#interwoven fates

[cconfusedkat]

Shamura redesign done first!! Made them more desaturated and more like a vampire ':-) Their character background is the most fulfilled out of the other four bishops 💦,,

They have always had some type of religion to involve themself with ever since they were 16 --- when the purple crown snuck into their bag as a child in their way home from churchand they burnt down their home clergy with that same power. Truthfully it was deserved for that clergy because of the corrupt power, but they still feel extremely guilty after nine millenia ,,, Unfortunately as corrupt as that clergy was they themself eventually became of that same corrupt power both as bishop and returning to mortality as a follower

You would most likely see them interacting with other morticians rather than the rest of the cult who does other jobs. They aren't too easy to get along with nor talk to regularly since they often make people uncomfortable with their fixation of death and the lamb 'saving us all in our next life'

Just your typical dose of possible religious psychosis and losing your mind even more despite your brain damage being healed ever so slightly ❤️

They consider themself a zombie more than a vampire, always feeling like a walking corpse. It definitely worsened after the millennia of the betrayal events and being beheaded for trial ,, once a small child who was afraid of lambs to 10 millenia later of them preaching lambs everyday of their life for prosperity

[sacha1slytherin]

Update on my fics

Hello my beloveds,

First of all, best wishes for the new year! I wish each and every one of you good health and happiness 😊 💜

And about my fics and on updating them, as I've been getting asked about by you all...well, it unfortunately has to be put on hold for the forseeable future because of irl problems (my physical and mental health took a down turn for one), but don't worry it won't take a year till you get the next update (hopefully), but these coming months will be quite hectic (it has been already mind, but it'll be even more so for me, unfortunately) and I can't give them the utmost attention they deserve.

My apologies, and I hope you will understand.

I wish u all the best, and till next time 💜

- Sacha

[tempestforged]

@abyssmalice replied: The (second) will of the red tide aka Tonitoni will happily take all of those chocolates. Thanks and goodbye!

A notebook pulled from his breast pocket as he ticks off the name at the top of the list, no matter how many millennia pass, a single fact remains certain. Tonitoni makes his life easier by taking the sweats rather than forcing him to hunt her down with the bag.

"Mission success, now for the next batch!"

[wickedzeevyln]

Work On It

To love is not for the faint of heart. —e.d. maramat | erwinism Of course, to love is exhausting when you slip into a routine, when you get into numbered habits and everything you are is a programmed muscle memory. As children we were conditioned to harbor the illusion that love stories are punctuated with happily ever afters, and we grow up lugging this expectations with us so when we fall in…

[angelesca]

a soon-to-be-husband's plan for successful marriage! w.c. ~900

requested by: @kimura-uzuri lots of kisses as per the request, suggestive, all of them are idiots in love and mega pathetic (just how we like 'em amirite) added some extra characters & stretched the prompt, but the core remains the same - hopefully you don't mind :)) (!! written before playing 3.1! only seen some bits and pieces)

anaxagoras's "all according to calculation" love letter!

to my dearest, if you were to reject me, i think i'd cry with my one eye since our fateful encounter, i've found myself... happy agitated, with these bothersome feelings aglaea said it was "love". hah. what does she know?, aroused by, simply, your presence in my orbit. it nags endlessly, claws at my throat when i breathe, these insignicant matters should afford me no pleasure... yet, the heart is no longer a master of itself, desperately wrestling from your grip, but inevitably chained to your smile that is interwoven with my memories. i also cannot forget how you suplexed me after our first kiss my lips spring and curve at an accord of their own when you spare as little as a glance at me. to who else can be ascribed such a feat? congratulations i guess a scholar's instinct is to question in the face of adversity. and questions must be accompanied by answers. as i write this to you, i have finally sumrised the truth. why i feel what i do, i must acknowledge it now... i adore you. i am eternally yours-- i must spend my life with you. ... *unintelligible scribbling*

anaxagoras looks up from his page, staring at you. "did that work?"

work? it didn't even try. "what? what are you- why did you read me a whole love letter? i didn't even know you had it in your bones to write sappy romance."

anaxagoras's eye twitches. he took that to heart. his formula for the perfect proposal is breaking, time to move onto plan b.

you throw your hands on your hips. "what's with you?" kiss. "you just came home after-" kiss. "-being away for so long." kiss. "is something wrong with your head?" kiss. "stop that! it won't distract me from your failure of a proposal."

"tch." anaxa clicks his tongue, slumping defeatedly like a child who got caught red-handed. so much for his perfect plan. well, when all else fails, there's only one final strategy: "well? are we getting engaged?"

you sigh. "you could've said that in the first place..." kiss. "..."

little did you know, that was a display of anaxagoras's restraint. the power of a scholar comes from more than their words, you learned the hard way, sore in bed the next day.

phainon's "super special, totally epic °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°" checklist!

1. i miss my partner so much... (´-ω-`) must return to okhema 2. buy a ring (maybe ask aglaea?) (ugh, i can't let mydei know or he'll tease me) 3. ??? 4. become husband!!! (☆ω☆)

step 1. miss my partner... check. duh. ┐(‘～` )┌ return to okhema? check.

step 2. buy a ring. check. aglaea, with a stifled chuckle, gladly helped the clueless phainon pick out a ring perfect for you. after all, someone who pairs an orange shirt with purple pants could hardly be trusted with picking out an engagement ring. successfully avoided mydei's keen eyes.

step 3. ???

phainon stares at you. "???"

"???" you stare back.

"???????????" phainon took the third step too literally. what is this doofus doing?

realising that his plan is falling apart, phainon panics. "c-c-c-c-can i k-kiss you?" his lips unconsciously push together, pouting, as if practicing his kissing on your ghost.

you frown. "why are you asking like it's our first time doing it?"

"oh, right..."

you playfully roll your eyes. "come here, you."

phainon skips over, brightened, lowering his head for you. you press kisses on them. then, ten more for good measure, because, well, phainon and kisses just go well together, clicking like a puzzle.

"haha, that was nice." phainon's cheeks were red as tomatoes, pressing his hands on them like a youthful maiden in love. then, he latches onto your arm, intertwining. "let's settle down soon. i'm so tired of fighting bad guys all day," he mumbles.

"settle down? like family?" you ask.

"whatever you desire: children, dogs, cats, potted plants. i'm okay with anything you want, as long as you want it," phainon beams. "i just want to start a new life with you!"

beneath all the sweet words, phainon feels that he forgot something integral... something something... become husband... well, whatever. as long as you're happy, phainon can't think of much else when you're calling out his name at night. ( ‾́ ◡ ‾́ ) the neighbours are tired bro...

(days later, you found the engagement ring left in his pocket before taking his clothes for laundry)

mydei's "conquer and overcome all adversities" (is he still talking about proposing?) goal!

1. propose

mydei holds out his hand. "let us form a legal, committal union under a contract."

your jaw drops. mydei had just returned home and these were his first words after being apart for so long? "s-sorry?"

mydei huffs. "you know what i mean."

"you mean a marri-"

COUGH COUGH.

...?

you scrunch your eyebrows. "you want to marr-"

COUGH COUGH.

... mydei is blushing, eyes glossy. how could one word have such an effect? scratch that, how has he made it this far into the relationship? romance was certainly not in the kremnoan dictionary.

you take a deep breath. "mydei, you can just say the word."

"the word."

you sigh. this was too slow. "fine. i agree."

"agree?" mydei looks at you expectantly.

"to establish a legal contract that binds us together."

"oh," mydei smiles. "well, let us make haste." he swings you over his shoulder easily, as if carrying feathers. now, it's going too fast - he really can't set a pace.

"hey! what the-" by the time you realised, you were already at an altar, face-to-face with your husband-to-be. never in your life have you witnessed your body being covered in so many marks the night after the wedding, and your lips were definitely bruised.

you sternly warned mydei, and what is repressed comes back stronger, as he hugged you 24/7, stealing your waist instead of lips. a kremnoan warrior always stays conquering, even when proving his eternal love for you.

a/n: i just found out there are anaxa chibis but its too late im afraid. pea head anaxa for life who's with me also here's some behind the scenes! originally i wrote this for phainon's step 3:

phainon gets on his knees and- oh, oh my god- "PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE-"

"phainon???" his name barely leaves your mouth as a breath, for you can hardly construct words, let alone a sentence.

LMAOOO it was way too much. anw ty again! i had fun writing it! sorry this was kinda short, i wrote this up as quick as i could. but if you'd like me to re-make the request bc it was too silly, lemme know xx

[grinchthem]

reading thousand autumns after a bunch of mxtx and meatbun was kind of a funny experience because i low key was expecting a reveal where yan wushi and shen qiao had a secret backstory where their fates were interwoven and such. but no, yan wushi literally just found shen qiao facedown in the dirt, poked him with a stick to see if he was dead, and thought it would be funny to keep him around 💀

[mahalachives]

Part 9: The Rise of the High Lady of Autumn

Pairing: Azriel x F!Reader

Genre: angst, romcom, humor, fish out of water reader, canon (ish)

Summary: Murdered after a late-night study session in the modern world, you awaken in Prythian—still yourself, but with Fae features and the infamous title of Beron’s cold-hearted and ruthless daughter.

Then, fate snaps the mating bond into place between you and the shadowsinger, Azriel—who rejects it so fiercely, even the magic recoils.

You died a healer. You woke up a villain. Now fate’s mated you to who wants nothing to do with either—you’ll prove them all wrong, one heartbeat at a time.

Between Two Fires - Masterlist

The wind rushed past, cold against your tear-streaked face as Azriel's wings cut through darkness. His arms formed an unbreakable cage around you, keeping you pressed against the steady beat of his heart.

Below, the world stretched in shadow-painted patches: forests giving way to hills, plains to mountains, all rushing by as he flew with desperate speed.

You couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.

Eris was captured. Your safe haven in Dawn Court had crumbled in moments.

"It's my fault," you whispered, the words torn away by wind. "Beron wants me."

Azriel's arms tightened fractionally. "No." The word vibrated through his chest, against your cheek. "Beron sealed his fate the moment he betrayed you. What happens now was always coming."

The charm between your bodies pulsed with shared warmth, fire and shadow interwoven. It offered comfort where words failed, a silent promise that transcended the chaos below.

When the most imposing mountain range you'd ever seen loomed ahead, Azriel banked sharply.

You closed your eyes against vertigo, burying your face in his leathers. He smelled of night-chilled stone and cedar, of safety and danger in equal measure.

"Look," he commanded softly, his breath warm against your ear.

You opened your eyes.

And there it was.

Velaris. The City of Starlight.

Nestled between mountains and sea, it glowed with a light that owed nothing to the sun. Instead, thousands of lamps, pearl and gold and silver, cast their glow across buildings that somehow managed to be both ancient and alive.

A river cut through its heart, midnight blue and glittering with reflected stars. Bridges arched gracefully across the water, each one uniquely beautiful.

In this moment, suspended between sky and earth, you understood something profound: beauty could exist alongside terror. Light could persist through darkness. Perhaps this was what the bond had been trying to teach you all along.

"Home," Azriel offered, the word rife with meaning.

It wasn't a demand or expectation, merely an invitation. A possibility.

He circled lower, wings extended to catch thermal currents as he guided you toward a house built into the side of a mountain.

A balcony extended outward like an offering hand, glowing with warm light that spilled from tall windows.

"The House of Wind," he explained. "Where the Inner Circle gathers."

The mention of his family sent anxiety coiling through you. The bond reacted instantly, tightening between you as golden light briefly illuminated your joined bodies.

Azriel landed with practiced precision, wings folding with mechanical efficiency as he set you carefully on your feet. Your legs wobbled, unaccustomed to solid ground after hours of flight.

His scarred hand steadied you, the touch brief but grounding.

His eyes, normally warm when they looked at you, turned to ice as they shifted toward the waiting figures. "They're here."

The glass doors opened. A male of such devastating beauty it seemed almost cruel stepped onto the balcony. Violet eyes flickered between you and Azriel, noting the proximity, the lingering touch.

Rhysand's power rolling off him in midnight waves, stars glittering within that darkness like predator eyes. Yet there was wisdom there too, ancient and considering.

"Az," he greeted, voice cultured and carefully neutral. "I see your mission was successful."

Something in his tone made your spine stiffen.

Not hostile, precisely, but measured. Assessing.

"High Lord," you responded before Azriel could speak, straightening to your full height despite your exhaustion. "Thank you for your hospitality."

Rhysand's eyebrows rose slightly, surprise flickering across those perfect features. "Lady of Autumn. Welcome to Velaris."

Behind him, others appeared. Feyre and beside her, Cassian, his wings tucked loosely against his broad back.

