#and looking at the way Hien was angled it was CLEAR that he could see them

[practicingbushiho]

"They've tried to kidnap you!? Why do you permit them to stay, Lord Hien?" "Because I think it's funny to watch them try."

[windup-dragoon]

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|| Kiri x Hien  || Post ShB  || Words 1551 || Fluff 

There always seems to be something comforting about Shirogane at night. The gentle lights, the smell of the ocean on a brisk breeze, distant sounds of waves mingled with the trickling of ponds here and there. She truly had become fond of this faraway place. Eorzea had become too busy for her taste. The hustle and bustle of Limsa Lominsa; the constant movement in Gridania be it the folk who inhabit the area or the trees themselves; and Ul’dah simply felt too stifling after all her adventures there. None of the city states in Eorzea felt like home; not in the way Shirogane was beginning to feel. 

The boat that carried them from Kugane to the shores of Shirogane came to a stop alongside the lengthy pier just as a full moon deigned to appear from a break in the clouds. With a glittering ocean around them, Kiri looked to the distant horizon. Shirogane wasn’t the home she knew, but it was a close second. But in that moment, she swore if she were to look hard enough, squint even, she might see a cluster of moonlight jellyfish dancing on the surface of the tides; the kind that frequent the coastal region of her village. They only appeared on nights like this; to absentmindedly bathe in the cold silver glow of the moon. As a youth she had always wondered what that life must be like. To simply exist without thought. To be born from the ocean, live in it, and die peacefully beneath the rolling waves. Was it like sleeping? Do the jellyfish dream in their state of eternal slumber? What then, do they dream of? 

A hand on her shoulder startled her. 

“Kiri?” 

Hien was crouched on the dock beside her, kneeling with an outstretched hand for her to take. “Is aught amiss?” 

While his soft eyes skimmed the ocean where she had been vacantly staring, she knew he wouldn’t see what her mind wished her to find out there. The ocean around Kugane and Shirogane, while connected to her own, didn’t seem to harbor the same fauna as she had been so delighted to find in her own village. Maybe one day she could return with Hien in tow. Together they could watch the jellyfish float and twirl beneath a glassy surface, or hear the lullaby of the whales as they traveled endlessly forward. 

Kiri shook her head when his attention returned to her, offering him a smile as an apology. “Thinking. Just thinking.” 

Overhead the lights of Shirogane had come to life; warm colors dancing like fireflies captured in vibrant paper lanterns. The way the lights softened the angles of Hien’s features had Kiri admiring him as they made their way up from the docks. 

Even now, in such a familiar place as Shirogane, his eyes were alight with curiosity. He spoke with such honest excitement as he pulled her from vendor to street vendor in search of a late night snack to share once they returned to the apartments. Telling her the Doman word for simple ingredients or tools used to prepare cuisine unlike that seen in Eorzea. And when his eyes met hers, enchanted by his delight, color dusted the crest of his high cheeks; his hand tightening his hold on hers. 

It made her heart flutter, as if a skittish minnow, when he gave her that sunny smile. Her breath caught and heat rose to her cheeks when he moved closer to brush stray hair from her cheek. She wondered, if distantly, what he saw when he looked at her in such ways. Did he know that he made her feel as if a coral reef was coming alive? An orchestra of heartbeats and swimming thoughts. 

-

“Pray, enlighten me.” Hien began now that they had arrived at their final destination for the evening. Once the door was locked behind her, his arms came around her middle to draw her close, regardless of their bagged meal in hand. “You’ve been quiet since our return from Kugane. What has you transfixed, Kiri?” 

His hold on her was tight, but certainly not unbearable. Warm and comfortable, actually. She felt herself melt into his embrace, laying her cheek against the crook of his neck. He had the scent of sea water still on his skin, thanks to their beach adventure at the Ruby Sea only hours prior. Her reply was simple as she closed her eyes. “Thoughts.” 

“Truly?” He stifled a chuckle by brushing a kiss into her quicksilver hair. “You of all people, lost in thought? What have you done with the real Kiri, you fiend?” 

The laughter that rumbled in his chest echoed in her ear. It was music, plain and simple. To hear him talk with such spirit, to hear that genuine humor. 

She raised her head, smiling, “A fiend, am I? Then I’ll hear no objections ta’ takin’ yer share of dinner, eh?” 

Hien playfully gasped and pulled her closer still, their noses just a whisper away from touching. “I dare you to try.” 

Her apartment was small to say the least. But it brought her comfort. They could scarcely stand side by side in the kitchen while preparing their meals, but every exaggerated bump or purposeful brush of a hand only brought about more laughter between the two. While a pan simmered in sauce, the two were delightfully tangled with one another; the lack of counter space soon being remedied by eager hands sweeping aside unnecessary cooking appliances. And while the apartment didn’t have a formal dining area, Kiri sat perched on the counter happily sharing her food with Hien who stood between her legs. 

“One day,” he hummed as he took a piece of grilled fish in a pair of chopsticks and brought it to her lips. “I promise to show you how to properly use these.” 

“I didn’t ask to be fed, y’know.” Kiri protested, gesturing to a piece of cutlery left abandoned beside the sink. But still she ate the offered piece with only a light huff. 

Hien set aside their shared dish and smiled. “And yet you continue to eat. Odd how that happens.” Softly his thumb brushed her bottom lip as he leaned impossibly closer. The heat of his breath whispered at the curve of her neck, the smell of sake so sweet. His free hand came to rest on her waist while tilting her chin up with the other to better examine her features in the low light in the kitchen. 

She busied her own hands by tugging at the belt loops of his pants, wishing for a miracle to allow him to be closer than the counter would allow. Mismatched eyes lifted to stare up at the prince through thick lashes and stray silver hair. “If we were to speak of mysteries, dear sir,” Her own voice was a soft whisper now, low and heated. “then pray, explain how we keep endin’ up like this.” 

He tilted his head with a knowing look and a sly smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I believe some call it attraction.” Matching her low tone, Hien responded with capturing her mouth in a kiss. Soft, sugar sweet and gentle. But when he drew away, looking at her with hooded eyes, they were both breathless. “But I prefer to call it love.” 

“What a poet.” Kiri chuckled before being swept up in another kiss. “You should be a bard.” 

To this Hien laughed, leaving a trail of kisses from her lips to her jaw. “Your voice is much more preferable, Kiri.” 

-

Moonlight pooled around them, pouring in from the open windows across the room. The fire in the fireplace had faded to occasionally cracking embers, a trail of haphazardly discarded clothing led from the kitchen to their futon where they had finally retired for the evening in each other's arms. Kiri lay with her head on his chest, listening to the beats of his heart just as she would the waves against the shore. Absently her hand traced outlines of his muscles, following the curve of his chest and occasionally wandering when discovering a scar to outline instead. 

She wondered, in her half awake state of mind, what he would dream of that night. Would he see Doma? Perhaps memories of a time long passed. Of her perhaps? As she closed her eyes, she thought again of the jellyfish; the oceans little dreamers. She thought of him and her, standing at the docks of her village, watching a cluster of jellyfish rise to the surface on a clear evening. While the night was peaceful and a hush had fallen over the village, they were still surrounded by all their loved ones. Even Eyriwolk and Lynawyb, who she hadn’t seen for years now were there to greet the two of them. Everyone had gathered to watch the ocean; the one thing that connects them all together. 

Before sleep could take her entirely, Kiri realized why Shirogane had come to feel like home to her. It wasn’t Shirogane at all. It was the company she kept that gave her a sense of comfort. A place of safety to be herself and relax from a world trying to kill her. She was home right now, so lovingly held in his arms.

[ancientechos]

Hallow’s Eve

Emet-Selch/Arianna ♡ 3281 words ♡ eldritch au [modern au]

Did I...write even more...for eldritch AU...? Yes, yes I did. Proper fic coming...who knows when. My superpower is to write a lot about nothing.

Random little Halloween-themed fic! And another example of how I cannot do titles.

Has an appearance from @windup-dragoon Kiri and Hien.

Despite herself she --

Admittedly, very often, wonders if she’s too boring for her...very strange and impromptu roommate. Lover...? She supposes they are technically thus, at this point...

Though that is besides the, well, point.

It’s not as if they’re always home, though she admits they are...more often than not. Thus Arianna has taken to worrying she’s exceptionally dull to the eldritch creature...he’s simply too polite to say it.

(There is, of course, inherently something wrong with this assumption, but alas.)

“H-have you ever been to a party...?” The second the question finishes making its way past her lips, she regrets it -- it’s banal, not specific enough, absurd. Her suspicions are confirmed as Hades fixes her with a quiet, unimpressed stare. He plucks a grape from the fruit bowl before answering.

“Depends what sort of party, I suppose.”

Absentmindedly, she wonders what sort of “parties” he might have been privy to in the past...the only thing her mind can conjure is strangely fantastical images of odd creatures, one less humanoid than the next, eerie music --

She has to stop her mind from running off into the imaginary. Perhaps she’ll ask him later.

“Um -- w-what I mean is -- a -- ” The woman finds herself growing ever more anxious when she realises she doesn’t -- really -- have any point of comparison for what she wants to ask. For a moment, she fidgets her fingers together, then brushes a hand through a few strands of her hair. Her green gaze glances from her companion, still leaning casually against her kitchen counter, to the calendar on the wall in the hopes it might give her answers.

Unfortunately, it does not.

Somewhat blessedly, he does not interrupt her nervous fumblings as she struggles for words.This does not, however, stop her mind from being dangerously on the edge of wondering just how exasperated he must be --

“A-a p-party...?” Almost desperate to say anything at all, she blurts out the first thing that comes to mind.

“Yes?” She can practically see one of his eyebrows quirk without actually looking at him. “You mentioned a party already. I asked what kind.”

Never mind that the question had been decidedly implicit.

He sounds far more patient than she ever deserves, and she presses her palms to her face, hard enough that colours dance behind her eyelids. “Ah...” Why is she getting so worked up about this, in any case...?

“There’s nothing to be upset about.” Hades’ voice cuts through the fog and white noise threatening to overcome her. “We have all the time in the world. no?”

-- He’s completely right. She truly has not an inkling of an idea as to why this has made her so on edge. Is it the subject matter itself?

“Unless there was a party happening within the hour...”

“N-no, that’s not -- ” She’s responded before she can fully realise, with the wryness of his tone, that he’s being sarcastic. Of course she wouldn’t have asked him about something like this on such short notice. Slowly, she lets out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding, her shoulders lowering from where they’d nearly surpassed the tips of her ears. What she wants to ask...

