male dictate your life.”

Your lips curl into a smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. The irony of it is sobering. Despite your expert avoidance of any thoughts plagued by him, he has dictated your life from the moment you left Velaris. You’ve run like a coward, chased by his ghost, in search of some mirage of clarity that he has made unattainable. 

“I noticed your copy of Confucius’s Analects,” Nesta halts your rapid spiral, “In that shithole you’ve been squatting in. Interesting choice, given your…light packing.”

You can’t help but glance at the lake in the distance. Déjà vu washes over you as you’re reminded of your earlier musings by the crystal-clear water. 

 “I didn’t know you’ve read his works,” you reply simply.

Nesta shrugs and examines her long nails, picking at the cuticles, “I might have indulged myself in your personal copy while you were in Autumn.”

A faint smile plays at your lips, “You’ve outgrown your smut books?”

“Not in the slightest,” she laughs unabashedly, “Just thought I’d supplement them with some light reading.”

Ancient philosophy is hardly light reading. But this is Nesta you’re talking to.

“What did you think?” you ask, eyes still trained on the blue in the horizon.

She sits down on a nearby log, picking at her nails in thought. You seat yourself on a large rock across the path.

“I agree with most of his musings,” she hums, “Although I find them to be rather unremarkable. I find it silly that the world still marvels a regular, old male, as if his theories were anything more than common sense.”

Your eyes widen slightly. Nesta’s pessimism shouldn’t surprise you—yet you’re still taken aback by her blatant disregard for one of history’s most renowned scholars.

“I think you underestimate the acuity of the general population.”

She shrugs, “All I’m saying is keeping my nose stuck in books written by senile males is futile when I have a mind sharper than theirs,” she pauses, “Maybe one written by a female as wise as you would be more worth my time.”

You scoff, “I’m far from wise.”

“I think you’re plenty wise,” Nesta holds your gaze, “If you dare to believe it.”

Goosebumps prickle along your arms, and you’re not sure if it’s from the billowing breeze or Nesta’s candidness. You avoid her gaze, opting instead to stare out at the blue in the horizon. Silver lines your eyes as you mull over her words. Perhaps she is right—reading about introspection does not grant one knowledge. It’s merely another form of imitation. And maybe if you looked within yourself for long enough, you’d see what she sees—that wisdom comes from within. You blink back tears, and your bottom lip quivers.

“I miss you all. More than you know,” you barely speak above a whisper, “But every time I look at them—every time I look at her…it feels like drowning. Like gasping for air, and water rushing in. Because I can’t be the friend, the sister they want me to me.”

The billowing breeze stops, leaving the air around you deadly quiet. The trees seem to lean in, holding their breath as they wait for your next words.

“I can’t look them in the eye when all I can see, touch, taste, feel is…is Eris.”

The onlooking trees shudder as you utter his name for the first time in three months. And for the first time in three months, a hairline crack appears in the walls you’ve so carefully constructed. The floodgate hasn’t broken, but a single tear slips out. It descends the apple of your cheek and into the corner of your trembling lips. The droplet stirs something inside of you, tugs on the string buried deep within your chest in a mournful plea.

“Don’t come back.”

The breeze billows again as Nesta’s steady tone slice through the air. You peel your watery eyes away from the lake, and look at her…really look at her. Her expression is nearly indiscernible beneath the stone-cold mask she wears so well. But the slight dip in the corners of her eyes betray her, exposing the heart-wrenching understanding that lies within.

“What?” you barely recognize your own voice.

“Don’t come back,” she repeats with conviction, “Don’t let them tell you what to do. Don’t let them dictate how you heal.”

You watch, dumbfounded, as she rises from the log and brushes the dirt from her silky dress. For the first time in your life, Nesta gives you a smile. A real, honest smile, so fleeting you think you could’ve imagined it. Before you can utter another word, she’s gone with the billowing wind.