And then, a golden-haired female, beautiful in ways that transcended conventional prettiness. Her eyes assessed you with such cold hostility it felt like a physical blow.

Morrigan. The cousin who had once been promised to Eris in marriage, before he'd left her bleeding at the border between their courts.

Your brother's victim.

The air thickened with tension as her gaze slid from you to Azriel, noting how he'd positioned himself half a step ahead of you, wings still partially extended in unconscious protection.

"What is she doing here?" Mor demanded, voice sharp enough to cut. "We discussed this, Rhys."

Rhysand's expression tightened fractionally. "Mor..."

"No," she interrupted, her beautiful face contorted with a fury that seemed to transform her from within. "This is Velaris. Our sanctuary. Our home. And you bring Autumn Court royalty here?"

Azriel didn't speak. Didn't warn.

His shadows simply expanded, darkness slithering across the balcony floor toward Mor like living things with purpose, with intent. The temperature plummeted so rapidly that frost crystals formed on the railing beside you.

"Az," Cassian said, voice low with warning.

Azriel's face remained perfectly expressionless, but his shadows darkened, swallowing nearby lamps with cold precision. When he finally spoke, his voice carried none of the gentle cadence he'd used with you. Each word fell like a shard of ice.

"She is under my protection."

Four words. Simple. Final.

Mor's eyebrows rose in disbelief. "We're talking about Beron's daughter. Eris's sister. Have you forgotten..."

"I forget nothing." Azriel's interruption was soft yet somehow more threatening than any shout. His shadows coiled tighter, their edges hardening into something closer to blades than mist. "Nor do I need reminding of my own experiences, Morrigan."

The use of her full name, not the casual "Mor" of five centuries' friendship, fell like a blow between them. Something fractured in the air, invisible yet undeniable.

The bond between you flared in response to the building tension, golden light not just briefly visible beneath your skin but radiating actual warmth that pushed back against the frost his shadows had created. It was like standing in a ray of winter sunlight, your joined magics creating a balance neither could achieve alone.

"I don't expect welcome," you said quietly, meeting Mor's hostile gaze despite the instinct to retreat. "Only temporary sanctuary."

"Well, you won't find it here," Morrigan replied, her voice cold as Winter Court frost. "Not as long as I have any say."

Feyre stepped forward, diplomatic mask firmly in place. "Perhaps we should continue this discussion inside. Our guest has traveled far under difficult circumstances."

"Our guest," Morrigan repeated with venomous emphasis, "shouldn't be here at all."

The charm against your chest burned painfully hot as Azriel moved, not toward Mor but toward you. His body shifted until he stood between you and the others, a physical barrier of muscle and wings and shadow.

"She is my mate," he said, each word precise as a blade strike. "That should be enough for you, for all of you."

The declaration fell into stunned silence. Even Rhysand seemed momentarily at a loss for words. His violet eyes widened fractionally, power momentarily faltering around him as the implications registered.

In that silence, you felt something shift within the shadowsinger beside you. A weight lifting, perhaps.

"Mate or not," Mor said, recovering first, "she's still Beron's daughter. Still Eris's sister. Or have you forgotten what Autumn Court nobility is capable of?"

Azriel didn't turn to face her, his body remaining a shield between you and the others. His wings flared slightly, an unconscious display of aggression that made even Cassian's hand drift toward his weapon.

"You know nothing about her," he said, voice midnight given sound. "Nothing about what she's endured or survived."

Cassian shifted uncomfortably, the movement drawing your eye. The general's expression held none of Mor's hostility. Instead, he watched the exchange with something approaching concern, recognition flickering in his eyes.

"Az," Cassian said quietly, "maybe now isn't the time..."

"There is no better time," Azriel cut him off, his normally controlled voice edged with emotion. "Before assumptions become actions."

Ember and Sizzle materialized on your shoulders, sensing your distress. Their tiny flame forms brightened defensively, casting warm, pink light across Azriel's shadowed wings.

In their appearance, you understood something about magic you hadn't before. It answered to emotion as much as to will. Perhaps that was why the bond had formed in the first place, answering to something beyond conscious choice.

Rhysand's expression shifted subtly as he studied you with renewed interest.

Feyre moved closer to her mate, her own gaze thoughtful. She slipped her hand into Rhysand's, a silent communication passing between them. As High Lady, she would understand better than anyone what it meant to be bonded to a powerful male, to have that bond form against all expectations.

"She can't stay here," Morrigan insisted, crossing her arms. "I won't have it."

Something cold and resolute settled in your chest.

The truth was simple. You didn't belong here. You couldn't heal in a place where your very presence caused others pain.

"She's right," you said, the words falling into sudden silence. "I shouldn't be here."

Azriel turned to you then, shock evident in his expression, his shadows momentarily dispersing with his surprise. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying I won't stay where I'm not wanted," you replied, voice steady despite the pain radiating through the bond.

"Where would you go?" Feyre asked, genuine concern in her voice. She, of all of them, had once been the outsider, the human in a world of immortals.

"Somewhere else," you answered simply. "Somewhere new."

"Alone?" Cassian's brow furrowed.

"If necessary." You lifted your chin, refusing to bend beneath the weight of Morrigan's hatred. "I've survived worse."

Azriel's shadows exploded outward, dark tendrils lashing the night air. The temperature on the balcony plummeted until breath fogged before faces. Even Rhysand took an involuntary step back, momentarily stunned by the ferocity of Azriel's reaction.

"You won't go alone," he growled, the words vibrating with conviction. "Wherever you go, I go."

The declaration stunned everyone into silence. Even Mor's hostility faltered, replaced by disbelief.

Your heart stuttered painfully in your chest. The bond between you blazed golden-bright beneath your skin, responding to the absoluteness of his choice. Through that connection, you felt what he felt, centuries of isolation crashing against the terrifying freedom of choice. Five hundred years of darkness giving way to a light he'd never believed himself worthy of claiming.

A choice made not out of duty or obligation, but something infinitely rarer. Free will.

"Az," Rhysand began carefully, "think about what you're saying."

But there was something beyond caution in Rhysand's voice now, something like understanding. His gaze flickered to Feyre, a silent acknowledgment passing between them. He, too, had once chosen his mate over everything else.

Azriel turned to face his High Lord fully, his body shifting to stand beside you, equals, not protector and protected.

"I have thought," Azriel replied, his voice colder than you had ever heard it. Gone was the shadowsinger who had flown with you through the night. In his place stood a warrior hewn from winter frost and ancient darkness. "For five centuries, I've served the Night Court. I've spilled blood and shadow without complaint or hesitation."

His wings snapped fully open, an intimidation display that made even Cassian take an instinctive step back. His shadows formed patterns of such complexity and rage that they hurt the eye to follow.

"But I tell you now, clearly, so there can be no misunderstanding." His gaze swept the gathered circle, lingering longest on Mor. "If the choice is between my mate and my court, I choose her. Every time. Without hesitation or regret."

The words fell like a thunderclap. Mor's face drained of color. Rhysand's expression remained carefully controlled, but something like pain flickered in those violet eyes, the understanding of a High Lord who might lose not just his spymaster but his brother.

Your body went completely still, breath caught in your lungs. Five centuries of brotherhood. Five centuries of loyalty. Five centuries of shared battles and blood and nightmares. And he would walk away from it all, for you.

The bond between you vibrated with the magnitude of his choice, golden light spilling from beneath your skin, illuminating the night around you both. It wasn't just light; it was truth made visible. Undeniable. Absolute. The warmth it generated seemed to push back against the chill, creating a pocket of heat around you both, as if the magic itself rebelled against the coldness of potential separation.

"No one is asking you to choose, brother," Rhysand said, voice deceptively calm despite the power now coiling around him like a storm waiting to break. His eyes, though, betrayed deeper emotion, the memory of his own sacrifice for Feyre shadowing his features. "There are other solutions. We can find another place within Night Court territory..."

"No," you interrupted, your decision solidifying with each passing moment. "This is your sanctuary. Your safe place." Your eyes met Mor's, acknowledging her pain without minimizing it. "Some wounds can't heal in the presence of what caused them. I understand that better than most."

"You don't have to leave," Feyre insisted, stepping forward. "Mor doesn't speak for all of us." She, perhaps alone among them, fully understood what it meant to be separated from a mate.

"But she speaks truth," you replied. "And I respect that more than false welcome."

You looked at Azriel, heart pounding against your ribs. "You don't have to come with me. This is your family. Your home."

Azriel's scarred hand found yours, cool fingers slipping between your warm ones with careful deliberation. "You are my home now," he said simply.

Through the bond, his emotions crashed into you, raw and unfettered: centuries of silent longing, of watching others find connection while he remained in darkness. The terrible, wonderful freedom of finally choosing something for himself. The fear of unknown pathways balanced against the certainty of what he'd found in you.

Not out of obligation. Not out of duty. But out of choice.

Cassian moved forward, genuine alarm in his features. "Az, think about this. Five centuries together. We're brothers."

Azriel's gaze shifted to Cassian, something almost like regret flickering briefly in those hazel depths before ice reclaimed them. "And brothers understand when one must follow his own path," he replied, though the slight roughness in his voice betrayed the cost of his choice. "This isn't goodbye, Cassian. Just... a different road."

"Where will you go?" Rhysand asked, power now visibly swirling around him, tiny stars coalescing and fading within the darkness that clung to his skin.

"West," Azriel answered after a moment. "Beyond Prythian's borders. Beyond the reach of courts and politics."

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with finality. Rhysand's face remained impassive, but his eyes, those star-flecked violet eyes, revealed the depth of his shock. Centuries of brotherhood, of shared battles and blood and loyalty, suspended in this single, fragile moment.

"I won't command you to stay," Rhysand finally said, each word weighed and measured. "I never would. But I ask you, as your High Lord and your friend, to reconsider."

Though his tone remained controlled, Rhysand's power betrayed his turmoil, stars burning brighter, darkness swirling more intensely. He understood the choice Azriel faced, had made similar sacrifices himself, yet still struggled with the reality of losing his shadowsinger.

Azriel's expression remained coldly resolute,"I've made my choice, Rhys. As you once made yours for Feyre."

The comparison wasn't lost on any of them. Rhysand had once risked everything, including his own life, for his mate. The parallel hung between them, uncomfortable but undeniable.

Morrigan stepped forward, her earlier hostility tempered by dawning realization. "You would really leave? For her?"

"Not just for her," Azriel corrected quietly, his shadows calming as they settled around you both. "For myself as well. For what we might become together, without the weight of past sins and obligations."

The admission stole your breath. This wasn't just about protection or duty. This was about something far more profound, a future neither of you had dared imagine possible. The knowledge of it settled in your chest like a stone, heavy with potential and terror in equal measure.

"At least wait until morning," Feyre urged. "Rest. Eat. Make this decision with clear heads."

Before you could answer, a sudden tug pulled at your awareness, a sensation like blood calling to blood. Your head snapped toward the city streets below, an instinct more primal than thought drawing your attention.

Chaos erupted below a heartbeat later. Shouting rose from the streets of Velaris, the sounds of panic reaching even the lofty heights of the House of Wind.

Rhysand was at the balcony's edge in an instant, power rolling off him in midnight waves as he scanned the city below. Cassian and Feyre flanked him, their own magic rising in response to potential threat.

"What is it?" Morrigan asked, moving forward despite her earlier hostility.

"Something's wrong," you whispered, the familial connection pulling at you with increasing urgency. "Someone's here. Someone of my blood."

Azriel's shadows stretched outward, tasting the air, gathering information beyond normal senses. His expression shifted from confusion to grim determination as they confirmed what your blood already knew.

"Lucien," he said, shadows confirming what his eyes could now see. "He's wounded."

You pushed past him to the balcony's edge, eyes straining to see through darkness.

There, in the street below, stood your brother. His clothing was torn and bloody, his hair matted with what could only be more blood. But he was alive, standing proud despite obvious injury.

"Lucien," you whispered, relief and fear warring within you.

Azriel's hand found yours, scarred fingers twining with your own. "I'll take you to him," he said, voice rough with shared concern.

As he gathered you in his arms and launched from the balcony, you caught a glimpse of the Inner Circle's faces, shock, concern, and in Mor's expression, something complicated that couldn't quite eclipse her earlier rejection.

The shadowsinger carried you down toward your brother with swift purpose, his wings creating eddies in the night air.

Landing lightly beside Lucien, Azriel set you carefully on your feet. Your knees nearly buckled as you took in the full extent of your brother's injuries, a deep gash across his forehead, burns along his arms, a limp that spoke of damage to his right leg.

"What happened?" you demanded, moving to your brother's side. "Where's Eris?"