“What I mean is...a c-costume party...” She trails off as she pulls her thoughts together. “Some people...like to d-dress up as...strange creatures, o-or book characters...for parties. A-at this time of year.”

Not that she’s ever really gone to one. Twining a strand of curled hair about her right index finger, she finally turns to look at him curiously. Already, she can feel the strange, harsh energy from earlier dissipating simply from being able to speak properly.

“Mm. I suppose I’ve been to one of those before. Though not really any in the mortal realm, of course...” There’s a pause as he regards her. “I suppose that means there would be a great deal of people there...and you wanted to go regardless?”

She has to bite her lip before she can mumble a reflexive no. “I-I just thought...perhaps...you would be interested...”

“Hmm.” The sigh he exhales almost has her thinking he wants to reject her offer. But -- “You said people like to dress up? Maybe I could go as my true form...or something close to it.” There’s an almost malicious smirk that curls his lip, his head tilting slightly to the side. Arianna tries to ignore the way her heart thunders treacherously in her chest and absently prays the lighting is too dark to notice her nonsensical blush.

“I-I don’t think it would be a good idea to go in your...ah...o-other form...” She pauses, teeth sinking into her lower lip. “Wouldn’t you simply scare everyone away...?” She doesn’t need to be told twice to remember that...incident from before.

“That’s the point, is it not? You could enjoy yourself.”

She is not quite sure whether she’s meant to be touched or concerned, and thus settles for wavering uncertainly between the two.

“W-well, regardless...” She exhales nervously. “I think...if you wanted to go, it might be...best to go in...ah, c-costumes...?”

“Oh?” The smirk hasn’t faded for even a moment. “And what do you propose we’d go as?”

The we has her heart fluttering stupidly again, for no reason, as she brushes her fingers through her hair once more. “Um...that...” Blinking and shaking her head to try to clear it, she regards him with what is meant to be a critical eye, but simply gets caught up in his gaze again. “Ah...”

-- Now that she isn’t an anxiously flustered mess, he seems perfectly content with simply flustering her further. Pushing himself away from the counter, he approaches her to smirk fondly down at her. When she simply proves all the more wordless, he brushes a finger gently along her cheek.

“How about an angel and a demon?”

To say she would have expected a suggestion from him would be a lie...not to mention...the suggestion itself...? It’s enough to have her blinking up at him blankly, her nervousness for the moment forgotten.

“I-I suppose...but...h-how do you know what an angel looks like, anyway...?” Curiously, she eyes him. She can’t imagine he’s ever done much...mortal reading. Or maybe he has? Well, she isn’t home -- or even awake -- the entire time. She supposes it’s perfectly possible and within his abilities for him to have picked up any of the numerous books she has, or to even have perused the titles elsewhere. But something so specific as an angel and a demon? It’s an odd thing to think about...

“Hmm? Oh, that’s easy.” There’s a smirk on his lips as he casually slings an arm about her shoulders, leaning in close. Somehow, she manages not to turn away despite the blush threatening to overtake her yet again. “There’s one right in front of me, isn’t there?”

It takes a moment for the words to process, and even longer for the precise meaning to dawn upon her. But when they do --

She wouldn’t be surprised if the heat that radiates from her face could run a generator.

“Y-you -- !” she stammers uselessly, turning away from him and smacking a hand to her face. Her fingers feel cold. Though she attempts to pull from him entirely, he holds her fast against him, amused.

“Yes? What about me?”

She ducks underneath his arm to avoid answering him, rubbing her palms against her cheeks as if she could simply push the sensation out of them.

“Am I to take it that you agree with my idea, then?”

“N-no -- ! Definitely not!”

________

Well -- that was what she had said...

But clearly her conviction had not been strong enough, given her current...predicament.

It had taken a concerning amount of time to find an angel costume that simply...wasn’t too short, but finally she’d managed to find one with a skirt that went at the very least past her knees, while Hades had loitered about the rest of the costumes shop, occasionally remarking this or that or giving extraordinarily unhelpful advice.

“What about this one?”

He, of course, goes ignored.

The house they’re standing in front of now seems tall and imposing, though doubtless only to her. Various decorations and a myriad of lights are strung up about it. The owners had had no qualms to spare coin for making the place fit for Halloween. There’s even a fog machine, judging by the mist blowing across the front yard and obscuring the door.

She’s already not very enthused about entering. Alas, the same cannot be said for her companion.

Whilst Arianna is dressed mainly in white -- with gold accents and, of all things, gold glitter littering the skirt portion of her dress -- and a black headband to allow her halo to blend with her hair, her date (?) wears a mainly black suit with dark red horns. She can’t see his headband from this angle, which leads her to believe he must have simply...willed the outfit into existence, or something. She can’t remember him throwing any such thing into her cart, either.

-- She supposes he looks nice.

Apparently sensing whatever discomfort she exudes, Hades’ grip upon her hand tightens slightly, and he draws her closer to him.

“You are aware we don’t have to go, yes?”

“I am, but -- I thought...you might want to go, so...”

Certainly, as he’s fond of reminding her over their telepathic link, there’s no especial reason they need to be going. They could just as easily turn and go home...and yet she can’t shake off the feeling that she isn’t giving him enough of what he deserves. Surely he would like for more than to simply lounge about her apartment, or...whatever it is he does when she’s away.

And perhaps a part of her is curious if she truly can do this.

Arianna allows him to lead her past the gate, up into the odourless pale fog that masks the door, and then through it. The closer they get to the doorway, the more loudly the music reverberates against her ears. Ah -- her least favourite sort of “party”, then...

Not that she’s really been to many --

Inside are all sorts of people, most dressed in costumes with a few occasional individuals apparently left out, or simply not wishing to invest the time in their get up. There’s clearly food and drink available further within, and the decorations from without continue on in inside the house. Fake cobwebs with tiny plastic spiders, glowing pumpkins and skulls...and a bit of the fog from outside.

And of course there’s hardly any shortage of dramatic and multi-coloured lighting.

Most of the guests are milling about, some far too close for Arianna’s comfort Unfortunately, her already clear awkwardness isn’t especially evident to the more inebriated partygoers.

“Hey pretty lady.” A young man in a some sort of zombie mask apparently isn’t discouraged by the presence of the even taller man next to her. “Wanna go grab a drink?”

As soon as she focuses on him, her gaze snaps to his shoes, then away; he’s about to try to say something else, though with one derisive stare from Hades and he instantaneously shuts his mouth and slinks away like a defeated pup.

“Hmph. They’re like animals.”

Arianna doesn’t really want to ask him precisely what he means, focused on trying to regain her toppled equilibrium. The sudden approach and the already crowded atmosphere is doing little to quell her flickering anxiety. Perhaps it had been a mistake to come here after all.

Her other free hand lifts to grasp at his wrist, her gaze firmly upon the ground as she hunches in on herself, entire body tense.

“Are you sure you don’t want to leave? Perhaps -- ”

“Oh, Arianna! You came!”

The other masculine voice cuts through the white noise and Hades’ words; she recognises it immediately. She glances nervously at Hien’s boots as he comes to a halt a little ways away; there’s cloth beside his, like a robe, or -- 

“I didn’t expect -- I see Hades is here, as well...” Hien trails off a little, perhaps noticing the dire state of the dark-haired woman. “Shall we go somewhere a little quieter? I know a spot -- the hallway’s not as crowded.”

She doesn’t need any other amount of convincing; Hades leads her as Hien and Kirishimi direct the two of them into a darkly lit hallway. Whilst the music here is somewhat muted, the decorations continue along the ceiling, winding over the doors.

It feels far less claustrophobic, however. Perhaps most of it is to do with being surrounded by friends instead. Or Hades standing in the entranceway to the larger room, blocking out most of the rabble.

Leaning against the wall, her death grip upon him slowly lessens as she exhales. Her shoulders slump as some of the sickly tension evaporates. Whilst she’s not entirely in her element yet, things feel -- slightly better. At least better enough that she can try to look up.

She’s somewhat tempted to ask Hien if something is wrong with his eye, until she recalls that they’re all wearing costumes. His appears to be something of a pirate, complete with an eyepatch; though the lighting is dim if not entirely coloured, his outfit seems to be composed of yellows, or perhaps orange. As for Kirishimi --

The woman looks so natural in the -- kimono? -- that for a second it hadn’t even registered that she’s wearing a “costume” at all. She still isn’t really certain it looks like a costume --

And the tails are certainly not a fabrication. Though she supposes she can get away with it at a party.

Hades chooses that moment to gesture with a sigh.

“And you wouldn’t even let me come like that.”

“Your case is a little bit...different...”

Hien’s expression is friendly once he notices Arianna looking up at him.

“Feeling any better? I could get you a drink, if you like...?”

After a moment’s hesitation, the woman gives a small nod. Whilst she feels bad for monopolising the man’s time, her throat undeniably feels a little parched. Once he slips past Hades, the kitsune takes the opportunity to speak.

“Yer lookin’ cute, Ari!”

Feeling her face heat up, Arianna directs her gaze away, glancing toward the ground; after a few seconds, she takes a peek to the wider room, then the other side. With no one else -- really in earshot, perhaps she can manage --

“Ah...tha-thank you...you...too...”

Pressing her fingers to her cheek, she closes her eyes as she tries to calm herself, feeling stupidly childish for no real reason. Though she supposes, perhaps, this is childish; what sort of person can’t even converse...?

“But yer looking as slimy as ever.”

“And I can tell you hardly put any effort into your ‘costume’. You’ve just gone as yourself.”

“Ya tellin’ me yer not some kinda demon? As if I’d believe that. And that suit’s just what ya always wear.”

“Not at all, the cut and style are entirely different. But I wouldn’t expect anything more of a mutt.”

Paradoxically, their hissing argument somehow manages to put her at further ease. Perhaps because it’s a norm of what those two always do when they’re forced together in a single room; no matter the occasion or the reason, they’ve never seemed to be able to get along for longer than a few minutes at a time, and even that is being generous...

See? Everything is normal. That is what she tries to tell herself.

Except for, well, everything else about the situation, but if she just focuses on Hades’ shoulders, perhaps she can pretend nothing is too out of the ordinary about this.

Hien returns a few minutes later with a clear glass of water in his hand; he gives it to Arianna with an encouraging smile, and she takes it gratefully. The glass is cool in her hand, and for a moment she wishes she had something warmer, but it’ll do. Lifting it to her lips, she begins to sip as her companions break out into quiet conversation and half-hearted jabs --

A loud sound, like a foghorn, sheers through even the music; a few people scream. Arianna full-on nearly jumps in place, her vaguely settled nerves fraying like unravelling threads. The blood in her veins turns to ice along with the coldness of the water spilling down her front, and she lets go entirely of Hades’ hand to press her palm to her ear. It’s a wonder she doesn’t let go of the glass entirely -- or that her grip doesn’t simply break it. Instead, she presses it to her other ear as she curls away from the entranceway, her mind struggling at a mile a minute.