You raise a shaky hand and wipe the pooled tear from your lips with the pad of your thumb. The golden thread tugs steadily in the chasm of your chest, like the beat of a heart that doesn’t belong to you. You rise from the boulder on wobbly legs and begin your walk back to the dingy cottage. You time your steps with the tugging thread. The wistful breeze doesn’t reach your ears as you immerse yourself in your swirling thoughts. You don’t give yourself the reprieve of blocking them out, of suppressing them—not this time. Instead, you let them carry you inside the mold-filled house, guide you to your packed bag, and urge you to dig out a roll of parchment and a pen.

You slump onto the dirty ground. As you roll out the parchment, you feel your head clear for the first time since you left Autumn. The fog of guilt, doubt, despair lifts. And as you set pen to page, you’re able to discern your own handwriting—delicate pen strokes that belong solely, perfectly, to you. Daughter of Marjorie, Friend of the Night Court, Sister of Morrigan, and Mate of the Autumn Court Heir. You’re all of it, all at once. 

Ink smudges from the soft pitter-patter of salty tears. With each droplet that falls, another boarded window is ripped away, shining light that’s been hiding for months. Even as they stream down, wracking your body to its bones, you let that tug deep inside your chest guide your steady hand. 

As the days blur into nights, you write with an intensity born of both clarity and urgency. The tears that once fell now blend with ink, each drop a testament to the rawness of your words. And each soft scratch of the pen draws you just a little bit closer to reclaiming your voice. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You’re not quite sure what brought you here, to the House of Wind. Maybe it’s a moment of madness, brought on by the endless stream of tears you’ve been holding back for months. Maybe it’s the unedited, albeit complete, manuscript in your satchel. Or maybe it’s sheer exhaustion from writing from dusk till dawn, and the whole day in-between, three times over. Perhaps all of the above. But there’s three things you’re sure of: your head feels like it’s about to split in two, your hand aches so badly it may fall off, and you’re so nervous to walk through those doors that you might be sick.

You rock back and forth on your heels as you stare at the entrance atop 10,000 winding steps, frozen in place. You feel like a dog, returning home with its tail between its legs, after biting the hand of its caregiver. And you have absolutely no idea what the hell you’re going to say. Nesta was right. You should’ve stayed far away, continued your aimless journey until you could work up the courage to do this. You stumble backwards, but before you can flee the doors swing open.

Your breath catches in your throat as violet eyes stare back at you. They’re wide, like an open book. You can read it all, every footnote of his emotions: trepidation, remorse, but above all, relief. You’re not sure if he wants to punch you or kiss you. But before you can utter a word, he strides forward and engulfs you in his strong arms. He holds you tight, afraid that if he lets go, you’ll slip through his fingers once again. The unstated desperation twists your gut, washing away every ounce of hesitation. For the first time in months, you don’t deny yourself the comfort of human touch and wrap your arms around his broad shoulders. He shudders underneath your hold and buries his faces into the crook of your shoulder. It’s in his embrace that you realize you’re not a dog limping back to its owner—rather, you’re a soldier returning from war, battered, but whole. 

“I’m sorry,” Rhys mumbles, his heavy breath tickling your skin.

You frown and move to push him away, but his grip around your frail body only tightens.

“For what?”

“For sending you there,” he doesn’t miss a beat, “For not being there for you—for not being the brother you needed me to be.”

His words chip at a piece of your healing heart. “Please don’t apologize,” your voice wavers, “It’s not your fault. It’s not anybody’s fault. This is just one of those things life, in all her ambiguity, throws at us—and I’m better for it. Even if she’s a raging bitch sometimes.”

He chuckles deeply, the vibration warming your whole body.

“She is,” he grins against you, “I’m just happy you’re home. Even though you reek.”

You release a watery laugh, “I know.” You swallow down the lump in your throat and unravel yourself from his tight embrace. “I haven’t decided yet, though—if I’ll be staying or not.”

The brilliant violet of his eyes dims, and it takes every ounce of willpower to hold your ground. 

“You’re not staying?” his voice is eerily steady.

 “I don’t know,” you avoid his penetrating gaze, “I want to. But I have…stipulations.”

Rhys’s hopeful gaze hardens slightly. “Stipulations?” he deadpans.

Something moves in your peripheral, and you glance up at one of the arched windows just in time to see the curtain snap shut. “Can we go somewhere more private to talk?”