Lucien's mismatched eyes were haunted, the mechanical one whirring erratically. "I couldn't get to him in time," he said, voice ragged with exhaustion and grief. "Beron caught him organizing the rebellion. He..." Lucien's voice broke. "He's torturing him. Using him as an example."

Horror flooded through you, cold and paralyzing. "No," you whispered. "No, no, no..."

"I tried," Lucien continued, the words tearing from his throat. "Mother above, I tried to reach him. But Beron's guards were everywhere. I barely escaped with my life."

Cassian landed beside you, having followed from the House of Wind. His face hardened as he took in Lucien's condition and his news.

"We need to get you to a healer," Cassian said, military precision taking over. "Then we plan our next move."

"There is no next move," Lucien replied, his voice hollow. "Beron has sealed the borders of Autumn Court. Every entry point is guarded by his elite. He's sent a message to all High Lords, any interference will be considered an act of war."

"And the rebellion?" Azriel asked quietly.

"Still fighting," Lucien confirmed, though his expression held little hope. "But with Eris captured... their leadership is in chaos. Beron is systematically hunting down anyone connected to the resistance."

The implications settled over you like a physical weight. Eris, your eldest brother who had risked everything to help you escape, was now paying the price for his defiance. The brother who had always seemed so untouchable, so invulnerable, was at Beron's mercy.

And Beron had none.

"We have to do something," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "We can't just leave him there."

Azriel's shadows coiled tighter around you, as if trying to shield you from a truth too painful to bear. "We won't abandon him," he promised, the gentleness in his voice a stark contrast to the coldness he'd shown his Inner Circle moments before. "I promise you that."

"But we need a plan," Cassian added, his battle-trained mind already working through scenarios. "Not a suicide mission."

You glanced back at the House of Wind, where Rhysand and Feyre still watched from the balcony. Morrigan had disappeared back inside.

"We still need to leave," you said quietly to Azriel. "But not until we've done everything possible for Eris."

"We'll find a way," Azriel agreed, his shadows swirling protectively around both you and Lucien. "Then we go."

Lucien's gaze shifted between you and Azriel, confusion evident in his mismatched eyes. "Go? Go where?"

"Somewhere new," you said simply. "The Night Court isn't the right place for me. For us."

Understanding dawned in Lucien's tired face. "Mor," he guessed, accurately reading the situation. "She's still blinded by the past."

"She has reason," you acknowledged, refusing to villainize someone whose pain was so clearly genuine. "And I won't heal in a place where my presence causes others to suffer."

Lucien's gaze shifted to Azriel, assessment clear in that mechanical eye. "And you? You would leave everything for my sister? Your court? Your High Lord? The family you've served for centuries?"

Azriel's expression remained neutral, but his shadows curled possessively around your joined hands. "I would."

The words shimmered between you, a truth so profound it left you breathless. The realization of what this male was offering, not just protection, not just loyalty, but a future built on mutual choice rather than obligation or duty, made your heart pound against your ribs.

"We stay until we've done everything we can for Eris," you said, your decision made. "Then we find our own path."

Lucien nodded slowly, acceptance settling in his weary features. "I understand. More than most."

The healing center of Velaris melded practicality with comfort in ways that spoke to the Night Court's character. Stone walls, softened by tapestries in deep midnight blue, captured and reflected the perpetual night of the city. Windows stood open to the cool air, carrying the distant hum of city life and the faint scent of salt from the nearby sea. Rooms glowed with starlight captured in floating glass orbs, their light gentle enough for healing but bright enough for precision work.

The air carried the distinctive scent of healing herbs: night jasmine to induce restful sleep, crushed moonberries for pain, and the sharp tang of wintermint for clarity of mind. Beneath it all lingered the subtle sweetness of healing magic itself, like honey dissolved in water.

Healers, quiet and efficient in midnight-blue robes embroidered with silver stars, had immediately taken charge of Lucien, guiding him to a treatment room where they now worked on his injuries with methodical precision. Their hands moved with the confidence of those who had mended far worse wounds than his.

You waited outside, pacing the smooth stone floor. Each step echoed softly in the quiet corridor, marking time like a heartbeat. Azriel stood motionless by the window, his shadows stretching periodically down the hallway, gathering information, monitoring for threats. His stillness made your restlessness all the more pronounced.

The door at the end of the hallway opened, admitting a slender female you had seen.

Elain Archeron.

"Where is he?" she asked, voice melodic yet urgent. "Is he..."

"He's being treated now," you answered, instinctively stepping forward.

Elain. Lucien's mate.

The female whose face appeared in his rare, unguarded moments, whose name he sometimes spoke in his sleep. The female who had sent warning, created diversion, saved Lucien's life.

Azriel's shadows maintained their steady patrol, neither reacting to her presence nor acknowledging any shared history. His face remained calm, completely unperturbed, as if greeting a casual acquaintance rather than someone with whom he might have once shared deeper connection.

"You helped him escape," you said softly to Elain.

Elain's gaze finally focused on you fully, wariness evident in her posture. Her fingers twisted a small silver ring with nervous energy. "You're his sister. The Lady of Autumn."

"Just his sister," you corrected automatically. "Nothing else matters right now."

Her eyes narrowed slightly, assessing you with unexpected sharpness. Then, apparently satisfied with whatever she saw, she nodded once. "He called for you. In my visions. Before they happened."

The words sent a shiver down your spine. "Visions?"

"I'm a Seer," she explained simply, no pride or apology in the statement. Just fact. "I See what's coming. Sometimes. Not always clearly. Not always in time." Her gaze drifted to the treatment room door, guilt shadowing her features. "Not soon enough for Eris."

Azriel's shadows curled inward at the mention of Eris, growing denser, almost defensive. "You did what you could," he said.

Elain looked at him fully for the first time, her expression complicated. "Az," she acknowledged, something like resignation briefly crossing her features at his professional demeanor.

Before any of you could say more, the treatment room door opened. A healer stepped out, bowing formally to Elain.

"He's asking for you," she said simply, stepping aside.

Elain moved forward, then hesitated, glancing back at you. "Will you come? He needs his family too."

The unexpected inclusion startled you. You looked to Azriel, whose shadows had gone utterly still, as if holding their breath. He nodded once, a tiny movement that nonetheless conveyed complete support for whatever you chose.

"Of course," you said, stepping forward to follow Elain into the room.

Lucien lay on a bed of midnight blue, his injuries already partially healed. The gash on his forehead had closed, leaving behind a thin red line that would fade to silver. The burns on his arms were covered in a translucent green salve that smelled of mint and something sweeter, like crushed berries. His mechanical eye had been removed for repair, the empty socket covered with a patch of dark silk.

His remaining eye widened at the sight of you and Elain together. Surprise, then something like wonder, crossed his features. Beneath it, you caught the flash of vulnerability, the momentary disbelief that his mate and his sister would stand together at his bedside.

"My two guardian angels," he said, voice rough with exhaustion but touched with genuine amusement. "Come to ensure I don't slip away?"

Elain moved to his bedside without hesitation, her hand finding his with practiced familiarity. The moment they touched, a barely perceptible sigh escaped him, his body relaxing as if a hidden tension had finally released. "You're not going anywhere," she said, the dreamy quality entirely gone from her voice. In its place was steel, determination, a will that seemed at odds with her delicate appearance.

His eye never left her face, drinking in her presence as if storing it against future drought. The nakedness of his need was almost painful to witness, a male so thoroughly claimed by the mating bond that even the presence of others couldn't mask it.

You approached from the other side, relief making your movements unsteady. "The healers say you'll recover fully."

"They always say that," Lucien replied with a weak smile, finally tearing his gaze from Elain. "Makes the patients feel better." His gaze shifted to Azriel, who had remained by the door, shadows wrapped tight around him. "They're treating me better than I expected, Shadowsinger. Your doing?"

Azriel's face revealed nothing, but his shadows briefly formed a pattern that might have been confirmation. "The Night Court respects loyalty to family," he said quietly. "Even when that family belongs to Autumn."

Lucien's eye narrowed, studying Azriel with unnerving intensity. The mechanical gold eye, temporarily removed, would have been whirring with calculation.

Lucien's expression sobered. "We need to act quickly. Beron won't keep him alive indefinitely."

"We need a plan," you agreed, anxiety clenching your stomach at the thought of Eris in Beron's clutches. The bond with Azriel flared briefly, responding to your distress with golden warmth that pushed back against the cold fear. "A way to reach him."

"I can help with that," Elain said, her dreamy voice returning, eyes going slightly unfocused. "I've Seen a path. Through shadows and flame. A way beneath mountains where guards don't look."

Azriel straightened, interest sharpening his features. "What did you See, exactly?"

Elain's gaze turned inward, focusing on something none of you could perceive. "A tunnel. Ancient. Forgotten. It runs beneath the border mountains between Night and Autumn. It emerges in a grove where the trees burn eternally without being consumed."

Recognition flashed across Lucien's face. "The Sacred Grove. It's less than a mile from the Autumn Court palace."

"How did you know about this tunnel?" Azriel asked Elain, his voice remaining professionally curious rather than personally invested.

Elain's eyes refocused, meeting his with unexpected directness. "I Saw it after you left the House of Wind. When I knew what you'd chosen." She shrugged lightly, acceptance rather than hurt shaping her features. "The Cauldron shows me what's needed, Az. Not what's wanted."

The atmosphere remained calm, without the charged tension of unresolved feelings. Azriel's shadows continued their steady vigilance, neither reaching for Elain nor recoiling from her. Whatever history lay between them seemed settled, at least on his part.

Lucien watched this exchange with careful neutrality, though his fingers tightened slightly around Elain's. The movement was subtle, possessive yet insecure. A male who had found his mate but still feared losing her, even to a male who clearly had no interest.

"This tunnel," you interjected, "can it get us to Eris?"

"Yes," Elain said, attention returning to you. "But not all of us. Two, at most. More would draw attention."

"I'll go," Azriel said immediately, shadows coiling with deadly purpose.

"Me too," you added, the decision requiring no thought. "He's my brother."

"You can't," Lucien protested, struggling to sit up. "Beron wants you most of all. If he captures you..."

"He won't," Azriel interrupted, his voice midnight-cold and absolute. "I won't allow it."

The conviction in his voice silenced Lucien's objections. The scarred male exchanged a long look with Elain, some silent communication passing between them.

"When?" you asked.

"Tomorrow night," Elain answered, certainty in her voice. "When the moon is highest. The guards change shifts. There's a gap in their rotation, seven minutes when the eastern dungeon corridor is unwatched."

"How do you know that?" Azriel asked, shadows stretching toward her as if testing the truth of her words.

"I Saw it," she replied simply.

The finality in her voice sent a chill down your spine. Azriel's shadows recoiled slightly, then settled into watchful stillness.

"Then we leave tomorrow night," you said, decision made. "And afterward..."

"You go your own way," Elain finished for you, no judgment in her tone. "West, beyond Prythian's borders."

Lucien's eye widened, realization dawning. "You're leaving the Night Court?"

"I'm not welcome here," you said simply.

The bond's golden light briefly shimmered beneath your skin as you spoke, carrying warmth and certainty despite the unknown path ahead. In that moment, you realized that "home" was no longer a place for you, but a connection. A bond not forced by fate but chosen in defiance of it.

"And I go where she goes," Azriel added, voice softening when he looked at you despite the distance he maintained from the others.

A complicated series of emotions crossed Lucien's face. "I understand," he finally said, gaze lingering on Elain. "Sometimes the place you're meant to be isn't where others think you belong."

Elain's hand tightened on his, an unspoken acknowledgment of his words. "I'll draw you a map," she said to Azriel. "Of what I've Seen. The tunnel entrance, the guards' positions, the cell where they're keeping Eris."

Azriel nodded, gratitude softening his severe features. "Thank you, Elain."

She met his gaze directly, simple kindness in her eyes. "Be happy, Az," she said quietly. "That's all any of us ever wanted for you."

The words struck him visibly, shadows briefly dispersing in surprise before gathering closer than before. He didn't respond, but his eyes flickered to you before returning to her, answer enough.

The bond burned beneath your skin, molten gold tracing veins of fire through your borrowed body as you walked the streets of Velaris.

Each pulse echoed the question that had haunted you since waking in this world. Which life is truly mine?

The Night Court's famed city of starlight unfurled around you in painful, breathtaking beauty. Artists captured moonlight on canvas beneath silver-starred streetlamps. Music spilled from taverns like liquid joy, mingling with laughter and the scent of cinnamon and sea salt. Couples strolled arm-in-arm, their faces illuminated by faelights hovering like captured stars.