There’s few things she’s consciously afraid of. Loud, sudden noises are one such thing.

The tiny noise that had managed to spill from her lips earlier dies, her throat constricting painfully. The dimly lit hallway seems to flicker and swim before her eyes; she squeezes them shut as she tries to calm herself.

“Ari? You okay?”

Their voices sound far away, as if they speak to her from under water or glass. She can’t respond, not even with a movement; her head spins like a kaleidoscope and, dimly, she thinks to herself yet again how stupidly childlike she must look to them all. Especially...

“I am afraid everyone here has overstayed their welcome...”

If there’s one voice that cuts through the noise, it’s his, always his.

But what is he...?

“ -- Ha -- ” Her voice falters in her throat the moment she tries to speak out and grasp at his arm; he easily slips from her and into the crowd of giggling and chatting partygoers, their volume spiraling into a crescendo. She still feels ill, and his sudden disappearance does a poor job of calming her. Was he talking about her...?

There’s a sudden scream; the entire crowd stops stock still. Then pandemonium erupts as chaos consumes the whole house, a thundering of voices and footsteps as the guests throw themselves out whatever doors and windows they can reach.

It’s not difficult to see why. In the centre of the room -- and taking up more space with every second -- is...Hades, in his eldritch form of course, the same one she’d seen when she’d first met him.

The house is deserted in less than a minute; only Arianna, Kirishimi, and Hien remain. The kitsune’s ears are instinctively flattened to her head, tails stiff, her arms unconsciously thrown out in front of her companion. Arianna thinks she can hear something like a growl from within her throat. The devourer of souls seems to have no issue with his current appearance, arms spanning the whole living area.

“Will ya put that away already? Ya stink like the damn void.”

“And you smell like wet dog. Nothing new about that, however.”

With a sigh, the eldritch’s limbs and size retreats; shadows envelop him, and finally he stands in the middle of the abandoned glasses and shattered plates in his humanoid flesh.

“Much better now, eh? I said you’d finally be able to enjoy yourself.”

[therovingstar]

Like a Spark of the Wick

Summary: “Fire is a being of the Father, the Sun. One who walks its path is one who dares to walk at His side, fearful of neither danger nor death. It is a title given to those believed to be exceptionally brave.”

Then she shrugs. “Or exceedingly stupid.” Her gaze on him narrows slightly, and she smiles again, the amusement this time clear as day on her pretty face. “Sometimes both.”

An enlightening conversation by candlelight, on the eve of revolution. Hien/f!WoL, pre-relationship, friendship, humor, hurt/comfort.

CW: Alcohol/drinking/inebriation.

Also available on AO3. Link through my blog.

She does not drink. Two half-filled ochoko out of six emptied flasks of sake, and it is no wonder that she is the only one of them still sitting with perfect poise; even Yugiri succumbed somewhat to her own thrice-refilled cup, unable as she was to resist her lord’s affable insistence. She has since escaped topside, both to clear her head and maintain her vigilance over the Fierce. Gosetsu is a long-lost cause; three out of their six bottles were his alone, and he hoarded them jealously, one downed in time with each impassioned speech until he had little else to say but half-muttered ramblings that reminded Hien distinctly of his age. “Old men should be careful in their cups,” he japed, knowing his mentor would take it as a challenge. Which he did, and met it by grabbing the mostly-filled remainder of a fourth bottle and swallowing as if it were water from a stream and not, in fact, some of their best, boldest bold, kept hidden in cellars buried right under the Empire’s nose, one of a hundred small, dogged defiances. Hien himself has only consumed spirits of similar strength on the Steppe; and he admits, the Xaela’s may have been a touch stronger.

Regardless, all of them have been feeling the effects, save one. He surreptitiously chances a glance out of the corner of his eye, curious to see if it still holds true.

Or not surreptitiously at all. Perhaps he is actually deeper in his own cups than he thought, because suddenly, the Warrior of the West – as his people have apparently taken to calling her – is meeting his gaze, one eyebrow lifted. “Yes?” she asks plainly. Hien smiles.

“Merely wondering if you are enjoying the fruits of our labor.” He grabs one of the porcelain bottles from where they rest at the center of their small table near their only immediate source of light: a single, simple candle. “Would you like more?” he offers, noting the mostly-full ochoko cradled in her palm, its pale coloring a fetching match to the scales marking the back of her deep brown hand.

Odzaya eyes the bottle, blank-faced but for a lightly-raised brow. Then, with a modest upturn of her hand and head, she half empties her cup, the wine slowly disappearing past her lips. “Sure,” she answers after a subtle out-blow of breath, and sets the saucer down near him.

Hien grins as he pours for her. “A smart move, if I may say so. This brew in particular is quite strong.” As if in agreement, Gosetsu lets out a loud, rumbling snore. Odzaya’s mouth quirks upward.

“It is good,” she compliments, as she daintily retakes the cup into her hands. And makes no motion to drink it.

“Do such spirits exist in the west?” he asks, pouring another round for himself. Odzaya shrugs.

“I am not the one to ask. I tend to avoid most of them.”

As he guessed. Hien grins. “You are one to keeps her wits about her, then?” She makes a noncommittal noise in reply, though her smile teases upward a little more.

“Preferably.”

“Well,” he begins, and lifts his ochoko as he leans forward, “on behalf of my people, let me say that I am beyond flattered that our brew is appealing to your palate,” he says. “And on behalf of myself, that my khagun feels comfortable enough in my presence to allow her keen wits a respite.”

Indeed, if they even are. They certainly do not seem to be as Odzaya huffs something that sounds like a laugh and raises her cup in tandem, only to down another half and no more. She has had how many now? Three in total, over the course of nearly as many bells. As many as Yugiri, technically, who is also not a drinker. Being of somewhat similar build, one would think she would have begun feeling the effects at least somewhat.

And yet, after another subtle sigh, the Raen woman maintains impeccable composure, resting her chin in her other hand and eyeing the top of Gosetsu’s head where it weighs down their table, almost too close to the candle’s lit wick. “Is he comatose?” she asks abruptly, and shoots him a questioning look. Hien pauses in his observations to chuckle.

“‘Twould be a relief if he were; perhaps then he could receive proper rest, and stop obsessing so much over past regrets and so-called failings.” They will kill him more surely than any enemy blade. Hien leans back on his stool, contemplative, the creak of the wood echoing throughout the cavern. “Tis why I suggested we indulge, and egged him on to continue by inviting you and Yugiri to join us. He drinks more readily when with company. And, coincidentally, the more he drinks, the better he sleeps.” He grins at her lifted brow. “An unorthodox strategy and one I rarely employ, at the least for the sake of his liver, but one that has served me well in the past.”

Her eyebrow drops only minimally; the healer in her, perhaps, taking concern despite his attempt at assurance. Then she smiles again, as if amused. “You are rather unorthodox,” she muses aloud, her quiet tone suggesting it is almost to herself.

“Am I?” he asks, tilting his head in genuine inquiry, only to quickly right it as his equilibrium begins to falter. Odzaya looks at him, seeming as if to ponder, before she continues.

“The name you were given on the Steppe. ‘Fire Walker’. It is an acknowledgment, a marker delineating your penchant for the unexpected.”

“Is that what it means?” Honestly, he never took the time to truly consider, beyond simply assuming it to be at least mildly insulting in some way. So that was its meaning, then.

Odzaya nods once in confirmation. “Fire is a being of the Father, the Sun. One who walks its path is one who dares to walk at His side, fearful of neither danger nor death. It is a title given to those believed to be exceptionally brave.”

Then she shrugs. “Or exceedingly stupid.” Her gaze on him narrows slightly, and she smiles again, the amusement this time clear as day on her pretty face. “Sometimes both.”

Hien gives thanks to the Kami for the sake that is currently running through his veins; it means there is none left in his mouth, and therefore none being spewed across the table as he blinks, and then nearly loses himself to laughter. He also gives thanks for his stool; it allows for purchase, however precarious, as his balance tilts again, dizzyingly, and he threatens to tumble to the floor in his fit. He still seems likely to fall, truthfully, at least until Odzaya saves him and his dignity by way of her own (amazingly non-drunken) reflexes. Hien startles quiet at the heat of her hand, like a brand, suddenly clutched to his bare shoulder, angling him back into his seat, the other hovering over his mouth, poised, no doubt, to shut his trap and prevent him from disturbing their comrades (always thinking of the small things, he observes, recalling the sight of her expertly rearranging the Leveilleur twins’ slumbering forms so as to avoid discomfort come the morn). When he follows the path of her arm, he finds her standing, both eyebrows lifted above a wide, intensely red-eyed gaze.

And then, suddenly, she is the one succumbing to laughter, a bright, rasping thing that he can only describe in his state as mildly enchanting, even subdued as it is. Those eyes crinkle at their corners, teeth gleaming oh-so-briefly from between wide, full lips. Her palm solidifies even more on his shoulder as she presses down slightly, ensuring he won’t topple again, before she finally steps back. “See?” she says, still clearly amused. “Fire Walker.”

Hien grins. “Mayhaps there is some truth to it.”

Odzaya huffs another near-silent laugh. “Mayhaps,” she echoes, and goes to return to her chair, swaying ever-so-slightly. Her tail periodically shifts as she goes, like the rudder on a rocking boat.

Aha. Hien’s smile widens at the sight, though he tries to school his expression as she sinks back onto her own stool, another of those mellow sighs coming out as she does. When their eyes meet once more, she blinks slowly.

“I am not drunk,” she says, as if she has read his thoughts.

“Of course not,” he agrees, grinning again, tickled in a way he blames on the wine. “Merely weary, I would guess. Mayhaps it is time you retired?” Lack of windows notwithstanding, he suspects morning is not terribly far off. They should all be turning in, and yet...he looks down at his ochoko.

Odzaya once more leans on the table, her chin coming to rest upon her upturned palm. She eyes him, and he gets the distinct impression she is reading his mind once more. “You plan to continue?” She drops her gaze briefly to indicate the remaining flasks near Gosetsu’s head. “Alone?”

She caught the phrasing of his suggestion, then. Hien casually shrugs one shoulder. “For a time.”

Her brow furrows slightly. “Really?”

Hien chuckles. “Worried about my liver now, are you, friend?”

“Wondering if you are planning to become so inebriated that you will not remember issuing the order to destroy your own home on the morrow.”