He nods tersely. He remains deadly calm, wary that one wrong slip of his tongue could send you running again. You immediately miss the warmth of his welcome, but he still maintains a certain softness as he holds his arm out to you. You hook your arm through his, wrapping your dirty fingers around his bicep. You close your eyes as the world twists and folds until you’re standing with him in a familiar room.

The extravagance of his office makes you harshly aware of just how filthy you are. Months of travel have coalesced into the grime underneath your uncut fingernails, the tangled knots of hair on your head. Rhys takes a seat behind his desk, and you warily stare at the chair opposite it. A blush dusts across your cheeks at the prospect of dirtying the velvet cushion, but he nods his head in a wordless command, and you take a seat. 

“Before I start, I want to…apologize,” you swallow down the lump in your throat, “It was never my intention to hurt or worry any of you. I just needed some time to sort things out.” They’re far from sorted. “But I could’ve done so without my unkind words.”

Rhys nods, his sharp features softening slightly, “I know. And I should’ve given you space, so it cancels out.”

Some of the tension slips from your shoulders, but your back remains stiff. You wet your chapped lips and take an anchoring breath before continuing, “I don’t know if I’m ready to return. But I don’t think I’ll ever feel ready. And if there’s one thing my…absence has taught me, it’s that I can’t sit around and wait for life to pass me by.”

The bag on your lap weighs heavier as you’re reminded of the manuscript tucked neatly inside. The glimmer of hope returns to Rhys’s brilliantly violet eyes, but he remains composed as he waits for you to continue.

“So, I’d like to return. But under three conditions.”

 “Okay,” Rhys drags the word out, “But I have to warn you that neutering Cassian is off the table.”

You can’t contain the giggle that escapes your lips. Rhys’s broad chest rumbles with laughter, and for a split second, it feels like no time has passed at all.

“As much as I would delight in it, cutting off the Lord of Bloodshed’s balls wasn’t what I had in mind,” you reply once your fit of laughter subsides.

A small smile remains on Rhys’s lips, “Then what is?”

The humor of the moment passes, and you purse your lips. You close your eyes briefly. In and out. Your chest expands, and as you exhale, your eyes shoot open. It’s now or never.

“First, I want an apartment in Velaris. No more being cooped up here—I want freedom to roam about the Court as I please,” you declare.

Rhys takes less than a minute to think it over before replying, “Done. What else?”

Your brows arch slightly with surprise. Your first request is definitely the tamest of the three—but you didn’t anticipate quite how…agreeable he would be. One down, two to go. Now, for the big one.

“No more secrets,” your tone is steady, self-assured, “No more hiding my identity.”

His jaw shifts, and his bright eyes darken. It’s deadly quiet. You find yourself holding your breath as you wait for his brewing reaction.

“What about your father?” he challenges, his voice gruff with apprehension.

“I don’t care,” your reply is immediate, “Kier won’t so much as lay a finger on me so long as I’m a part of your circle. I don’t give a flying fuck if anyone knows who I am, for that matter.” He opens his mouth to respond, but you beat him to it. “I’m aware that I would no longer be able to act as a liaison between citizens of the courts. But I know for a fact that my time and energy is just as well-served elsewhere,” you don’t so much as stutter as you speak, “I want to be renamed Scholar of the Night Court.”

The High Lord leans forward in his seat, crossing his arms over his desk. The position exudes power, but you don’t so much as flinch at his commanding demeanor. “And what would you do as Scholar?”

You lean forward, mimicking his stance, “Draft your communications. Document your correspondences. Conduct research as you see fit,” the list of tasks rolls off your tongue effortlessly, “Although Amren deserves credit for cracking that book during the war, you wouldn’t have been able to do it without me. There’s not a soul in this Court as proficient as me in ancient tongues, history—overall intelligence too, for that matter.”

The hesitation is clear in the cinch between his brows. Losing you as a liaison is a loss for his ranks. But gaining you as a scholar could be even more valuable. More than that, you know that Rhys will do virtually anything to have you back here—to have you home. Just as you predicted, he releases a long sigh and unfurls his arms before leaning back in his chair.

“Okay,” he relents.