Too beautiful. Too perfect. A dream you'd never dared imagine.

"Are you cold?" Azriel's voice slipped through your thoughts, quiet as shadow. He walked beside you, wings tucked tight, shoulders angled to shield you from curious stares without touching you.

You shook your head, not trusting your voice. The golden thread of the bond twisted tighter as another wave of panic crashed through you.

Eris in chains. Lucien fighting alone. Beron's flames consuming all you'd begun to care for.

Azriel's shadows reached toward you before retreating at your rigid posture. You pretended not to notice the hurt that flashed across his face when you stepped further away.

"Just ahead," he said, gesturing toward a townhouse nestled between two larger buildings. Three stories of pale stone with midnight-blue shutters, a small balcony dripping with night-blooming jasmine. "Rhys and Feyre arranged it. Privacy until..."

He didn't finish. Until you left. Until he abandoned everything for you. Until you made choices that would shatter one world or another.

You nodded and walked ahead, climbing the few steps without waiting. The scent of jasmine clung to your clothes as you passed beneath the flowering vines, sweet and foreign and heartbreaking.

Inside, the townhouse breathed quiet elegance—plush furniture in midnight blues and silvers, windows strategically placed to capture moonlight, walls adorned with paintings of star-strewn skies. A fire burned in the hearth, casting dancing shadows across the polished wood floor.

Too much. Too real.

The flames reminded you of Eris. Of his face when he'd declared rebellion against Beron. Of what your father must be doing to him now.

Not your father, you reminded yourself. Not your blood. Not your world.

Azriel stood in the doorway, shadows darker than the night outside wreathing his powerful frame. His face remained carefully blank, but his shadows betrayed him, curling into agitated patterns that revealed his concern.

"There are two bedrooms upstairs," he said, voice carefully neutral despite the golden light flickering beneath his skin whenever the bond pulsed. "You can choose whichever you prefer."

You moved toward the stairs without answering. Each step felt like wading through water, your limbs heavy with exhaustion and fear.

At the landing, you paused, throat tight with words you couldn't say.

Don't throw your life away for me. Don't sacrifice everything for someone who doesn't belong here. Don't care for me—please, don't care.

"I need to rest," you managed, the words hollow.

"Of course." The shadows around him shuddered with something like despair.

You turned away, entering the nearest bedroom and closing the door with a soft click that somehow felt deafening in the silence.

Alone at last, you sagged against the door, sliding to the floor as exhaustion claimed you. Ember and Sizzle materialized in twin pops of flame, immediately nuzzling against your trembling hands.

"What am I doing?" you whispered, voice breaking. "He's giving up everything for someone who can't stay. Someone with a body lying in a hospital across worlds, family keeping vigil, machines beeping out the rhythm of a life half-lived."

The flame bunnies chirped softly, climbing into your lap, their tiny warmth both comfort and burden. Hadn't they, too, become real? Hadn't this body, this magic, this life begun to feel more substantial than the ghostly memories of a human existence?

You pushed yourself up and crossed to the bed, not bothering to change out of travel-worn clothes. Sleep claimed you almost instantly, dragging you into dreams of hospitals and beeping monitors and sobbing aunts who had long since given up hope.

You woke drenched in sweat, heart pounding against your ribs with enough force to hurt. In your dream, Eris had been screaming your name as Beron's flames consumed him, the scent of burning flesh so vivid you gagged.

The room was pitch black, moonlight long since faded. The city below slumbered, only occasional lights visible in distant windows.

Decision crystallized in your chest, cold and final. You couldn't wait until tomorrow. Not with Eris suffering at Beron's hands. Not with Azriel preparing to throw away five centuries of brotherhood, of family, of purpose—for a female he barely knew.

For an imposter in a body not her own.

You dressed silently, strapping on the knife Lucien had pressed into your hands before you'd left the healing center. The blade thrummed with old magic, protection spells etched into its hilt.

Ember and Sizzle watched from the bed, unusually still, their tiny flame ears laid flat against their heads.

"Stay with him," you whispered. "I need to do this alone."

Your palm curled around the silver charm Azriel had given you.

Break it and I'll come to you, across any distance.

You removed it carefully, placing it on the bedside table. You wouldn't drag him into this. Wouldn't be responsible for another sacrifice.

You eased the door open, heart in your throat, and nearly collapsed at the sight that greeted you.

Azriel.

Sitting on the floor outside your room, back against the wall. His magnificent wings were folded tight against his spine, shadows wrapped around him like a living blanket against the chill.

Not sleeping—you doubted he ever truly slept—but guarding.

Waiting.

His head snapped up at your appearance, and the naked emotion in his eyes stole your breath.

Concern, yes, but something deeper. Something that made the bond sing gold and fire between you.

Shadows writhed around him, betraying his agitation even as his face remained carefully neutral. Several tendrils reached toward you before he called them back with visible effort.

"You're leaving." Not a question. His voice, velvet darkness wrapped around steel, betrayed nothing of his feelings.

"I have to try," you admitted, unable to lie to that piercing gaze. "For Eris."

"Alone?" The word carried more emotion than any outburst could have.

"Yes." You moved to step around him, refusing to acknowledge how the bond screamed against the distance you insisted on maintaining.

Azriel rose in a single fluid motion that reminded you what he was—warrior, predator, death on silent wings. He blocked your path without touching you, his body a wall of night and shadow.

"You'll die," he said. The starkness of it, the absolute certainty, sent ice down your spine.

"Better me than him." You straightened, meeting his gaze despite the effort it cost. "Better me than you."

Something fierce flashed across his face, breaking through that careful mask of control. "That's not your choice to make."

"And throwing away your life for mine isn't yours," you countered, frustration finally cracking your careful indifference. "Five centuries with the Night Court, with family who loves you, and you'd walk away for what? A broken bond with someone who isn't even supposed to be here?"

His expression shifted, surprise briefly visible before his shadows receded slightly.

"Is that what this is about?" The gentleness in his voice threatened to shatter you. "You think I don't know what I'm choosing?"

"I think you're making a sacrifice you'll regret for the rest of your immortal life," you said, forcing yourself to hold his gaze despite the pain it caused. "And I can't let you do that."

"Let me?" A ghost of a smile touched his lips, though his eyes remained grave. "I've been making my own choices for five hundred years."

The words sent heat curling through your veins, unwelcome and undeniable. The bond flared in response, golden light briefly visible beneath your skin, beneath his, a betrayal of bodies despite minds' protestations.

"Come downstairs," he said, soft as night breeze. "Please. Before we both do something we'll regret."

The request was reasonable enough that you found yourself nodding, following him to the small sitting room on the main floor.

Shadows settled into corners as you both sat on the same couch, a careful distance between you that somehow felt both too great and not nearly enough.

The silence stretched, alive with all you couldn't say.

"Why have you been shutting me out?" he finally asked, directness catching you off-guard.

You stared at your hands, at the borrowed skin with its too-smooth texture, its too-perfect nails, its too-bright veins of gold that danced beneath the surface like trapped sunlight.

"Because this isn't real," you whispered. "None of it."

"It feels real to me," he replied, the simplicity of it cutting deeper than arguments ever could.

"It's not," you insisted, looking up at last. "This bond, this world, this body—none of it belongs to me. And I can't... I can't let you destroy your life for an illusion."

His scarred hand moved slightly closer, not quite touching yours. Even that small movement sent the bond into a frenzy of golden heat beneath your skin.

"What if it's not an illusion?" he asked, voice dropping lower. "What if this is precisely where we're both meant to be?"

The words struck closer to your secret fear than you'd thought possible.

What if he was right? What if the hospital room was the dream, and this—this magic, this bond, this male whose mere presence eased an ache you hadn't known you carried—was your truth?

"I don't belong here," you said, throat tightening around the words. "My body—my real body—is waiting for me to come home."

Understanding dawned in his eyes, followed by compassion so genuine it hurt to witness. "The hospital. The human world."

You nodded, tears threatening. "I can't stay here, Azriel. No matter how much I might..." Want to. Belong to you. Need you. "I have family waiting. A life."

"And you think I'm following you out of obligation?" The question was gentle, offering understanding where you'd expected hurt. "Out of some misguided sense of duty to the mating bond?"

"Aren't you?"

His shadows stilled completely—a rare occurrence that drew your attention more effectively than any shout could have.

"I have spent five centuries in darkness," he said, voice so low you had to lean closer to hear, to breathe in his scent of night-chilled stone and cedar. "Five centuries as weapon and warning, as the nightmare that keeps enemies at bay. Five centuries watching others find connections I believed I could never have."

His eyes, when they met yours, contained such vulnerability that your breath caught. The golden light beneath his skin pulsed in time with your heartbeat, the bond singing recognition between your bodies even as your minds fought its pull.

"I thought I loved Mor once," he continued, the confession clearly costing him. "Then Elain. But it was always the idea of love that drew me. The possibility of light. Not the females themselves."

His scarred fingers traced patterns on the cushion between you, not quite touching you, but close enough that you could feel the coolness radiating from his skin.

"With you, it's different," he said, voice roughened with emotion. "From the moment the bond snapped into place, even as I rejected it, I knew. This wasn't just magic. This wasn't just fate. This was recognition."

"Of what?" The question escaped before you could stop it.

His shadows stirred, curling into shapes that reflected his words—wings and flames dancing together, darkness and light intertwined.

"Of the only person who's ever seen me," he replied, each word carefully chosen, heavy with significance. "Not the shadowsinger. Not the spymaster. Not the weapon." His voice dropped lower. "When you look at me, your eyes don't reflect centuries of blood and darkness. They show me something I thought I'd lost long ago."

"What?" you whispered, unable to look away from the raw emotion in his gaze.

"Possibility," he said simply. One word that contained worlds.

His shadows curled toward you with heartbreaking hesitancy, stopping just short of contact. "I'm not following you out of duty or obligation. I'm following you because for the first time in five hundred years, I've found something that's mine alone. Not given by Rhysand. Not shared with Cassian. Not demanded by war."

"I can't give you what you want," you finally said, each word a shard of glass in your throat. "I can't stay here, Azriel. I can't be your mate. Not permanently."

"Why?" His voice remained gentle despite the pain that flashed across his beautiful face.

"Because I don't belong to this world," you whispered. "This body isn't mine. This life isn't mine. And someday—somehow—I have to find my way back home."

His scarred hand finally reached across the distance between you, not grasping, simply offering. "What if this is home? What if that human girl is the dream, and this is your reality?"

The question struck deeper than you'd expected, touching the fear that had haunted you since waking in this fae body.

What if he was right? What if the hospital was the illusion, and this strange, magical world was where you truly belonged?

"I don't know," you admitted, the confession leaving you raw. "I don't know which is real anymore."

"They both are," he said, shadows forming shapes that looked like doorways, like bridges between worlds. "And whichever you choose, I'll respect it. Even if it means losing you."

The words hung between you, heavy with sincerity. This wasn't just about the bond anymore. This was about choice—his and yours. About making decisions with open eyes and full awareness of the consequences.

"Why would you do that?" you asked, voice breaking. "Why would you leave everything for someone who might not stay?"

His scarred fingers extended further, an invitation without pressure. "Because some moments are worth an eternity of loss."

Your heart stuttered in your chest, the bond responding with a flare of golden warmth that momentarily eclipsed all doubt, all fear. This male who had known only duty and shadow for centuries was offering you something no one in either of your lives had ever given: complete freedom to choose your own fate, without expectation or demand.

His shadows brushed your wrist, cool as night air, gentle as a whisper. "I would rather know you for a single heartbeat than live an eternity wondering what might have been."

The bond between you shimmered, visible now as golden threads spanning the distance between your bodies, delicate as spider's silk but stronger than steel. Each breath you took made them glow brighter, a constellation of shared possibility.

"Tomorrow we rescue Eris," you finally said, pulling your hand back despite the bond's protest. "After that... I don't know. I don't know what happens next."

Azriel nodded, accepting your withdrawal without question. His shadows retreated, curling back around his shoulders in patterns that spoke of restraint, of patience, of understanding beyond what you'd thought possible.

"One day at a time, then." He spoke the words like a promise.

"One day at a time," you agreed, rising from the couch. Your legs felt unsteady beneath you, the weight of his truths, of your fears, threatening to pull you under.

He stood as well, shadows gathering around him like a living cloak. "Would you prefer I remain downstairs tonight?"

There was no judgment in the question, no hurt, only simple respect for your boundaries. The consideration—so at odds with the fearsome reputation that preceded him—made your throat tighten with emotions you weren't ready to name.

"You don't have to sit outside my door," you said quietly, the bond aching as you forced distance between you. "But... I wouldn't mind knowing you were nearby."