The Warrior of Light could be a blunt one; he noted it some time ago, watching her dealings with her Scions, as well as the Xaela. The way she carried herself – modestly, almost conservatively – belied a tongue that could, at a moment’s notice, move with surprising impunity.

He likes it, and responds by smiling easily. “Would you judge me?” he asks, finding himself curious.

Odzaya lifts her own shoulder, looking down at the table. “I cannot. The Steppe tribes are largely nomadic, as you know; most of us have no concept of a permanent home beyond the land itself. Even in Eorzea, I tend not to settle in one place too long.” She pauses, her mouth pursed, as if weighing her tongue and the words upon it. “I do, however,” she continues, quietly, “understand ties, the connections one can make to a place, and the difficulty in seeing those ties undone, by whatever means.” She pauses, then looks at him. “I imagine it would be worse, having to undo them yourself.”

Aye, could speak with impunity. But never seemed to forgo care.

Hien remains silent for a time, thinking on her words, before he meets her gaze. “May I confide in you for an indulgent moment, my friend?” he asks softly.

Those red eyes widen slightly, but eventually, Odzaya nods. Almost imperceptibly shifts, as well, as if to show he has her attention. His smile deepens.

“I do not mourn Doma Castle,” he admits. “It was my home, yes, for all of my six and twenty years, and because of that, it has indisputable sentimental value. It is the home of my ancestors; every square inch has a story, every room an entire history, and I spent my growing years being told them all by my parents and tutors.” He chuckles. “I never cared for them much, truth be told. They were fascinating and inspiring tales, to be sure, but only that: tales. Read back far enough, and your great-grandsire becomes more a figure of ancient legend, rather than someone whose lap you once sat in, though apparently I did. No, I much preferred seeing the history being made by my father and mother, who I could see and touch. That, and daydreaming about the lines I would add to our storied annals.”

Odzaya smiles slightly. “A high-flier, then.” Hien laughs.

“Quite so! And rather doggedly, if the frustrations of my teachers were anything to go by. However much I truly enjoyed the literary pursuit of knowledge, I still preferred a bokken in my hand over a book.” By now, the wine is well enough into his system to feel less like a hindrance burning through his veins and more like a soother warming him from the inside out, eliminating the cavern’s cool draft. He sighs and sinks further into his chair, his gaze finding the high stone ceiling. “I would dream of chasing the Empire back across our borders, of returning home victorious at my father and fellow samurai’s sides. I would dream of inheriting the throne and continuing my parents’ legacy, and implementing policies to make our people’s lives easier; of marrying and raising children – more than one, mind you, as I always wanted siblings to play with, but never received any – and giving them a history to take pride in, stories to inspire them.”

So many dreams, locked away in that palace, and hardly just his own. He counts them among the stalactites piercing down from that cavernous ceiling, substitutes for the stars he cannot see.

“Losing the past will hurt, aye. The books, the scrolls, the paintings, the tales. But it is the future of that place, my future, the future I imagined, for which I truly mourn.” He sighs again, and knows it is bittersweet. “Twas a foundation for much I wished to build, that castle; it will be hard to be without it, however worth its loss, a hundred times over, my people’s futures are.”

Silence reigns for what feels like an age, exposed as his heart and mind now are, alcohol still thrumming through his blood like a pulse. Somehow, though, with the Warrior of the West, of all people, on the receiving end, it feels freeing to speak his innermost thoughts. Mayhaps because not too long ago, their roles were reversed, and she, in the midst of dealing with what seemed an impossible choice, shared her sentiments with him under an endless, star-studded sky.

The closest thing to the stars here is the single candle lighting the edges of his vision, the stalactites with their tips gleaming with hints of dew and precious minerals. The prince in him wishes he could have at least provided a better venue for his selfishness, something more stimulating – and, dare he say, a touch more intimate – than an underground cavern filled with beleaguered, fitfully-sleeping soldiers.

“Rebuild it, then,” he hears suddenly, and Hien looks down to see Odzaya’s craned neck as she stares up at those same stalactites. Her gaze is half-lidded, her lashes fluttering when she blinks, as if she fights to keep her eyes open. Still, her voice rings quiet but clear in his ears. “The land will still be there, will it not?” she asks. “And so will the potential. And even if not, there is nothing stopping you from building something entirely new, perhaps even better, than what was there before.”

Would it be so simple a thing to do? he wonders. Of course not, and yet she makes it sound so, as if she speaks from the very knowledge she declared she did not have. He recalls her previous words, about undone ties; remembers the blanket she lovingly placed around the twins’ shoulders, and how the look in her eye was the same she had when Cirina first recognized and ran for her in Reunion’s square. “Is that what you’ve done in Eorzea, then?” he asks, just as quiet. “Settled a new land, with a new tribe to call your own?”

Odzaya huffs, just a lazy breath gusting past her lips. “In a way, I suppose. But…” She pauses, then shifts slightly, the creak of the stool almost startling in the silence. “It is what I am trying to do here, too. Rebuild that which I undid, hopefully into something better.”

Then she snorts, her tone turned half-cynical, such a contrast to the soft look in her eye when she angles the candlelit line of her neck to look at him. “Or mayhaps I am merely like you,” she says, smirking. “Another Fire Walker.”

No, she does not make it sound simple, Hien thinks, rendered momentarily speechless in the wake of her admittance. She merely makes it sound possible. A subtle power entirely separate from her ability to move the earth and control the stars; the kind of power that, in the right hands, can move minds, strengthen hearts. And build nations.

Quite the woman, this Warrior of the West.

“If you are,” he says, grinning and feeling just a little awed, as if he is seeing the stars, after all, in a place wholly unexpected, “I will consider it the highest of compliments to be called thus.”

Odzaya’s eyes narrow in amusement, two glowing shards of an ember ignited by the wick. “I would not,” she says bluntly, and Hien cannot resist another hearty guffaw.

The little sake left remains untouched, after that. He is drunk already, after all, and keenly feeling the effects as the world gently spins around him, threatening at any moment to turn upside down. Every noise is a distant, muffled thing: the creak of a chair, the murmur of idle conversation, Gosetsu’s snores, as well as the quiet breath expelling from Odzaya as he watches her ever-so-slowly succumb to slumber. It surprises him, at first; on their journey across the Steppe, her eyes were always the last to slip shut, and the first to open in the pre-dawn. A habit born of a turbulent past, or simply a quirk? Regardless, now she is utterly still, draped over the table as she is, a comical mirror image of Gosetsu’s still-slumbering form. The single candle gilds her horns and the scales adorning her face gold, heats the soft ropes of her hair purple to pink. Strangely enough, her eyes are also slit the barest bit open – as if she fought slumber only for it to sneak past her defenses – the thinnest sliver of limbal red showing past her dark lids, like the sun just beginning to peek out from the horizon.

Mayhaps it is too presumptuous, given what awaits us on the morrow, he thinks, fighting his own daze as he watches the gentle in and out of her breath, but if the spirits of fortune dare to smile upon us, I would invite you to return here one day, when I can give you my due best of a proper royal’s welcome. That, and show you what I and mine have built with the courage you have given us.

He briefly contemplates leaving once more, to ensure that she – and Gosetsu – are not disturbed, before ultimately settling into place. She has kept steady vigilance near from the moment they met; he can do so for one remainder of a night. In the ensuing silence, his gaze once more on the stars he cannot see, it comes to him again: the deliberate loss of his past, as well as the future it will bring.

“Fire Walker,” he murmurs to himself, and smiles.

A fitting title, after all. And one he will wear proudly.

[fistsoflightning]

10: words will not suffice

prompt: avail || masterpost || other fills || ao3 mirror

word count: 2111

Hien does not understand the Steppe as well as he thinks he does.

Spoilers for 4.4 MSQ, Steppe portion! Disclaimer: if you like Hien and don’t see any problem in what he does *both damn times* he goes to the Steppe in MSQ, you probably won’t like this much. I could probably go on for an entire post about Steppe headcanons and tidbits I just get Salty about, but I don’t think anybody would want to read me ranting wildly [/sweats]

In this past sun of serving as his moon’s right hand—not so much a burden as it is an annoyance, with how Oktai cannot speak, but his fair hand and open mind even with an Oronir in his bed is not one Magnai would trade for the simplicity of his time as reigning khagan—he has seen much. A conflict, once, between the Orben and Ejinn over the rivers and their bounties, and a minor conflict with Ura traders coming into Reunion with potentially volatile ores from the peaks that quickly turned into a threat when several Gesi hunters had bought the ores and turned the Steppe into a minefield overnight.

Oktai had handled those with grace, even with his sibling and fellow khagan away fighting wars for the Eorzeans they had cast their lot with. Hardly needed to wheedle respect from those who had seen him, either; he’d the same, unfortunate bleeding heart of his adoptive sisters, and the stubborn temper of Zaya within his breast, unable to let anyone go wanting despite their demands without bowing his head. It had taken a few guiding steps, Magnai leading for the first few turns of the moon, but so easily he had fell into it so long as someone could speak his wishes for him.

He’d hardly had the rancor he’d expected when Zaya came fumbling home to help their brother succeed in another Naadam, and even less surprised when the Steppe yet again claimed them both of the land, both khagan still. So few souls on the Steppe were possessed of such strong will; if he were Dotharl—never did he truly wish that, he thinks in a huff—he might think Oktai and Zaya two halves of a warrior’s soul. Perhaps the land itself thought the same, giving them the same rights usually won and worn by one.

This, Magnai thinks, stifling a sigh when he lifts his cup to his mouth to find the last dregs of his tea gone, is hopefully not the fall of Oktai from his well-deserved seat into a spiralling loss of control.

He has never seen Oktai so irritated as he does now, taking his pointer finger and sliding it across the side of his left hand for Magnai to see; his sign for when he needs meetings to end. Magnai wishes he could grant that wish, but seeing as how the lordling from Doma is still sitting resolutely at the other end of the table, Y’shtola of the Seventh Dawn seated by his side and Sadu—damned woman, demanding a spar before they could begin just to see if he deserved to be seated as the khagan’s aide—practically ready to sear lines into the table, he shakes his head. Oktai’s face falls momentarily, the light purple bags under his eyes from a fortnight spent resolving a sickness among the Gharl painfully obvious, but Hien clears his throat loud enough to snap Oktai back to attention.

Magnai, as much as he despises Sadu and her every way, cannot help but agree in her incredulous stare. The other khans and khatuns were right to leave under veil of browsing the stalls of Reunion, for the wants of their own tribes.