Your lips twitch, threatening to spread into a wide grin, but you suppress it. You still have one more demand, and you have a feeling that this one will truly test his resolve. 

“My last stipulation,” you brace yourself for his rebuttal, “Is that I want full involvement in Court politics. Visits to the Court of Nightmares, meetings with other High Lords—whatever the rest of your Inner Circle accompanies you to, I want to be in attendance.”

“No.”

You frown and cross your arms over your chest, “No?”

“No,” Rhys repeats with conviction.

Irritation blossoms, but your face remains impassive, “May I ask why?”

“You have no idea the…intricacies of the politics I must deal with. It’s not safe,” he trails off, his eyes glazing over with a sense of detachment.

You’re not sure if it’s your comparatively young age, or the fact that you were dropped on his doorstep as a refugee soon-to-be-orphan so many years ago; whatever the reason, Rhys has always been protective of you—overly so. You know it’s the goodness of his heart that’s speaking, but you still have to take a deep breath to calm yourself. 

“I’m more than capable of learning them. Besides, don’t you think it’s a little too late to prevent me from getting involved with High Lords and their heirs?” you quip.

A pang of guilt tugs at your heartstrings at the remorse on his face. You know it’s a low blow. But even in the presence of your gnawing guilt, the truth behind your words is louder. 

“I promised your mother I would keep you safe,” he rasps, “And I nearly failed her once. I won’t make that mistake again.”

The mention of her makes your heart skip a beat. Your palms grow slick with sweat, and you instinctively rub them against the leather of your pants. His confession sheds light on his recent obsessive behavior—how he prioritized tracking your movements over other pressing matters. Any lingering resentment you held melts away as you shift your approach, grappling with the weight of his words. 

“I understand,” sincerity laces itself in your tone, “But is ensuring my safety really worth it if it comes at the expense of my happiness?”

Rhys opens his mouth, but words fail him. His brows furrow as he mulls over your question. Finally, he’s able to muster a reply, “I want you to be happy, Y/N. But I saw—we all saw how miserable you were when you came back from Autumn, and I struggle to see how continuing to involve you in court politics could bring anything but.”

A chill crawls up your bare arms as a vivid image of your burned wrists flashes through your mind. You glance down at your hands in your lap, flexing your fingers to remind yourself that the wounds are long gone—even though the heartache remains.

“I don’t regret a single moment I spent there,” you reply, lifting your gaze to meet his. “Yes, it brought me pain, and I still bear those wounds. But it also brought me joy.” A sad smile graces your features. “It gave me the greatest adventure of my life. It gave me him—heartbreak, and all its beautiful ruin.”

  A rivulet descends your cheek into the crevice of your smile. A sense of newfound understanding weaves its way between Rhys and yourself. An understanding that the villain in his story may very well be the hero in yours.

“When did you become so wise?” he hums.

A wistful note lingers in your voice as you meet the High Lord’s gaze. “When I realized that wisdom doesn’t come from avoiding the fire, but from walking straight through it and letting it burn away what no longer serves you.”

Rhys’s eyes soften, “And what did it burn away?”

Your voice is quiet, almost a whisper. “Fear. Fear of the unknown, fear of pain, fear of loss. What remains is the understanding that pain and joy, loss and love—they are one and the same. And I would rather live a life touched by both than one shielded from them.”

Rhys leans back in his chair, his expression unreadable, as if weighing every word you’ve spoken. The silence stretches between you, thick with unspoken emotions. Finally, he speaks, his tone resigned but tinged with a deep respect. “If this is the path you choose, then I won’t stand in your way. But promise me that you’ll be careful. That you’ll come to me if you ever need anything—no matter what it is.”

You nod, the weight of his words settling on your shoulders, “I promise.”

He studies you for a long moment, as if committing this version of you—the one who walked through fire and emerged stronger—to memory. The warmth in his eyes is unmistakable as he stands, rounding the desk to pull you into another tight embrace.

“Welcome home, Scholar of the Night Court.”

As you rest your head against his chest, you close your eyes, allowing yourself a moment to simply breathe. This is home. And no matter what lies ahead, you know that you have the strength—and the wisdom—to face it.

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