The admission cost you, revealed more than you'd intended, but you couldn't bring yourself to regret it when understanding flashed in his eyes, followed by something that might have been hope.

"I'll be here if you need me," he promised, shadows reaching toward you one last time before he pulled them back. "Always."

You nodded once, then turned toward the stairs, unable to bear the weight of his gaze any longer.

In your borrowed bedroom, you sank onto the edge of the bed, Ember and Sizzle immediately materializing to nudge against your trembling hands.

"What am I doing?" you whispered to them, the question you couldn't ask Azriel. "What am I going to do?"

The flame bunnies had no answers, only warm comfort as they curled against you, tiny embers of promise in a night that seemed endless.

Outside your door, shadows whispered quiet vigilance, a promise kept without words. Downstairs, the shadowsinger of the Night Court—who had offered you his scarred heart without demanding yours in return—waited patiently for a decision you weren't sure you could make.

And in another world, separated by barriers of reality itself, machines beeped a steady rhythm beside a hospital bed where a body lay suspended between life and death, while family members whispered, "Please come home."

Two lives. Two worlds. Two hearts beating across an impossible divide.

The bond pulsed once more, golden light briefly illuminating the darkness of your room, carrying with it the echo of his words: Some moments are worth an eternity of loss.

Tomorrow, you would rescue Eris. Tomorrow, you would fight for family—chosen and given and made. Beyond that lay choices that terrified and tempted in equal measure.

You closed your eyes, the weight of worlds pressing against your chest.

One heartbeat at a time.

The High Lords converged on Velaris like gathering storm clouds.

The emergency conclave had been called by Rhysand after news of Beron's actions spread across Prythian. War loomed on the horizon, and even ancient enemies now sought common ground against Autumn Court's growing madness.

You stood on the balcony of the townhouse, watching as entourages made their way through the streets below. Each High Lord had brought a small contingent, enough to demonstrate power without appearing threatening. The air itself seemed to thicken with magic as they passed, a tangible pressure against your skin.

"Are you certain you want to attend?" Azriel asked from the doorway, his voice quiet. His shadows curled restlessly near the railing but never touched you.

You didn't turn. "I need to be there," you replied, fingers whitening as they gripped the cold stone. "For Eris."

Azriel said nothing more, but his presence shifted closer, a silent offering of strength.

The River House had been transformed for the gathering. The central chamber now held an enormous circular table, each seat marked with the sigil of a different court. Rhysand and Feyre stood at the entrance, greeting each arrival with careful diplomacy.

You entered with Azriel at your side, his presence a cold comfort as curious gazes tracked your movement. His shadows remained tightly controlled, but you could feel the tension radiating from him, a predator walking willingly into enemy territory.

Tarquin of Summer Court nodded politely as you passed, sea-salt scent clinging to his turquoise robes. Helion of Day Court studied you with scholarly interest, golden eyes missing nothing beneath his crown of light. Kallias of Winter Court remained expressionless, his silver-white hair contrasting sharply with his midnight blue attire.

Something strange fluttered in your chest at the sight of him, not recognition but a sudden chill that traced your spine despite the warmth of the room. You swallowed hard, attributing the feeling to general anxiety about the meeting.

The discussions began with Rhysand outlining the situation in Autumn Court, his voice measured despite the rage that occasionally flashed in his violet eyes. The rebellion, Eris's capture, Beron's increasingly erratic behavior. Maps were spread across the table, territories marked in colored ink.

"Winter Court has intelligence suggesting Beron has moved Eris to the eastern dungeons," Kallias was saying, his voice crystalline and sharp as ice. "Our late Lord Kieraven provided similar information before his death in the war with Hybern."

The name hit you like a physical blow.

Kieraven.

Your vision blurred at the edges, the room suddenly too bright, too hot. Your heartbeat accelerated, a fluttering bird trapped in your chest. Something about that name made your skin crawl, though you couldn't place why. Your fingers curled into fists beneath the table, nails cutting into your palms.

"These dungeons have access points through the servant corridors," another Winter Court advisor added, pointing to the map with fingers that seemed too long, too pale.

A phantom sensation of cold hands gripping your wrists flashed through your body. Your throat tightened as if invisible fingers pressed against it.

Beside you, Azriel shifted slightly in his seat.

To anyone else, the movement would appear negligible, a simple adjustment of posture. But you felt his attention sharpen, felt his shadows condense beneath the table, pooling around your feet in silent vigilance. His face remained impassive, yet something in his eyes had changed, a dangerous awareness that hadn't been there moments before.

"Are you well?" Tarquin asked from across the table, sea-glass eyes noting your pallor.

"Yes," you managed, though your voice sounded thin even to your own ears. "Just concerned for my brother."

The meeting continued, but you felt increasingly detached, a strange buzzing filling your head. Whenever your gaze drifted toward the Winter Court contingent, unease rippled through you, gooseflesh rising on your arms. You deliberately looked away, focusing instead on the maps spread across the table, tracing the familiar outlines of Autumn Court territories.

Azriel remained silent throughout, his contributions limited to precise tactical observations when directly addressed. But his attention never wavered from you, from the cold sweat beading at your temples, from the minute tremors in your hands that you tried to hide.

"The eastern corridor has twelve guards stationed at regular intervals," the Winter Court representative continued, "but there are passages between guard rotations where..."

Thirteen.

The thought came unbidden, bewildering in its certainty. There were thirteen.

"...where infiltration would be possible with proper timing."

When the Winter Court advisor mentioned "corridors in the eastern wing," your stomach twisted violently. Without warning, tears sprang to your eyes, though you had no idea why. The scent of frost and blood filled your nostrils, a memory that couldn't be yours.

Stone walls. Cold floor. Hands holding you down.

"The structure of these dungeons suggests a weakness in the northwestern corner," Kallias added, his pale finger tracing a path on the map.

Voices whispering things that couldn't be forgotten. Pain beyond naming.

You blinked back tears furiously, refusing to show weakness in front of these powerful beings. But Azriel noticed, of course he did. Nothing escaped the shadowsinger's attention, especially not concerning you.

His hand found yours beneath the table, scarred fingers wrapping around your trembling ones. A touch so light it might have been imagined, yet anchoring you to the present. His face remained distant, focused on the maps, but his thumb traced a small circle against your wrist, steadying your frantic pulse.

"Each rotation changes at midnight," the Winter Court advisor was saying. His voice seemed to come from far away, distorted as if through water. "Which gives a window of approximately seven minutes..."

Seven minutes. Seven minutes where no one came. Seven minutes of desperate hope before the eighth male arrived.

The room began to spin, colors bleeding into one another. Your lungs couldn't seem to draw enough air, each breath shallow and insufficient. The bond beneath your skin pulsed erratically, your borrowed Fae body remembering what your human mind could not.

When you tried to speak, your throat closed. Panic rose without explanation, your breath coming in short, shallow gasps. The room seemed to shrink around you, the voices of the High Lords becoming distant and indistinct.

A single tear escaped despite your efforts, tracking silently down your cheek.

Azriel was on his feet in an instant, his movement so smooth it seemed he'd simply materialized standing. His shadows flared around him, tendrils whipping in patterns that spoke of deadly intent, though his face remained controlled.

"My lady requires air," he announced, his voice giving no room for question or challenge. "Continue without us."

Before anyone could object, he had gathered you into his arms. Not gently, not tenderly, but with efficient, impersonal precision that would appear as duty rather than concern to watching eyes. His wings unfurled as he strode toward the balcony, his face a mask of cold indifference that belied the protective fury radiating from him.

"My apologies for the interruption," he said to Rhysand, his tone suggesting anything but remorse. "We'll return shortly."

Then you were airborne, the cool night air rushing past as Azriel carried you away from the River House. Your body trembled against his, tears flowing freely now though you still couldn't understand why.

"I don't know what's happening to me," you whispered against his chest, embarrassment and confusion warring within you. "I don't know why I'm reacting this way."

Azriel said nothing, his silence almost comforting as he flew through the darkness. The city fell away beneath you as he climbed higher, banking toward a sheer cliff face that towered over Velaris. Stars scattered across the vast expanse of night sky, cold and distant as ancient memories.

He landed on a small ledge invisible from below. A tiny flat space carved into the rock, overlooking the entire city and the sea beyond. A single bench made of polished stone sat against the cliff wall, worn smooth from centuries of use. The air here smelled of wild thyme and night jasmine, undisturbed by the scents of the city below.

"No one knows about this place," he said, setting you carefully on the bench. "Not even Cassian or Rhys." The admission hung in the air between you, significant in its rarity.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to stop the trembling that seemed to come from somewhere deep within. "I'm sorry for disrupting the meeting. I don't understand what came over me."

Azriel moved to the ledge's edge, wings partially extended as if ready for flight. His shadows swirled in agitated patterns around him, occasionally forming shapes that looked almost like protective shields before dissolving back into formless dark.

"You have nothing to apologize for," he said, his voice softer than you'd ever heard it.

"I do," you insisted, wiping at tears that wouldn't stop. "Breaking down like this when Eris needs us to be strong, to be focused..."

Azriel turned to face you, and the expression in his eyes made you fall silent. Not tenderness or concern, but something darker, more knowing. His shadows quieted, gathering close to his body as if containing secrets too dangerous to share.

"The body remembers what the mind forgets," he said, each word carefully chosen. "Sometimes it warns us of dangers we don't consciously recognize."

You shook your head, confusion only deepening. "What are you talking about? I've never even met these people before."

Azriel didn't answer directly. His gaze shifted to the city below, to the River House where the conclave continued without you. "The Winter Court," he said finally, voice so low you had to strain to hear it. "Your reaction wasn't without cause."

"I don't understand," you whispered, another tear sliding down your cheek.

He moved to sit beside you, not touching, a precise distance maintained between your bodies. His shadows, however, encircled you both, creating a barrier between you and the rest of the world. The scent of night-chilled stone and cedar enveloped you, bringing strange comfort.

"You're safe here," he said, voice gentle despite its underlying steel. "No one can reach you. No one can hurt you."

The words should have been comforting. Instead, they made you cry harder, great gulping sobs that seemed to rise from some hidden well of grief you hadn't known existed. Your body remembered something your mind could not access, a trauma buried beneath layers of magic and dimensional walls.

"Why do I feel like this?" you gasped between sobs. "Why does it hurt when I don't even know what's hurting me?"

Azriel remained silent for a long moment, his shadows shifting restlessly. When he finally spoke, his voice was carefully controlled. "Some wounds run deeper than memory."

You turned to face him fully, frustration cutting through your tears. "Stop speaking in riddles. Tell me what you know."

His eyes met yours, ancient and knowing and filled with a darkness that made you shiver. "I can't," he said softly. "This is something you must discover for yourself, when you're ready."

The bond between you pulsed, golden light briefly visible beneath both your skins. It thrummed with truth, with connection deeper than conscious thought.

"Your human life," Azriel continued carefully, "and this Fae existence... they're more connected than you know."

Before you could press further, he removed his outer leathers and draped it around your shoulders. The leather was still warm from his body, carrying his scent. The weight of it was grounding, pulling you back from the edge of panic.

"For now," he continued, "just know that your reactions are valid. That what you feel is real, even if you don't understand why."

The certainty in his voice gave you pause. There was more to this, much more, than he was saying. But the gentleness underlying his cold exterior suggested whatever knowledge he held was being withheld out of protection, not cruelty.

"Will you tell me someday?" you asked, pulling his jacket tighter around you.

"When you're ready to hear it," he promised, shadows briefly touching your hand before retreating. "Not before."

After a long while, when your tears had finally subsided, you found yourself leaning against him despite your earlier resolve to maintain distance. His body tensed momentarily at the contact, then relaxed, one arm coming around you with cautious precision.

You both sat in silence, watching the stars reflect on the distant sea. The panic had receded, leaving exhaustion in its wake. The night air carried the salt scent of the ocean mixed with the wild herbs growing in crevices of the cliff face.

"I sometimes think about what life would be like," you whispered into the night, voice raw from tears, "if I stayed in Prythian."

The moment the words left your lips, the entire world seemed to still. Even the wind paused, holding its breath with you.

Azriel's body went rigid against yours, but his arm remained, a steady anchor around your shoulders. His shadows, ever-moving, froze in mid-air like fractured pieces of night. The only sound between you was the soft rhythm of his breathing, more careful now, more measured.

"Tell me," you continued, heart hammering against your ribs, "if you could choose any life for us, what would it be?"

The question hung between you, fragile as spun glass.

For several heartbeats, he didn't move, didn't speak. Then his shadows pulled tight around his body, as if he were gathering parts of himself that had never been exposed to light.