“The Oronir have no hand in this,” Magnai grouses as Oktai’s fingers tap irritatedly against the wooden table. By Azim’s grace, he will need a cup of tea after this, if not a skin of kumis to drown the bells he’s wasted speaking in circles with this stubborn man in. “But this is no matter of a single tribe. Still you manage to test us all.”

“My deepest apologies,” Hien says with the authority Magnai expected of a man raised into rulership. “but there is war on the horizon, and I would not suffer either of our lands being controlled due to a lack of communication.”

He does not scoff at his words—it is a very near thing—though a quick little smirk does emerge for a moment. Controlled. How self-aware is he, Magnai wonders, watching Y’shtola quietly side-eye her companion. 

Oktai taps his arm, pulling his attention back to his hands; a few quick signs that Magnai hardly has the time to mull over, then a single finger held up, slowly pulled into a fist. Together.

He nods, and clears his throat, thoughts turning to weaving Oktai’s sentiments together in a way that doesn’t seem… dismissive. “As we have said, the House of the Crooked Coin falls under no sole tribe’s jurisdiction. It is a place deemed sacred to all those blessed by the Dusk Mother, from the most devout to even the Oronir, born as we are of the radiant Azim; She still deems us Hers, gifting this land with Her aether. The pillars in the Crooked Coin are no simple matter.”

“And by my reckoning, there is no issue should I gain permission from the other tribes, yes?”

Azim be merciful, he thinks, rubbing at the edges of the scales on his forehead. It is not even as noisy as the last few meetings Magnai had held as khagan in his rule, but he finds himself with a headache of the same manner regardless.

“Yes, but you—”

“You,” Sadu says, pointedly interrupting his train of thought; if Oktai had not laid his hand on his arm, a gentle hold on, let her speak in a single touch, surely this yurt would have devolved into messier infighting than that between a khagan and a king. “have not traveled far enough into our deserts to meet the Kagon; devout worshippers of the Dusk Mother. They will have your head for daring to suggest the thought, as would I. You mean to rush something that will easily take moons.” 

The Dotharl khatun’s hands twitch against her arms, faintly gleaming with an abundance of fire aether that has Magnai wondering if he should call Daidukul to bring water. 

Hien, ever blind, breaks the silence. “Cirina had told—”

Oktai’s low groan, accompanied by Magnai’s eyebrow twitching, is enough to stop Hien from continuing. The quiet noises of Reunion closing stalls and retiring fill the silence, uncomfortable as it is; a wonderful evening, wasted on hours of such tedious debate. Sadu looks distinctly unimpressed, because all his arguments, eventually, circle back to the Mol—and she lies in Cirina’s bed; this, Magnai understands well enough. The fire in Cirina’s eyes was not solely her own the last Magnai saw her, no longer wholly the ethereal maiden he’d thought he’d wanted, but even then.

“The Mol are… fearful, shall we say, of those with strength.” Sadu crosses her arms, glaring intensely at him. “Cirina is brave, yes, but not stupid. She knows who and who not to anger. Including…” She raises a hand, almost dismissively in manner, towards Hien. “You. Protector of her people when Nhaama’s child fell and shrouded our lands in smog. Warrior of the Mol, who fought valiantly for their safety during that Naadam two years past. She has led you to believe, perhaps—”

“That the other tribes might fall in line, yes. I suppose,” Hien pauses, tilting his head up to the ceiling. “‘Twould have been better if I’d brought Zaya along, perhaps. They’d seemed neutral to the plan, at most.”

Y’shtola, for the first time in several bells, clears her throat. “That was because they have been ignoring every word that spills from your mouth, not because of placid agreement.” Hien almost looks scandalized, in how his shoulders fall. “Forgive my interruption, I simply thought it prudent to be truthful than impressive.”

Oktai shakes his head in a pitying sort of way, frown hardset against his face from what little Magnai can see of his mouth from this angle, where his horns cover his expression.

“Leveraging the khagan with his sibling would not change the problem,” Magnai says, voice carefully measured.

“Then what would?” The Doman lordling comes forth with a renewed determination in his voice, despite how he scrabbles so for any foothold, any respect within this sole tent. “Surely we can come to compromise at least for long enough so I might consult with the other khans and khatuns, regardless of how long it takes. Surely you understand the dangers of the Garleans enough to—”

“Hien,” Y’shtola says, her voice a sharp, unforgiving breeze among the stifling atmosphere of the Qestiri yurt. “Enough. There is yet—”

“Is there?” Hien turns to his companion, and Oktai nearly slumps over the table, a sentiment Magnai himself reciprocates by crossing his arms firmly over his chest. How could two allies be so unable to reach a solid conclusion among themselves and hope to survive against the ironmen they fear so? “You had stated the lack of crystals in the Burn yourself; I’ve little reason to doubt there being no other deposit of aether nearby strong enough—”

Through Oktai’s hand, still resting atop his own, Magnai feels a shock of furious lightning crackle up his skin; not strong enough to harm but enough for him to know that when Oktai stands up in frustration and storms out of the yurt he has truly, finally hit his limit for the needless words of alliances and compromises from a ruler that has given no quarter, so used to his own homeland being drained of its own culture and sacred lands that he no longer sees wrong in doing the same to others subconsciously.

Magnai sighs in relief. He’d expected Oktai to allow this useless conversation to drag on longer.

“The khagan has spoken,” Magnai declares, standing from his seat. His tail aches something horrid when he stretches, kinks in his tail straightening out. The sun filters in slow through the crack in the canvas flaps, dust motes gleaming and covering Hien in a stark shadow as he remains seated. “If you truly think to convince all the tribes of your duty and its needs, first you must convince him.”

Hien’s brow furrows. “I had thought our discussion a long ways from over. The alliance?”

“The little sun has misspoken.” Sadu stands, and despite the insult Magnai is inclined to agree—he has, and now the Doman princeling has assumed. “Talks of alliances will wait. The khagan has left.”

“Certainly; quite rude of him, I might add.” Hien folds his hands in his lap, eyes misted over yet still hunter sharp, seeking a weakened point. “Has he not left his lands in danger, by denying us his approval before we have even begun to travel and visit the other khans and khatuns? Would he truly be so temperamental to quit the conversation ere we have truly begun?”

The harsh roll of Sadu’s eyes only serves to prove that, no, Magnai is not having some sort of nightmarish dream that if he pinches the scales on his nose hard enough he will awake in a Qestiri yurt instead. Shame that the only thing the two of them agree on is the merits of Oktai’s rule, and of how this discussion has long overgone its stay at this table.

Scratch the pot of tea. He will have to ask Taban for kumis if he wishes to rid himself of this horrible, horrible headache.

“If you cannot respect the time of the khagan and his people, you are not ready to speak of alliances,” he sighs. A shame; Hien is, rightfully, fit to be king—of his own people, of whom he has already earned the respect of, learned the needs and requests of like the back of his hand. “A full turn of the sun and still you have not learned, Doman, so I shall say it again.” He straightens to his full height, and Sadu barks out a laugh as she leaves the yurt, calling for Cirina and both their yols as she walks down the wooden steps. Hien, for his merit, does not turn to look bewildered at her, instead meeting Magnai’s stare.

“You have made mock of our ways since the very beginnings, Doman. Bardam’s Mettle is not a simple trial; our Naadam is not a little contest for you to win and tip the balance of our lands to win your wars. Even the Dotharl, respectful of warriors, have found you and yours wanting, and yet you continue to play at the role of magnanimous ruler. The Mol bow their heads to you out of respect for a savior and friend, not king; they let you live among them and you did not learn. Do not dare to presume so again,” he says, letting his voice rise and ring, and by the princeling’s side he sees Y’shtola shake her head. “Or you will find the khagan much less forgiving in hearing your useless words.”

[windup-dragoon]

【Ｇｏｄｄｅｓｓ】

Word Count: 5033

Hien x Kiri 

[[ Water Goddess AU ]] 

Waterlilies 

Drifting. Silence. Shadows. 

She hates it here. It feels empty yet her stomach churns and her heart aches. 

Helpless. Lost. Alone. 

She yearns for the days of color. The sounds of daily life to fill her ears. A sweet song she wasn’t aware existed ‘til now. 

This world, so bleak and abysmal. It would swallow her one day but she prays that it will not be so soon. She begs the powers that be to listen to her silent plea. To rescue her from the darkness that stretches so eagerly towards her. Reaching, always searching. 

And then there is light. Strings that glitter and ripple; a web of fractured light and curtains falling across her face in swaths of warmth and life. She recognizes the patterns and is filled with relief. 

Drifting. Silence. Light. Hope. 

She exists beneath the waves, the womb of all life. It is here that she feels safe and yet her heart yearns for more. The ocean is vast and full of life... yet she is alone. Beneath the tides, between worlds of light and darkness, life and death... she mourns her loss. 

It was beginning to feel as if the young prince may never see his goddess again. Hours gave way to full night and day rotations, so many that he dare not ask again for a count or suffer more ache in his chest than he could bear. Soroban, the Kojin who haunted the sunken library was his only form of company and even then the grand old tortoise mused at how impatient men could be. And while he did make an effort to speak with Leviathan, the great beast only spoke in a melody he was unable to comprehend and the occasional unsatisfied hiss. 

“It is bewildering,” Remarked the prince one afternoon (or perhaps morning?) while thumbing through pages of century old books, taking pause to admire drawings or squinting at passages his eyes could not make heads nor tails of. “Why would a goddess have need for such a collection?” 

Soroban, nose buried in a book of his own choosing, chuckled. “Collection?” 

“Aye,” He nods in affirmation, his jaw set while re-shelving the old leather bound tome where he had found it. “While most, or at least a grand majority, belong to this forgotten civilization; written in a language I do not recognize, there are still few that I can discern. Children’s books of fairy tales and ship logs. Are these all belongings she has plundered?” 

Upon his first evening spent in the library, when Soroban ushered him to a bedroom to rest, he had made his first of many discoveries about the sea goddess. The bedroom, perhaps once a study room for scholars to read in peace, had been decorated with tattered but fine silk curtains; the bedding salvaged pelts most certainly crafted from creatures on land and not of the sea. Even the garments he was gifted to replace his water logged garb seemed out of place. A collection of lost treasure. 

Night after night he returned to rest among the familiarity of land culture, comforted by the portraits of long since gone people, staring up at a ceiling which had been decorated with jewels that mimicked a night sky when the candles burned low. And when he roused from slumber, the anxious feeling in his stomach waking him with concern for the goddess, he found ways to distract himself, namely picking through a personal shelf of assorted books and regarding their contents. 

He had half expected the written text to be in a language he did not know, as all the other tomes that filled the library, but to his surprise, the prince was greeted with characters he could recognize at a mere glance! Small books, the leather soft from usage, were often ship logs or other such documents. Occasionally he stumbled across books with only beautiful ink drawings on each gilded page. All spanning from depictions of a ships mechanism to more fanciful things like pixies dancing, painted in the most vivid colors he had ever seen. 

But only one book in particular caught his attention. After discovering it, tucked away beneath the bedding he had slept upon, he could only laugh. A book on how to dance. He found it humorous that it had taken several nights and several days to realize just who the bedroom belonged to. 

“As a prince, ya’ have’ta attend parties, yea?” She had inquired one evening after swearing an oath to him. He remembered it so well, the night sky caught in her eyes as the ship cut silently through the still tide. 

The question had taken him by surprise but he answered with a grin. “Aye. Lavish parties with horribly uncomfortable attires and even worse company. It’s all formality and severely unappealing. Why do you ask?” 

“Parties are suppose’ta be fun. Ya’ must be doin’ it wrong.” The goddess laughed but not her typical bark of laughter. This was soft, amused and interested. 

Hien leaned further on the banister and tilted his head in hopes of catching a glimpse of her smile. “Oh? And what part do you believe should be fun? Sure, the wine and food are not always bad but beyond that, I am afraid I do not see what fun there is to be had.” 

It was then that she turned to him, stars aglow in her eyes and moonlight tangled in her hair. All at once he had forgotten that the woman standing before him was a Goddess; she almost seemed childlike as she graced him with a smile. “What ‘bout dancin’? And the music!” 

If only he had been wiser, he thought now with a chuckle. He might have noticed sooner her deep seeded curiosity for the world outside her own. 

Soroban, setting aside his book at long last, lifted darkened eyes to the young prince. Beside him sat a heap of untouched books, taken from various nooks and levels of the library; Hien had witnessed it himself as Soroban climbed creaky wooden ladders to pluck books at random from their shelves and bring them here to add to his growing collection. It was from this very pile that the Kojin now sifted through. 

Hien curiously turned to watch, abandoning whatever spine of a tome he had been trying to pronounce for the last couple minutes. A soft hum and a nod later Soroban offers the prince a plain looking book. The cover had been lost or removed, now bound only with corded leather, the pages soft from wear. 

“I pray I can read this,” Hien mused with a chuckle as he graciously accepted the book. It was small in size and only a couple dozen pages long. 

“Perhaps if you try hard enough?” Soroban returned with a laugh of his own. Hien couldn’t help but to feel this was a ruse to keep the prince busy so the Kojin could continue his studies in peace. “Take a candle with you, there’s an alcove on the first floor with another book for you to reference there.” 

The prince smiled and thanked Soroban with a bow before doing as he was directed. He was most certainly being gotten rid of. 

For all the days spent wandering the library with Soroban, Hien could still only scarcely manage the vast layout of the building. Several floors high it rose, a literal tower on the ocean floor. Each tier circled around the entrance, overlooking the fountain and the glittering jeweled motifs of Leviathan. Every floor had its own small pocket chambers; some filled with long since withered plants, perhaps a garden for scholars to read within? Others, Hien had discovered out of pure curiosity, had been repurposed for various reasons; more hidden treasures like scavenged ballgowns and small ornate chests filled with romantic jewelry for high class citizens; another a storage for spices plundered from trading ships. But none had been the alcove Soroban made mention of. But then again... 

Hien leaned on the marble banister, unafraid of the dust that now caked the front pocket of his borrowed clothing; he was still three floors too high. His legs ached from trudging down staircase after staircase, in some cases having to shimmy across broken ledges where wooden stairs had rotted away from the moisture. Giving himself a moment of peace, the prince looked once more to the foyer of the library, sunken as it was. 

He often found himself staring at the fountain from which ever floor he currently resided on. Water still babbled from the statues vase, casting ripples across the water at her feet. No matter how he stared, no matter the angle or the distance between the fountain and himself, he still had yet to see the goddess sleeping beneath the surface, blanketed in lily pads and an array of colorful blossoming lilies. Some days he would count the hours sitting at the ledge, humming songs to comfort himself and the slumbering goddess. But his only audience, who did enjoy listening, was Leviathan. 

Even now, Hien glancing from the fountain to observe the snake like beast, Leviathan rested its massive head upon the broken stonework of the library floor. An eel peering out of its cavern. Beast or no, the prince couldn’t help but notice the almost melancholy air that it held as it stared unflinchingly at the fountain. 

“Your loyalty to her is admirable, my friend.” 

He could admit he felt the same. While Soroban was hopeful that she would awaken at any time, his own patience was wearing thin. He wanted to see her again. To hear her. Even if she was making demands of him or rolling with laughter; anything to fill this deafening silence. 

His heart ached in his chest, hollow and cold at rising thoughts of what might yet come. She may never wake. And if that were to happen, what next? Would the crowned prince of Garlemald be announced as victorious? Or his female companion? Ah, the world has he knew it would be in trouble if Garlemald had some how possessed her powers over the sea. 

Ice shot through his veins. His country, his people, without their prince, what would become of them? Trapped in this library beneath the sea until his dying hours; forsaking the very thing he sought to protect with the blessing of the goddess. His throat tightened, mouth dry. So much to worry about, yet here he was, following orders from a tortoise. 

“...A good read should clear my head....” 

- - - 

Once upon a time, there was a city on the cliffs by the sea. The people of this city, so fond of the sea, swore loyalty to the tide mother; she who controlled the oceans with a sigh. To the goddess they prayed for safe voyages, for loved ones to return home safely, and for a bountiful catch that would sustain throughout their days. Together the goddess and her people lived in harmony. 

But one day a man arrived to the small town. He spoke of inventions and curious things! Metal shaped by fire! Ships that sailed among the clouds and birds! The town folk were enchanted by such curiosities. While they still cherished their goddess, the man began to spill poison in their ears. 

‘What of this unseen goddess? Has none seen her? Do any commune with her? If she exists, would she not want to smile upon her loyal followers?’ 

It took time and careful wording, but the poison the man brought with him began to spread. 

‘You pray that ships return safely, yet not all come home! Your goddess is no more than a fickle witch toying with you!’ 

In time her statues were torn down and cast into the sea. Saddened by her peoples distrust, the goddess wept. A full year passed with naught but storms and angry currents, true to the goddess’ pain. 

The poisonous man angry at the goddess for slowing his products arriving to town with her tantrum, spoke up once more. 

‘This is no more than curse upon your city. How could a loving goddess hurt you all so?’ 

The towns folk murmured, once again shunning their goddess. How could she have forsaken them? 

Angry, the goddess did as the poisonous snake suggested. With her powers she gave the town a curse. Second born daughters would be born in her image, as she was the second goddess given form. The city would look upon their daughters and see her in them. 

She would not be forgotten. 

- - - 

Water arched around her as she broke the surface, shimmering diamonds falling against torchlight. She parted her lips, sucking in stale but familiar air, filling her senses with the scent of the library. It was as if returning home at long last, warmth filling her chest to near bursting. Beads of water caught in her eyelashes, cascading down the crest of her cheekbones. Eyes of scarlet and sapphire opened at long last, greeted by a rainbow of lilies. 

She was alive. 

A delighted sound echoed around her in the cavernous library entrance. The sound mimicked that of whales singing in the depths, low pitched to high in a single breath. It was a melody she would recognize anywhere and had her eyes shooting up from the fountain’s water in a heartbeat. 

“Levi, did’ja miss me?” She called in return while leaning on the lip of the stonework fountain. Yalms separated them, but it was hard to miss the tilt in Leviathan’s head or the glossy admiration that filled his massive scarlet eyes. Another song graced the foyer, echoing softly off the stone walls and rising all the way to the top tier of the library. Still singing, Leviathan sunk beneath the water and out of sight of the goddess, no doubt eager to stretch now that his master was sorted out. 

She gave a lazy wave goodbye, regardless of the fact that Levi had already departed, then laid her cheek to the cold stone that returned her life. 

“Missed you too, ya’ overgrown noodle.” 

- - - 

“Soroban? Where in the hells are ya’?” Her voice filled the corridors as she barked the Kojin’s name again and again. It had been a trial in of itself to rise from her watery bed, her body aching in places that shouldn’t even exist. And then there was the added weight that slowed her down. 

It came as a distinct slapping of something wet against stone. Kiri, Goddess of the Ocean, had emerged from her pool reborn. With her ruined and bloody attire abandoned at the fountain she strode forth, her goddess form nearly luminescent in the unlit spots of the library.  Her flesh shimmered with an opalescence unlike any time before, a faint shimmering of scales that traced her curved outline. If one did not look closely, it could easily have been mistaken for powder worn by prosperous women looking to catch eyes. Her hair tumbled down beyond her shoulders, spilling to the floor in a curtain of moonlight silver. Like a slug she left behind a trail of water, not only still pouring off from such long locks, but from a tail too long and heavy for her to hold up off the floor while out of water. 

“Soroban???” She called again, a slight growl rising in her tone. 

Many questions had begun to bubble in her mind now that she was awake and conscious enough to consider them. How many days had passed? Had anything else happened while she was away? And what of the prince? Or those goons who hunted her like prey? But oh... the thought of a certain young man had caused her questions to halt abruptly. 

She recalled the pained look on his face as she laughed her injury off as if it were merely a scratch. That golden ichor hadn’t poured from beneath her rib and stained her coat. It felt like only moments had truly passed since then; his voice still rough in her ear as he begged her to stay awake. The drumming of his heart pounding against her temple.... 

Kiri blinked when she realized she had completely stopped walking, too absorbed in such a brief but intense memory. Her own heart was a flutter beneath her breast, oddly nervous and hesitant to continue on. 

What of the prince? Did he return to the surface? To his countrymen? 

Surely he must have. Only an idiot would stay when you had a kingdom waiting for you. 

... So why did it hurt? Who now would she ask about the world on land? Who should tell her the way a garden smells after a spring rain? Or how birds sing in choirs in the forest when the air is gently sweeping the boughs. Her chest tightened and eyes began to sting. 

“Soroban!!” 

“Kiri?” 

A voice echoed from the corridor she had yet to traverse. Her eyes wide and hands trembling, she spied a flicker of light and chased it. She needed reality more than ever now. She needed Soroban’s guidance and wisdom to remind her that the thing beating in her chest wasn’t to be trusted. That as a goddess, such treasured feelings should be discarded. A grim reminder that the ocean floor is desolate and lonely; and it was her kingdom. 

Light began to flood the corridor, her own radiance growing as she ran. 

The alcove with a candlelight flicker came into view and she came to a sudden stop, narrowly avoiding slipping on her own two feet. 