"Not here," he finally said, voice so low you felt it more than heard it, rough-edged with longing he'd never allowed himself to voice. "Not in Velaris or any court."

You tilted your face to study his profile, severe and beautiful against the backdrop of stars. "Where then?"

He swallowed, the movement visible in the strong column of his throat.

"There's a place..." He faltered, then began again. "Beyond the western mountains. Past Illyrian territory."

His voice softened into something you'd never heard from him before, something almost reverent. "A valley hidden between two peaks where the snow never falls too heavily and the summers are mild."

As he spoke, his shadows formed shapes you could almost recognize. Mountain peaks. Pine trees. A lake surface rippled by gentle wind.

"No High Lords," he continued, something in his voice breaking open. "No war. Just forest and mountains and a lake clear enough to see the stars reflected in its depths."

Your breath caught. "It sounds beautiful."

"I found it centuries ago," he admitted, the confession weighted with significance. "During a mission for Rhys. I've never told anyone about it." The words that followed were quieter still.

The knowledge settled in your chest, a precious gift. This wasn't simply a fantasy he was spinning; this was a secret he had kept, a dream he had nurtured in solitude for centuries.

"Why not?"

His eyes remained fixed on the horizon, as if he could see this valley even now, waiting beyond the darkness. "Because some sanctuaries must remain untouched." His voice dropped further. "Because some dreams are too fragile to share."

The bond between you pulsed, golden and warm, as if in recognition of truth freely given.

"Would we have a house there?" you asked, allowing yourself to fall into this impossible future.

"A cabin," he corrected softly. "Built of pine and stone. Simple but strong."

He hesitated, then added in a voice that made your heart crack open. "Windows facing the sunrise."

"With a porch," you added, your own voice thick with emotion. "Where we could watch thunderstorms rolling across the mountains."

His shadows stirred, curling toward you before retreating. "Yes," he agreed. "And space behind it for a garden, if you wanted one."

"I would," you whispered, the vision so vivid you could almost feel soil beneath your fingernails. "Herbs and vegetables. Maybe wildflowers. Things that heal and feed and bring beauty."

You closed your eyes, imagination carrying you further into this shared dream. "What would we do there? So far from everything?"

"Live," he said softly.

The word hung between you, heavy with all it contained. No wars. No courts. No duty. No pain. Just existence without the weight of the world on your shoulders. Without the pressure of a bond neither of you had asked for. Without the pull of another world where machines kept a body breathing while you inhabited this one.

"No missions," you murmured. "No courts summoning you away."

His arm tightened fractionally around you. "No more shadows used as weapons," he said, voice roughened with longing that cut you to the bone. "Just shadows as they were meant to be, cast by trees and mountains and ordinary things."

Something tight in your chest unraveled at his words. This wasn't merely a dream of escape. This was his deepest yearning—to be defined not by his power or utility, but by simple humanity.

"Ember and Sizzle would love it," you said, thinking of your flame bunnies exploring forest trails.

A sound escaped him—so close to a laugh it made your heart stumble. "They'd terrorize the local wildlife," he replied.

"I'd want coffee," you said, surprising yourself with the mundane desire.

Azriel turned his face toward you then, his expression softer than you'd ever seen it. "I'd find a way to get it for you," he promised. The certainty in his voice made something within you ache. "Whatever it takes."

"I'd bring other things too," you continued, warming to the idea. "Music. Books. Ridiculous holiday traditions that would make no sense to you."

His brow lifted slightly. "Like what?"

"Christmas trees," you said, smiling despite the tears still drying on your cheeks. "Bringing an entire pine tree inside the house and covering it with shiny objects. For no logical reason whatsoever."

His brow furrowed. "That sounds... hazardous. Especially with your flame bunnies."

The laugh that escaped you was unexpected, bright and clean in the night air. "It is! People's houses catch fire all the time. But we do it anyway because it's beautiful."

Something shifted in his expression as he watched you laugh—a softening, a wonder, as if he'd just witnessed something rare and precious. His shadows reached toward you, hesitant, almost shy.

"Tell me more," he said, voice hushed with quiet hunger. "About these strange human traditions."

"We'd have movie nights," you said, leaning into him. "Which would be impossible without electricity, but let's pretend. We'd huddle under blankets and watch stories play out on a screen."

"I don't understand what that means," he admitted. The honesty in his face, the genuine desire to know this part of you, made your throat tight with emotion.

"It doesn't matter," you whispered. "I'd find other stories to share. We'd make our own traditions."

His eyes held yours, something unspoken passing between you. The bond thrummed, golden threads weaving tighter with each heartbeat.

"Would we have children?" you asked, the question slipping out before courage failed you.

Azriel went completely still, even his breathing suspended. For a terrible moment, you thought you'd shattered everything with that single question.

Then his arm tightened around you, so subtly you might have imagined it if not for the way his shadows trembled, forming and reforming shapes that looked suspiciously like tiny winged figures near your joined hands.

"Would you want them?" he asked, voice controlled to the point of breaking.

"Yes," you admitted, the word falling like a stone into still water. "Two, I think. A boy and a girl."

"With wings?" he asked, the question barely audible.

You turned to face him fully, heart in your throat at the vulnerability in his expression. "Of course with wings," you said fiercely. "Beautiful wings like their father's."

His breath caught, the small sound devastating in its honesty. His hand found yours, scarred fingers intertwining with your own as if they'd always belonged there.

"And your fire," he said, voice rough with emotion. "Your courage. Your heart."

The bond between you blazed, golden light spilling from beneath your skin to illuminate the darkness around you. His shadows didn't recoil from the light but danced with it, twining together in patterns that spoke of possibility.

"They'd be free," you whispered, the realization settling bone-deep. "No courts claiming them. No ancient grudges to inherit. Just mountains and forests and stars."

"I'd teach them to fly," Azriel said, voice breaking on the final word. "Among the peaks at sunrise."

You could see it so clearly—his powerful hands steady on small backs, his fierce protectiveness tempered with patience as tiny wings learned to catch the wind.

"I'd teach them stories from both worlds," you said, tears gathering again. "So they'd understand where they came from. Who they are."

"They'd know peace," he said, the word like a prayer on his lips. "True peace."

You both fell silent, the shared vision suspended between you—so vivid, so beautiful, so achingly out of reach. The cabin in the valley. The children with wings. The life built on choice rather than duty or obligation.

Yet for the first time, you found yourself wondering which world truly felt like home. The human one, with its beeping monitors and grieving family? Or this one, with its magic and pain and the possibility of a valley beyond the mountains?

"It's a beautiful dream," you finally said, unable to keep the longing from your voice.

Azriel shifted, turning to face you fully. "It doesn't have to be just a dream," he said, and for the first time in all your encounters, you heard naked pleading in his voice—an emotion you'd never expected from the controlled, deadly shadowsinger.

When you looked up, what you saw stole your breath. Azriel—the Night Court's most feared assassin, the male who had witnessed five centuries of darkness without flinching—had tears in his eyes. Not falling, not yet, but there, shimmering in the starlight like diamonds.

"Azriel," you whispered, reaching up without thinking to touch his face.

He caught your hand with his scarred one, pressing your palm against his cheek in a gesture so vulnerable it fractured something essential inside you. His skin was cool beneath your touch, but warming rapidly. The bond between you pulsed, a heartbeat shared across bodies and worlds.

"Whatever you choose," he said, each word weighted with centuries of solitude, "know that the cabin waits. Whether in a month or a century." His voice faltered. "Whether we go together or—"

The words died in his throat, but you heard them nonetheless.

"Or I return to my world," you completed for him, the possibility that had always stood between you.

He nodded once, barely perceptible. But his eyes, those ancient, haunted eyes that had witnessed centuries of darkness, held yours with unflinching courage.

"Either way," he said, "I wanted you to know. That somewhere, there is a place that belongs to us alone. Without courts or duty or pain."

The first tear fell then, tracing a silver path down his scarred cheek and onto your joined hands.

The bond between you flared, golden light spilling from your joined hands, illuminating your faces in the darkness. Not a chain binding you together, but a bridge between worlds, between possibilities.

"Thank you," you whispered, voice breaking. "For showing me this. For letting me see."

His only response was to draw you against him, wings unfurling to create a private sanctuary around you both. Against your cheek, you felt the steady rhythm of his heart, its beat perfectly synchronized with your own.

Tomorrow would bring danger—Eris's rescue, confrontation with Beron, an uncertain future beyond. But for now, cradled against the shadowsinger's chest while his rare tears mingled with your own, you allowed yourself to hold that impossible dream close.

The cabin in the valley. The children with wings. The life beyond the courts.

A dream, perhaps.

But with the golden bond pulsing beneath your skin, the solid warmth of his body against yours, the scent of night-chilled stone and cedar surrounding you, the human world of beeping monitors and grieving family seemed increasingly distant. Like a half-remembered dream fading with the dawn.

For the first time since waking in this borrowed Fae body, you felt something settle inside you. Not certainty, not yet. But possibility. Hope.

Home.

Which was real? Which was home?

For the first time, you weren't certain you knew the answer.

The golden bond thrummed beneath your skin as you woke, an urgent pulse matching your heartbeat. Outside, Velaris slept under indigo skies, last stars fading as dawn approached.

Perfect timing. Perfect silence.

You dressed in shadow, fingers finding Lucien's enchanted blade without looking. Its weight at your hip felt both foreign and familiar, like muscle memory that didn't belong to you.

Ember and Sizzle materialized at your feet, tiny flame bodies flickering with anxiety. They sensed your intentions without words. You pressed a finger to your lips, and they quieted, though pink embers sparked with protest.

"Stay," you whispered, stroking each once. "Wait for him to return."

They settled on the windowsill, sentinels against the pale horizon, their glow dimmed to near-invisibility.

Downstairs, the townhouse held its breath. Azriel's jacket hung by the door, night-chilled stone and cedar wrapping around you as you slipped it over your shoulders. One last comfort before what must be done.

Your fingers found the silver charm at your throat, his parting gift. Break it and I'll come to you, across any distance. You placed it on the small table, a note beneath in your hurried hand.

Forgive me.

Three heartbeats later, Velaris's pre-dawn streets enveloped you. The rising sun gilded rooftops with the same golden light that pulsed beneath your skin, a warning you ignored.

What you planned was foolish. Suicidal, even.

Going alone to rescue Eris when the combined might of multiple courts had organized for tomorrow. But another day meant more torture for your brother. Another day risked Azriel's life for your family's conflict.

Another day meant facing him with the truth. That you planned to return to your world. That his dream of a cabin in the valley, of children with wings and your shared future, would remain just that, a dream.

Between one step and the next, reality fractured.

The hospital room blurred over Velaris's cobblestones. Your aunt's face, tear-stained and haggard, superimposed over dawn-touched buildings.

"The doctors say it's time to consider letting you go," her voice echoed, "but I can't. I just can't."

You stumbled, shoulder striking stone. A passing Night Court citizen glanced with concern, but your forced smile sent them on their way.

The winnowing point beckoned from the edge of the city, a place to bend reality and step directly into Autumn's territory. You'd memorized it from the war maps, burned it into your mind while the High Lords plotted.

But first came the hardest part.

In an alcove away from prying eyes, you pressed your hand to your chest. The bond pulsed steadily, familiar as breathing. A constant presence anchoring you to this world, to him.

"I can't let you suffer when I go," you whispered to no one, to him, to yourself. Golden light spilled between your fingers. "It would destroy you."

Better a clean break. Better mercy than slow torment.

"I release you."

The golden light flared, blinding.

"I sever this bond, not out of hatred but mercy."

Pain lanced through your chest, not external but from within, like ribs cracking outward.

"Not out of rejection..."

Your knees struck cobblestones.

"...but protection."

Tears blurred your vision, golden light pulsing erratically.

"I reject this bond." The words tasted like ash and iron. "I reject it so you may be free when I am gone."

Something inside you tore, not muscle or bone but something essential, something primal. Your vision whited out, breath stolen.

"I reject it because..." a gasping sob interrupted, "...because I love you."

The golden light pulsed once more, then dimmed. The connection that had hummed between you since that first moment in the Autumn Court didn't vanish but receded, like music heard underwater, distorted, distant, muffled.

Cold swept through spaces where warmth had lived. Hollowness echoed where completeness had dwelled. Your hand pressed against your sternum, searching for the familiar pulse, finding only silence.

You dragged yourself upright, swaying. The world felt wrong, off-balance. You'd grown so accustomed to the bond's weight that its absence left you lightweight, untethered.

No time for mourning.

Dawn broke fully now, spilling gold across the city. Soon Azriel would return. Soon he'd find the charm. Soon he'd feel the muted bond and know.