Miscolored eyes searched the alcove, narrowing at the sight that greeted her. “Soroban, the hells-” 

There was a clatter in the alcove; a book falling to the floor with a definite thump against the stone. 

Soroban chuckled, sitting at a small desk inside the carved out nook and paging through a time worn journal. “Oh dear,” 

But it wasn’t Soroban that had the goddess cursing. 

An awestruck prince, not even aware that he had dropped his book, gaped at the goddess with a slack jaw and warm eyes wide. 

Her heart swelled and sang and thundered in her chest all at once, only visible by a small twitch at the corner of her lips. Yet she managed to compose herself, completely disregarding her lack of attire at the given moment. “What’s he doin’ here?” She demanded with a cocked brow. 

Soroban hummed as he shrugged. “It would seem he is gawking.” 

“I-I am most certainly not gawking!” Hien stammered with averted eyes, kneeling now to fetch his discarded book. 

“Catfish got’cha tongue, pretty boy?” Kiri mused and crossed her arms with a definitely-not-on-purpose sway of her hips. 

“T-Tch! I thought you dead yet you rise to mock me.” 

The goddess flashed a grin, proud to recognize the color blossoming along his cheekbones. 

“And with added accessories, I should note.” Allowing himself a moments glance, Hien gestured vaguely to the goddess and her current form. 

Her tail, mostly hidden beneath a waterfall of silvery hair, slapped the stone with a wet smack. The small fins along her hips and ears fanned out, stretching and collapsing against her skin. Having such attachments had often been a burden to her in the past; she resembled no ancestry that walked the land, making it difficult to hide on the very rare occasions she met with sailors before they washed ashore from a shipwreck. But seeing the prince have such a reaction, his failed attempt not to look, made her grin a cheshire’s grin. 

“Part of the job. I get submerged in sea water, this is the end result.” As if to punctuate this fact, she lifted her tail once more to slap the floor at her feet. 

“Mayhap the boy is frightened.” Soroban chimed in without looking up from his book. 

“Frightened? Of such beauty? Hardly.” There was confidence in his as he addressed Soroban. 

Kiri felt her heart skip a beat. A wave of heat touched her cheeks. Hien offered her a smile and her heart ruptured with butterflies. What a feeling of elation! To hear he did not fear her in this form but found her stunning? But the goddess struggled to find a proper reaction for this foreign feeling welling in her. 

“S-Stop starin’!”  

- - - 

“Can ya’ help me...?” 

Hien found himself fidgeting ever since the goddess had awaken. He had expected some grand show, a spectacle or miracle when she would finally rise up from her watery confinement. Yet instead with unceremonious grace, he was greeted by a naked woman with aquatic appendages decorating her body. While her scales were a thing of beauty, he had never seen such colors, there was little magic in the moment as she scolded him. 

Even now, standing with his face buried against a pillow in her bedchamber, he felt as if he had missed some wondrous display of revival magic. What it must have been like to see her emerge from a bed of waterlilies! Unable to tell where her long hair stopped and water began. To have been able to say ‘good morning’ when she first woke up.... 

“Oi, Prince! I ask’cha ta’ help!” 

“You said I wasn’t allowed to look.” He returned, albeit muffled by the pillow against his lips. 

“I’m decent now, look all ya’ want.” She blew out a sigh. 

Pillow aside, the prince looked up to view the goddess as directed. He half expected a return of her usual clothing; a stolen coat and trousers with thick boots. But his jaw slacked at the sight before him. 

Her human form had yet to return, thus her choice in clothing had been limited. Instead of sailors clothing fabric hung from sparkling gold chains at her throat and around her waist; maroon colored silk draped her chest just enough to be considered decent, a cut of the same fabric a loincloth starting at the flat of her stomach and pooling on the floor at her feet. Bangles and more golden chains glittered from her wrists and even strung on the quills of her fins like jewelry. 

“...Yer starin’ again.” 

Hien coughed, sheepishly clearing his throat as he rose from the bed to stand beside her. “Your sense of fashion is astonishing is all.” 

“Oi,” 

Yet before she could continue, he smiled. “What did you need help with?” 

Her hand extended to offer him an item. He reached out in return to accept, until he caught a spark of light dancing on the blades edge. 

“A knife?” Dumbfounded again, he raised a brow. “Please do not ask me to descale-” 

“No! Wait, what?? No!!!” Her cheeks puffed. Kiri reached for her hair, bundling it and draping it across her shoulder. It was still slick and dripping; a trail of water a new track of hers. “Cut it for me?” 

He couldn’t help the tilt of his head as she asked so softly such a harmless request. “But you at last have hair longer than mine. Surely you don’t wish to cut all of it?” 

“I do, actually. Hate havin’ it long like this.” 

Without further argument and the knife now in his hands, Kiri twirled on her heel, her hair once again falling down the curve of her back. 

Such long, silken hair. She could have easily worn it to cover herself. Dragging his fingertips through it, Hien leaned a bit closer to the Goddess. He could smell the ocean on her; the sea during a storm with rain and salty winds. 

“Kirishimi....?” His voice dropped, his eyes tracing the outline of her shoulders and recognizing touches of scarred flesh peppering her skin just as much as dark and light freckles dusted her shoulders. 

He was reminded in that moment of her beauty. Of her power and strength. So what then, had caused her scars? 

Kiri shivered, his breath hot at the nape of her neck. “Yes...?” 

The prince held the knife tightly just above his other hand still knotted in her hair. The blade’s edge skimmed her flesh which drew a subtle inhale from the goddess. 

“What happened to the town you cursed?” 

- - - 

Silence filled the room. She felt him, so near that she felt the heat radiating from him. His breath a near whisper in her ear, his voice level as he delivered such a heavy question. 

“So that’s what’cha were readin’...” Although the accent still came through, she did her best to imitate music. A siren could lure men into a false sense of comfort, why couldn’t she? 

His hand tangled in her hair tightened its grip, pulling her slightly closer. “No games, Kiri. I want the truth. You’re still bound to me, are you not?” 

Although armed with a weapon as he was, he had yet to directly threaten her with it. It did little to stop the rabbit like heartbeat in her chest, a mixture of hurt, annoyance, and a touch of panic. But yet his hand relaxed and soon she heard the blade gliding through her hair. 

“Bound ta’ ya’ doesn’t mean I gotta spill all my secrets.” She replied in earnest. Her contract with the prince had plainly showed a lack of interest of either parties history. But when he inhaled sharply, the goddess sighed. 

- - - 

“First, I want’cha ta’ know, ya’ should’ve finished the book before accusin’ me of anythin’.” 

Hien didn’t respond. Instead his mind replayed the moment; the book he had been engaged with falling from his hands at the sight of her. Heat returned to his cheeks but full glad was he that her back was to him. 

“As for the curse.... I didn’t curse anyone. That was the original Tide Mother. The first Sea Goddess. Her grief and pain swelled into a mighty storm in her heart and clouded her eyes. Girls were born to look like her with and without her scales and tails. They were blessed by the Goddess but it frightened the towns folk.” 

There was a sorrow to her voice that made the prince loosen his grip on her hair, even halting his cutting of her hair as he listened. Part of him had believed the story was a fairy tale written by mortals. A retelling of something the Goddess had done, good or bad. 

“Scared people are easy to trick... And a man knew just how to talk to a crowd. He convinced them, every single one of them, that their daughters were to be sacrificed to the Goddess. Ta’ show her, ta’ put her in her place. Ta’ defy the very goddess whom they had loved so dearly before.” 

Even though he couldn’t confirm it himself, Hien knew the goddess before him was struggling not to burst into tears. And who wouldn’t? The idea of it... His stomach churned as cogs began turning in his mind. 

“You said she was the first,” He started slowly, “does that make you...the second...?” 

“Aye.” 

“Kiri....” 

“She was disgusted by mortals. How could they? How could they be so cruel?!” Her shoulders shook. Hien couldn’t tell if it was because she was crying or shaking with fury. Or maybe it was a mixture of both. “Those mothers and fathers looked at us and smiled, convinced it was the right thing to do! The only option they had! Bloody cowards is what they were!” 

With a twist of his wrist the remainder of her hair was cut through, the floor length locks shifting to salt water and landing on the stone with a splash at his feet. The knife clattered to the floor alongside the puddle, discarded so he could take her into his arms and hold her against his chest. 

The goddess, so powerful and courageous, trembled in his arms; tears stained the front of his tunic when she curled into him. 

“... When she tried ta’ stop them,” Kiri began again, a hiccup interrupting her, “the man attacked her with strange weapons. She was severely injured and in her rage and sorrow... She sunk the city. Brought the whole cliffs down and buried it beneath the ocean.” 

“I’m sorry,” Hien found himself whispering it over and over again, a mantra that was some how supposed to help her feel better. At least her trembling had subsided. 

“... I was the only one that survived. The Tide Mother was dying inside and out... but she saved me from drownin’ like the others... and passed it all ta’ me.” 

More cogs began to stir. “That must be why Zenos and that Octavia woman were after you. The man in the story must have been Garlean. Perhaps someone survived and lived to tell the tale....” But when Kiri gave no answer, Hien dropped the subject. She was in no mood or condition to talk about her own death. Instead he drew her closer still, the scent of the ocean still stormy on her. 

“The book you were readin’... Soroban found it in his travels before meetin’ me.” 

“Speaking of which... Why the library? This whole sunken city, this library... It is the one she buried, right?” 

Kiri gave a nod against his chest and sniffled. “The library was the only place they were allowed to worship her in secrecy. A few folk tried to expose it, so they destroyed the goddess’ face on the fountain. Anyone who questioned the library was then lead to believe that Leviathan was the one they prayed to.” 

“...So why sink it at all?” 

The goddess lifted herself from his chest, her eyes rimmed red with tears and mismatched eyes like jewels. “So no one would ever remember her... or me.”

Clearly the original Goddess hadn’t expected survivors of the tragedy. How else had he known the legend of the Ocean Goddess? Or the prince of Garlemald that seemed so determined to capture her? 

Hien scrunched his nose and bid the thoughts leave him; at least for the moment. With all his heart, all he wanted to do now was hold her. A kingdom all her own, built upon the jealousy and hatred of a goddess and a single man. One she had to endure alone at the bottom of the sea...  

[ancientechos]

Summer Days

For @windup-dragoon, based on a bunch of random discord convos!

Hien/Kirishimi + Emet-Selch/Arianna ♡ 2192 words ♡ some kinda modern au

The scent of the sea is fresh and crisp, circling in Hien’s lungs as he takes in a deep breath. It’s warm, and sunny, and vibrant: a perfect day to visit the beach. Perhaps take to the surf, enjoy the waves...

Unfortunately (or not?), two of his trio of companions have a quite different idea of what “fun at the beach” looks like.

“C’mon, Hien! The day’s not gettin’ any younger!” Kiri waves a hand in front of his face impatiently, shouldering her bright yellow surfboard and gesturing toward the sea. “We’re gonna surf, yeah?” She follows his gaze toward the small construction of umbrellas and towels they’d left and gives a small laugh. “Just leave ‘em, they said they’re fine.”

Emet, lounging on his towel, notices them staring, and gives a hand movement he’d like to assume is a wave but is really more likely to be a shooing motion. The smaller figure a little ways away from him, meanwhile, has most of her face obscured by the hat upon her head and the book held up to her nose.

“Besides, Emet’ll probably break his bones if he tries goin’ surfing.”

Hien can’t help but snort at the woman’s exaggeration.

“And Ari, well -- she’s not really too fond of this sorta stuff.”

It still feels a little off to simply leave their companions -- though really he wouldn’t mind Emet not being here at all, he feels just a smidge bad for Arianna.  Whilst he cannot pretend to know the quiet, dark-haired woman very well, he at the very least knows of her through Kirishimi, and at best doesn’t want to seem rude...

But Kiri does know her, so he supposes he should take his chances and simply relax. They had all come here to have fun, after all. Even if their definition of such was not exactly the same.

That was still fine.

Exhaling softly, Hien drums his fingers along his own surfboard, a bright lime green colour.

“You’re right! Let’s enjoy ourselves -- ” No sooner has he finished speaking than Kirishimi has already launched herself across the sand, giving a loud cheer of victory.

“Well? What are ya waitin’ for, slowpoke?!” She turns to regard him, one hand on her hip, pale hair framed by the sun. But what does Hien Rijin in is the enormous, joyful grin that spreads across her face.

Rivalling even the gleaming star behind her, the happiness is enough to spear him straight through the heart. He remembers precisely why he’s fallen for her.

He has just never seen anyone more beautiful and genuine in his life.

“Sorry, sorry.” He lifts a hand in mock surrender. “I won’t keep you waiting.”

The sand grows damp beneath his feet, gets between his toes and he merely kicks them beneath the gentle laps of water. His girlfriend is already nearly knee-deep in salt and fighting to get ever further past the waves, to finally use her board.

“I bet I’ll catch a bigger wave than you,” the woman taunts with a sharp quirk of her lips, glancing back at him over her shoulder with one blue eye. Her black two-piece is already soaked by the water, some droplets courtesy of the children playing in the shallower waters.

“We’ll see about that,” Hien replies, with a tiny smirk of his own. If there’s anything his love can bring about him, it’s his competitive flair.

It doesn’t take them long to find a decent wave; the water here is good for surf, the wind bustling their hair and Hien’s swim shorts as they struggle to find their balance. A swell of water takes Kirishimi away from him -- brings her back just as quickly as he surfaces at the top of the wave and he sees her, arms outstretched, braid streaming out behind her.

He can’t see her face from this angle, but he’s certain that if he could, he’d see that bright, free smile again. Sure enough, she gives a delighted whoop as another wave curls above her, and she tumbles below the surf.

Hien can still hear her laughing and chuckling, but his stomach drops out from underneath him anyway as he sails downward, thoroughly soaked now as he falls into the water. He surfaces with a gasp, grasping for his board before it can bob away from him entirely.

“Wasn’t that fun?!” Kirishimi yells at him excitedly a few feet away. Her laughter fills the air as another wave picks her up, sways her. “Let’s do that again!”

By the time they return to the beach, they’re thoroughly soaked. Hien’s hair is nearly coming undone from its ponytail, and Kiri has long ago lost her braid to the depths.

Emet and Arianna have for the most part not moved, the woman still curled up in her pale sundress. Through the shadows, it’s clear she’s wearing a swimsuit beneath, though she seems to have no inclination to actually put it to use. And the other, well...

He’s not entirely sure, but Hien thinks Emet’s eyes are closed beneath those dark sunglasses he’s wearing.

Kirishimi makes her way onto the towel nearest Emet, sighing loudly. They’ve both propped up their boards nearby to allow them to dry in the sun, doubting they’ll return to the sea for today.

“Man, that was tirin’,” Kiri proclaims, bunching up her hair. “We’re all soaked.” With this she squeezes -- allowing a series of water droplets to spray upon Emet as he reclines beneath the shade.

With a jerk and a stifled sound of annoyance, he pushes his sunglasses off; though Hien can cover his mouth with his hand as he turns away, he can’t quite stop his shoulders from shaking in mirth. Arianna shuts her book silently and eyes them both from beneath her hat somewhat warily; once it becomes clear neither Hien nor Kiri have any intention of spraying her, she relaxes somewhat.

“Couldn’t you have picked somewhere with less noisy brats running amok?” the older man hisses, narrowing golden eyes at Kirishimi in a way that implies he’s not simply talking about the little urchins clambering about the sand.

“Ahahah, sorry.” Not really. If anything, Hien finds seeing his former rival irritated like this amusing. “This just seemed the closest to all our residences...”

Not telling him that he and Kiri are actually, currently, “renting” one of the beach houses here.

…Which is actually owned by the Rijin family, though Kirishimi doesn’t know this, either. It’s fine for her to think it’s just temporary. For now.

Mentally patting himself on the back for being able to keep his composure, Hien finally turns back to his companions.

“Besides, we came here for a bit of fun, right? Stretch our legs a little, maybe let’s walk around -- I hear there’s a sand castle competition further up the beach. It might be nice to take a peek.”

Thus that’s how the four of them end up shuffling down the shoreline, toward the mass of sand and small crowd of people they can see milling about. The sun beating down on their sculptures allows them to harden and set, preserving them for at least until the moment they’re destroyed.

Most of them are quite impressive -- not all of them are grand castles and mansions. Some are cats, dogs, sphinxes, even dragons. It’s hard to believe they could simply be made of sand...

Beside the rows upon rows of majestic and interesting sculptures they’ve just walked through are a few children making their own play at sandcastles, though for the most part they amount to merely mounds of dirt.

“I bet ya couldn’t make anythin’ better than that, Mr. Architect.”

One of Emet’s brows twitches as he pauses mid-step to glare down at the highlander.

“Excuse me...?” His gaze flicks from the cheeky-looking woman to the sorry pile of sand currently being kicked about by a gleeful young boy.

“Ya heard me! I bet ya can’t make anything as cool as what we just saw,”

Privately, she mumbles under her breath that it hadn’t even really looked like sand anyway. Far too realistic...

The man scoffs, rolling his eyes.

“And why on earth do you think I care what you think?”

Once it becomes clear her attempt at challenging him isn’t working, the woman kicks it up a notch.

“Whoever builds a worse one’s gotta pay the tab at dinner later -- how about that?”

The expression on Emet’s face transforms from derision to vague amusement; he gives a shrug and filches a bucket and small plastic tools from one of the pairs of children puttering in the sand.

What seems like hours later to Hien but realistically can’t be, and his rival has already amassed a miniature crowd of his own, much to the discomfort of his date. Whilst Kirishimi and his sculpture is -- reminiscent of a castle, certainly, with no shortcuts taken for details...it’s lopsided and amateur, whereas Emet’s is most certainly...not.

The proudly tall, spiralling castle, decorated with small stones and other gathered trinkets, could well rival one of those built in the competition. Hien can hardly believe the thing the older man’s managed to create in such a span of time. Were it not made of sand, he’s sure it would gleam beneath the sun.

“Well,” Hien says with a nervous laugh as they push through the small row of onlookers, “I do believe you’ve lost your bet, Kiri.”

“Why didn’t ya tell me yer some kinda sand castle champion, Emet?! That’s cheatin’!”

“Mmm? Oh, I’m nothing of the sort.” The man’s tone simply drips with arrogance as he discards his final tool into the sand. “I’ve never built one before, and that was easy.” His smirk doesn’t fade as he grasps Arianna by one of her thin wrists, pulling her closer to him and out of the crowd. Hien pretends not to see the way his normally blade-sharp gaze softens as he presses a hand to her dark hair.

________

They’d all gotten time to change and get ready before heading out to the fancy restaurant. Halfway there, Hien can see Kirishimi beginning to brood about her supposed having to pick up the tab, and tries to reassure her.

“Listen, how about I pay instead? Anyway, it’ll be fine.”

“Huh? You pay? Nah -- it was my bet, Hien. And anyway, I’m not worried.”

Certainly not, that’s why the sun has left her gaze.

They all meet in the parking lot, Emet looking utterly bored whilst Arianna holds her cellphone in her hand. While she still doesn’t speak around him, Hien would at least like to think she seems a little less nervous in his presence than before.

Before they can set foot into the restaurant, Emet abruptly raises both arms, coming to a halt approximately a foot from the doors. The others stop in confusion.

“Do wait a moment.” The smirk is, once again, disturbingly palpable in his tone even without looking at his face. “I need to open the door.”

Comprehension seems to dawn on Arianna, as she rapidly begins to tap at her phone screen; if Hien strains his ears, he thinks he can hear Emet’s phone vibrating in his pocket, though the other man seems to have zero inclination in looking at it. In a last ditch effort to wheedle the man’s attention, Arianna grabs at the sleeves of his coat --

“Open sesame.”

-- just as he says this and takes a step forward.

The automatic doors, of course, open. He gives a ridiculous half-bow that has Arianna, for once, reeling away from him even after he attempts to coax her back. She merely gives a stiff shake of  the head, hiding her expression.

“Yeah? Of course it opened?” Kirishimi says aloud, seeming irritated herself.

“You’re very welcome.”

Though he doesn’t bother to explain, Hien has the suspicion that display had not really been for them.

Things are mostly quiet once they find their reserved seating, thumbing through overpriced menus. Hien can feel Kiri deflate slightly beside him, doing mental mathematics or perhaps concerned about her dress in comparison to the other patrons.

But the food is delicious; not even Emet’s subtle attempts to antagonise him can possibly ruin Hien’s mood. He can only be thankful that Kirishimi doesn’t seem to notice, too preoccupied by her meal. He even manages to trade numbers with Arianna, letting her speak to him as opposed to through Emet or Kiri.

And when the check arrives, Emet swipes it with an annoyed exhale before either he or Kirishimi can move.

“Perhaps next time, eh? I did choose the restaurant this time, after all...”

Hien isn’t sure there will be a next time, but nods graciously regardless. Despite his presence, after all, he did quite enjoy his day with Kiri. And perhaps he even has a new place to take her, where they might enjoy dinner together, without his jabs.