The winnowing point shimmered as you approached. Your magic felt diminished without the bond's amplification, but determination burned hotter than power. You gathered what remained, world dissolving around you.

Reality reassembled. Endless autumn spread before you, trees burning with color that never faded, crimson and gold leaves against a perpetual sunset sky.

You stepped forward, then stumbled as another merged memory hit, hospital corridors overlaid with forest paths. Medical staff around your bed, discussing options, timelines, prognoses. "Irreversible" floated through the air as your doctor shook his head.

"Not yet," you gasped, forcing clarity. "I'm not finished here."

The castle loomed in the distance, Beron's ancestral seat. Eastern dungeons, according to intelligence. Servant passages with specific guard rotations.

You moved toward it, staying to shadows, avoiding patrolled roads. The spice-and-smoke scent of autumn wrapped around you, so different from Velaris's salt-touched breeze. Yet something in you recognized it, a distant familiarity you refused to acknowledge.

Spires pierced a blood-orange sky as you approached. Your body ducked beneath a low archway without conscious decision, hands finding servant passages your mind shouldn't know existed. Stone whispered beneath your fingers, hidden doors responding to touches that felt both foreign and instinctive.

Memory flashed, running these same passages as a child, hiding from brothers who sought to torment, servants who sought to tame.

Not your memory. Not your life.

You pushed it away.

The first guard appeared at the dungeon approach, young, barely more than a boy, bored with his assignment. His eyes widened at sight of you, recognition blooming.

"My lady," he breathed, dropping to one knee. "We were told you were..."

Your hand found his forehead before he finished, sleep spell springing to your lips without thought or practice. He slumped forward, consciousness fleeing.

The magic drained you more than it should have. Without the bond's strength flowing through you, your powers were diminished, hollowed. You leaned against stone, breath ragged.

"Just a little further," you told yourself, pushing away.

The main dungeon entrance waited ahead, an iron door carved with moving flame patterns. Two alert guards stood before it, hands on weapons.

You couldn't risk another sleep spell. Not when Eris waited beyond, not when escape would demand whatever magic remained. You drew Lucien's blade instead, its enchanted edge catching torchlight.

Then you stepped into view.

"My lady," one gasped, shock evident. "Lord Beron said..."

"Lord Beron says many things." Your voice emerged colder than you'd ever heard it, a tone that didn't belong to you but to the body you inhabited, the cruelty cultivated over centuries.

Both guards hesitated, confusion and fear battling across their features. They'd been trained to obey the High Lord, but generations of instinct told them to defer to the Lady of Autumn.

You exploited that hesitation, moving with deadly grace you'd never possessed in your human life. The blade found the first guard's throat, not killing, but promising.

"Open the door," you commanded the second, "or watch your companion bleed."

He fumbled with keys, fear making him clumsy. The heavy door swung open with a groan of metal, revealing a staircase spiraling into darkness.

"Down," you ordered, pushing the first guard ahead while keeping the second at blade-point.

The stairs descended endlessly, air growing colder, damper with each step. Blood and fear-scent thickened as you descended, your stomach knotting with dread.

At the bottom waited another door, this one reinforced with both iron and magic.

You studied the symbols carved into its surface, pulsing with malevolent energy. Following instinct that wasn't yours, you pressed your palm against the center where Beron's sigil burned brightest.

Fire erupted beneath your hand, searing your palm. You gritted your teeth, refusing to pull away as the sigil flared once, recognized something in you, then faded to ash. The door swung open.

You turned to them, fire of the Autumn Court burning in your eyes. "Leave," you commanded.

They fled, taking the stairs two at a time.

The chamber beyond was lit by a single brazier, shadows dancing across stained stone. The air reeked of blood and burned flesh, of bile and sweat and despair.

And there, chained to the far wall, hung Eris.

Your breath caught. You'd prepared yourself for injury, for pain. Not for this.

The once-handsome face swollen beyond recognition. His right arm hung at an unnatural angle, broken in multiple places. Blood had dried in rusty streaks down his chest and legs. The stench of infection and charred flesh made your eyes water.

His breathing came in wet, labored gasps. Each inhale bubbled with what might be blood in his lungs.

"Eris," you whispered, rushing forward.

At your voice, his head lifted slightly. One eye, the only one not swollen shut, focused on you with effort.

"You... fool," he croaked, each word a struggle. "Trap."

"I'm getting you out," you said, examining the chains that bound him.

His laugh was a broken thing, dry as autumn leaves. "Sister... you need to..."

You reached for the chains, examining the enchanted metal. "I need to get you out of here."

"Be careful," he warned, words slurring. "Spelled to..."

You pressed Lucien's blade against the lock before he finished. The enchanted metal glowed briefly, then clicked open. Eris slumped forward as the chains released, his weight falling against you.

"Can't walk," he mumbled against your shoulder. "Ankle... shattered."

"Then I'll carry you," you replied, though you had no idea how you'd manage it without the bond's strength.

Before you could figure out a solution, slow clapping echoed through the chamber.

You whirled, pushing Eris behind you as best you could while drawing your blade.

Beron stood in the doorway, flame crown burning atop his head. Behind him, a dozen guards filled the stairway, weapons drawn.

"How touching," the High Lord of Autumn said, voice like silk over steel. "The wayward daughter returns for her traitorous brother."

"Father," you acknowledged, keeping your blade steady despite the fear coursing through you.

Beron studied you, head tilting slightly. "But you're not really my daughter anymore, are you?"

A chill ran down your spine.

Beron circled you slowly, flames dancing at his fingertips. "My daughter was cruel. Calculating. Vicious." His eyes narrowed. "She would never have risked herself for anyone, least of all Eris."

The way he said it, not with anger but something like baffled wonder, unnerved you more than rage would have.

"I'm not her," you said flatly. "I never claimed to be."

"And yet..." Beron's voice softened unexpectedly, "...you opened the sigil door. Only the power of the High Lord can do that."

Something in his expression shifted, a flicker of recognition that made your heart stutter.

"I remember when you were born," he said, each word deliberate. "So small. The first female born to Autumn in three centuries."

"Stop it," you snapped. "These mind games won't work."

A memory flashed unbidden, sitting on Beron's knee as a child, watching in wonder as he formed fire animals in his palm.

You shook your head violently. "Those aren't my memories."

"You don't want them to be," Beron corrected. His flame crown dimmed slightly as he studied you. "But they are yours. As is this body. As is this court."

"I have a family," you insisted. "A life waiting for me."

"And yet you're here." Beron gestured to the dungeon around you. "Risking everything for a brother who would have let you die without a second thought."

"He's lying," Eris rasped from behind you, somehow finding strength to stand straighter. "Tell her, Beron."

"Tell me what?" you repeated, unwillingly drawn into the conversation.

"After Winter Court," Eris said, each word costing him. "Thirteen nobles. Left you for dead."

Beron's jaw tightened. "Ancient history. Diplomatic matters."

"Not... diplomatic," Eris forced out, blood speckling his lips with the effort. "Assault. Torture. Abandonment."

Ice flooded your veins as another memory surfaced, cold hands on your skin. Laughter echoing off stone walls.

Pain beyond imagining.

"No," you whispered, the blade trembling in your grasp. "That's not... I'm not..."

"Your soul fractured that night," Eris continued, each word a blade between your ribs. "Split in two. Half fled to another world."

"That's not possible," you said, but your voice lacked conviction.

Because it made sense. It explained everything, the foreign memories, the body that felt both alien and familiar, the life in another world that seemed increasingly distant.

"My little flame," Beron said, and the childhood endearment struck like a physical blow. "I made you into something terrible because I had to. The courts would have devoured you otherwise."

Another memory, Beron teaching you to hurt servants, to hide weakness, to cultivate cruelty as armor.

"You were so gentle as a child," he continued, something like regret coloring his tone. "I remember how you wept when you accidentally burned a butterfly. How you tried to heal it with your fingers."

The memory crashed through your defenses, the orange butterfly, its wings blackened by your untrained magic. The desperate attempt to save it, tiny hands cupping its broken body.

"Stop," you begged, but the memories kept coming.

Beron took a step toward you. For an instant, his face transformed, not the cruel High Lord but the father who'd once lifted you to his shoulders. "I wasn't there when Winter took you. I thought... I thought it was politics. By the time I realized..."

"It was too late," you finished, the words rising from somewhere deep inside. "I was already torn apart..."

Beron nodded, something like pain flashing across his features. "Your mother warned me. She said making you cruel would destroy what made you special. I didn't listen."

The blade wavered in your hand, your voice breaking. "You left me to them. You let them..."

"I didn't know what they planned," Beron said, but his eyes slid away from yours. The lie sat heavy between you.

"You knew," Eris snarled, finding strength from somewhere deep inside. Blood trickled from his mouth with each word. "You knew and did nothing. Then covered it all up."

"You understand nothing of ruling," Beron snapped, anger flaring. "Sacrifices must be made. Alliances preserved."

"I was your daughter," you whispered, the truth of it settling into your bones. "Your only daughter."

Something in Beron's face cracked then, a glimpse of the father beneath the High Lord's mask. "Yes," he admitted. "And I failed you."

The words hung in the air between you, unexpected in their sincerity.

For a heartbeat, silence reigned.

Then Eris moved.

It happened so fast you barely registered it. Eris, who moments ago could barely stand, lunged forward with hidden strength. Something flashed in his hand, a small blade concealed somewhere on his broken body.

It struck Beron in the chest, driving deep. Directly into his heart.

Beron's eyes widened in shock, his gaze locked with Eris's. "Son?" he gasped, blood bubbling at his lips.

"For her," Eris whispered, holding his father's gaze without flinching. "For what you let happen."

Beron's flame crown sputtered, then flared blindingly bright. Power, ancient and terrible, erupted from his body as he collapsed. It swirled like a living tornado, seeking its new vessel.

Eris fell to his knees, arms outstretched, face lifted to receive what had been promised him for centuries, the High Lord's power.

But the magic had other ideas.

It swirled around Eris, examined him, then veered sharply toward you. Golden fire engulfed you, lifting you from the ground as it poured into your chest, your veins, your very soul.

You whimpered as centuries of power and knowledge invaded your body, not just magic but memory, history, duty.

The fractured pieces of yourself collided, human and Fae, present and past, nurse and Lady of Autumn.

When the transfer ended, you collapsed beside Beron's motionless form. The High Lord of Autumn was dead. His power now resided in you.

"No," you whispered, staring at your hands where flames now danced unbidden. "No, this isn't right."

Eris stared at you in shock, his face drained of what little color remained.

"It chose you," he said, disbelief evident. "The magic recognized its own."

Around you, the guards had fallen to their knees, recognizing their new High Lady in the same moment you did.

"I didn't want this," you said, tears streaming down your face. "I'm not supposed to be here. I'm supposed to be..."

But where were you supposed to be?

The hospital room seemed like a distant dream now, your human life fading like mist in morning sun. This, the flames dancing at your fingertips, the memories flooding back, the fractured soul finally reunited, this was real.

"Long live the High Lady of Autumn," Eris said, bowing his head despite his injuries. "My sister. My High Lady."

Fire danced across your skin, responding to emotions too complex to name. You weren't just who you'd been in that hospital bed. You weren't just the cruel Lady of Autumn from before.

You were both. You were neither.

You were something new entirely, forged in trauma, tempered by two lives, crowned in fire.

And somewhere deep inside, beneath the shock and grief and power, a small voice whispered.

This is who you were always meant to be.

Author's Note: I could apologize for the emotional damage... but let’s not lie to each other. You came here willingly. 😌🔥 Beron’s toast (literally), your girl’s a High Lady, and Azriel is one "where is she?!" away from emotionally combusting in a corner. Buckle up. It only gets worse better from here.

💌 Thanks for reading, crying, and mentally punching Beron with me. Now the real questions: Will our girl embrace her inner fire queen or sprint back to her coma body like it’s the last bus home? Will Azriel survive this emotional rollercoaster without setting something (or someone) on fire? Will Eris finally get a nap?

Stay tuned. I have no idea either. 😇

Taglist: @circe143@lunarxcity@willowpains@messageforthesmallestman@lreadsstuff@evye47@lovely-susie@moonfawnx@tele86@moonlitlavenders@darkbloodsly @ees-chaotic-brain @smol-grandpa@auraofathena@lottiiee413@minaaminaa8@claudiab22@moonbeamruins@shewolf1549@crimsonandwhiteprincess@a-band-aid-for-your-heart@kathren1sky-blog@alimarie1105@masbt1218@topaz125@falszywe@randomdumsblog@sophia-grace2025@okaytrashpanda@thegoddessofnothingness @unarxcity @svearehnn@suhke3@galaxystern08@ivy-34@hellsenthero@nayaniasworld@raccoonworld@bobbywobbby@evergreenlark@greenmandm@shinyghosteclipse@catloverandreader@the-onlyy-angie@bunnboosblog@i-like-boooks@ashduv@kayjaywrites@lovelyreaderlovesreading@badbishsblog@vera0124@i-am-infinite @scatteredstardustt @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @chaotic-luvrs @etsukomoonbeam @justtryingtosurvive02 @dianxiaxiexie @annaaaaa88 @mortqlprojections @quiet-loser @shamelesswolftheorist @vanserrasimp @lovelyflower7777 @probendingwords @allthatisbuck1917 @thejediprincess56 @forvalentineboy @romwyz @plowden @jada-lockwood @traveling-neverland @wanderwithmex @magicaldragonlady @makemeurvillain @justswimm @saltedcoffeescotch @rafeecameronsbitch @sherhd @stainedpomegranatelips @ayohockeycheck @yourdarkrose @taurusvic @illyrianshadow @s-h-e-l-b-e-e @ly--canthrope @star-chaser1 @dormantzzzs

[cconfusedkat]

I may attempt to draw Allure in more serious settings but just know the only person that mask slips IMMEDIATELY down is near Shamura ,, the lambfail and crownfail is Very Telling of Her

[isaysexualthingsaboutrobinavitch]

Dark is The Way, Light is a Place | Session 2

Synopsis: As a board-certified clinical psychologist working at PTMC, you were expecting to see patients of the hospital. But by some twist of fate, you end up seeing several ER doctors for individual therapy. Pairing: Michael "Robby" Robinavitch / Jack Abbot/ Frank Langdon x Psychologist!Reader Genre: Angsty, existential, dark, and sometimes fluffy therapy sessions. Word count: 1.8K Warnings: some references to suicide, existential dread, jokes about Tibetan sky rituals, PTSD A/N: Overwhelmed by the support on part one, and I hope to keep the momentum alive. If there’s one thing that you take away from this, I hope it’s that you move away from the idea that you need to be “happy” or you need to experience an “absence of suffering.” The goal of existing is to be able to put down that suffering so you can live your life. Tag list: @snowflames-world

Previous I Next

Session 2: The Lion's at Your Door, The Wolf is in Your Bed

Contrary to popular belief, Jack Abbot does not use humor as a defense mechanism, he uses it to get his foot in the door. If he says something that elicits a laugh, or at least a smile, you might be able to ignore the taste of blood between your teeth when hits you with something dark and fucked up. He relishes in the reaction, wants to see if it hurts you the same way it hurts him.

You let him talk about the things that have happened to him. Initially, it was all about nice-ities. Don't jump off the roof, Jack, crying is okay and not a sign of weakness, Jack, the world is an unfair place, but you're doing a great job, Jack. It must be really hard to not be able to save everyone, Jack. And he would nod in affirmation, accept the validating statements, cry maybe once or twice when talking about a patient he lost, despite trying to hide it. The first time he talked about his military experience and what it was like growing up, it was like his soul had shattered into a million, bright, sharp, memories, each one more painful than the last, interwoven with small victories of the things he had to overcome, the successes he's had. 

And then he couldn't stop talking about the pain, of existing, of not wearing the same rose colored glasses at everyone else that fools you into thinking the world is fair, of recognizing that there is no room for God in medicine, of not being able to get close to anyone without being reminded that death comes for us all. It almost felt like he was obsessed with it, until you realized that he considered death to be an old friend, someone he plans to visit some day. 

The sessions have been a lot, lately, and you both have familiarized yourselves with the sound of silences between heavy answers to unspoken questions, your redirection back to the things that are hard to talk about, his voice cracked, and caught in his throat. 

Today, he starts with a joke.

"Well it finally happened. I'm not saying i'm a hero, but i did get doordash to deliver to the roof," He boasts as he enters the room, holding up a plastic bag with a happy face printed on the side, tied neatly in a bow, "And I didn't even have to threaten to jump."

"Glad to see you're alive and well, Jack" you shut the door behind him, "and that you're eating." 

"Do you mind?" he pulls the prosthetic off of his leg, and motions to the couch, hoping you'll allow him to get comfortable. 

"No shoes on the couch," you quip, and he dramatically rolls his eyes and unties his shoe before letting the prosthesis lay horizontally on the couch, "How's the pain?"

"Oh you mean the fake pain from the leg I don't have?" he rolls his eyes, "it's the gift that just keeps giving."  

"Phantom, but yes" you correct him, "Still a real thing." 

"You know anything about sky burials?" He avoids the question, patting the prosthetic leg lying next to him. 

"Jack" you fold your arms across your chest, narrowing your eyes at him.

"I'm serious, when my foot got blown off, I just really wished I could have given her the funeral she deserved. You know? I'm never going to be able to take feet pics again." He chuckles at his own joke and looks to you for a similar response.

"You really want to talk about feet pics and tibetan sky rituals for the whole session?"

"This isn't fun if you won't entertain me, at least for five fucking minutes." His tone changes. How dare you ruin his last hope for distraction.A man who is not used to being told no. 

"Not supposed to be fun, but you sound irritated"

"My god, y/n, not every therapy session has to be about something horrible, you know." He scoffs, shaking his head in what looks like disbelief. Like you're ruining his good time.

"Is that what you think therapy should be?" 

"No, but can't you just give me a minute to decompress and celebrate a small victory."

"I'm sorry, you're right." You can admit when you're wrong, and he eats it up, a smirk spreading across his face,  "Sky burials, huh? Think we could start offering those here?"

"Maybe, I know a guy who can fly a helicopter, but I don't know the city's guidelines on human pollution," he shrugs.

"What's the phrase? ashes to ashes, dust to dust, human compostable material to the Allegheny river?"

He laughs, genuinely, for the first time in weeks during session. Happiness, however fleeting, looks good on this man. If only you could bottle it up and serve it back to him on days where he feels like he's nothing. you capture the memory, for your own 'small victory.'

"Alright, alright" he settles into the chair, trying to regain composure "now what do you want to talk about"

"Your use of humor is a segway," You reflect, "You do it any time something really bad happens. Let's both remember how a minute ago I was laughing at your jokes so I don't recoil at the sight of you crying."

He contemplates saying something, but bites his tongue. He could push the boundary, tell you to fuck off for ruining a good thing, end the session upbruptly when you get too close to the part that hurts. It's an easy out, but he doesn't take it.

"You ever burn yourself as a kid?" He asks, "on an iron maybe? or the stove?"

"I'll bite, yes." The trick to therapy is revealing just enough while maintaining a boundary. 

"Remember that feeling? The pain receptors light up your brain so quickly that you pull your hand away before you even register that it's hot. You make a mental note not to do it again. Always check that the iron is off before touching it, never grip a door knob before checking to see if there's flames under the door." He repeats the last part like it's an inner monologue that he tells himself when assessing the scene of an emergency.

"A learned response to pain" You nod, "pain has a way of making us cautious, and reminding us that we are in fact, both alive, and not invincible."

"Now imagine standing over your stove, the coil bright red. You can feel the heat radiating, warming the skin on your face. Give it a few minutes, let it get hot. And then slam your hand down on it and hold it there for 10 seconds. Full mississippi seconds,  Hold it there until your flesh melts and adheres to the burner, until you can smell your flesh burning" He holds eye contact, but his facial expression softens when he says it "That white-hot blistering heat, I've been trying to carry that pain for years."

"Jesus, that's a lot to carry around," You take a deep breath. He's got a way with words, and for a moment, you're glad that he started with a joke. 

"It's exhausting. Sure, there's the physical pain of the prosthetic that never quite fits right, the overcompensating I do with my other leg, and the emotional pain of what we've been talking about for months." He leans his head back against the couch, brow furrowed, and runs a hand over his face, like he's trying to wipe himself clean. 

"But there are good parts too, yeah?" You learn forward, elbows resting on your knees, and he sits up, matching your body language.

"Fuck yeah" he exhales sharply, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, "I love saving lives. I see every person I've ever lost in every person I've ever saved. I love being alive, contrary to our conversations, I love the people I work with, the work that we do. fuck, even this is good too."

"But?" 

"But I'd be lying if that voice wasn't loud, sitting at the base of my spine, like a fucking snake," he shakes his head, frustrated with his own inner monologue. 

"What does it say, Jack?" 

"It'll never be enough," his voice is soft when he says it, defeated.

"And you believe it?" you raise an eyebrow.

"You've given me several reasons not to."

"The goal of therapy is not the absence of suffering, Jack." You remind him, "the goal is to be able to put that suffering down, to not let it cloud everything you do so you can live your life." 

You give him the rundown of homework, the things you want him to complete for the next session, and he thanks you for the hour. Therapy is often slow and progress is never linear. 

----

By the time Jack leaves, Robby is already standing in the hallway, leaning against the far wall. This time he's brought his cell phone, to give off the impression that he does have a life outside of these walls. You'd bet money he's just writing a note of things he needs to buy at the grocery store. 

He enters your office, still hesitant to cross the threshold without contemplating making a run for it, but before you can close the door, a familiar voice calls to you from the opposite hallway

"Y/N! Wait!" Frank Landgon practically sprints down the hallway towards your office. 

You step outside the office, and shut the door behind you, face-to-face with the man who should not be here

"Do you not understand what the words 'go home' mean?"  You shake your head, raising your hands up in front of you "You don't have an appointment, I am not your fucking friend, and you are not supposed to be here." 

"I know, i know, but please let me explain," His speech is pressured, eyes wide with worry, hoping for a chance to tell his side of the story. 

"I'm not going to tell you again. You have been referred to me for a court ordered evaluation. Until that appointment, I have made it abundantly clear that you need to go home" Your arms are folded across your chest, a clear directive

"You know me" he pleads, ignoring what you've said. You interrupt him before you can continue.

"Frank," This time your voice is loud, stern, unwavering, "you're being investigated for stealing benzodiazepines. I am ordered to evaluate you next week. If you have any self-respect you will stop talking and you will not give me a reason to put in a report that you can't even follow basic directives to go the fuck home."

You don't wait for a reply, and instead enter your office, slamming the door behind you.

"Sorry about that," You apologize to Robby.

"Don't be, you're not the only one who has told him to go the fuck home."

-----------------

Get your bodies ready for the psychological evaluation of Dr. Langdon in part 3 :)

[raisedbythetv89]

the poetry and fated-ness of spuffy is insane because what do you mean spike took the life of one slayer who lost her weapon and granted the death wish of another

whose deaths are critical to Buffy being called as the slayer when she is and spike is the one who actively prevents her death wish at every turn and then is the only one to support her and gives her the strength to recover THE slayer weapon which then awakens and liberates the entire slayer line when he was supposed to be killed off after like 6 episodes

Spike’s entire history is so deeply interwoven with the slayer’s he is the physical manifestation of Buffy’s shadow not only in his representation of sexual liberation, queerness, femininity and self empowerment by shedding caring about what anyone but yourself thinks and living authentically and unapologetically but he has been this dark shadow hunting and shaping the slayer line for over a century and when he and THE slayer unite on the same side in open loving acceptance of each other she is freed from the hellmouth and with it the burden of being THE ONE GIRL IN ALL THE WORLD

THAT’S SO CRAZY

[formulakracing]

fair lady — o.p.

pairing -> princess!reader x knight!oscar piastri

word count -> 1.7k

warnings -> cursing, mutual pining, mentions of violence, arranged marriage trope, slight angst, mainly lots of fluff

a/n -> i have been in a bit of a writing slump and concept keeps gnawing away at my brain. i am not a history buff nor do i have extensive knowledge about period pieces, so i apologize if this is not historically accurate. this was a request by my dear 🎀 anon (pssttttt! if you guys like it enough i'lll expand the au!)

"oh, sweet one, you look wonderful!"

"gorgeous!"

"how exquisite!"

~𖥔☾𖤓☽𖥔~

sucking in breath, you swivel on your heel, performing a little twirl for the audience gathered around. there are a few more gasps, as well as several nods of approval. in your peripheral, you catch your mother beaming, her lips curled in a dazzling smile.

your sisters squeal, fanning rapidly as your mother approaches. she faces you, carefully smoothing out a wrinkle on your right shoulder.

"what do you think, sweet one? is it everything you dreamed of?"

your heart races, thudding against your rib-cage. dozens of eyes hone in, anticipating your answer. your throat is dry as your palms clam u, blood roaring in your ears.

"it will do."

your mother's brow furrows, the jewels adorning her crown glittering as she cocks her head, "sweet girl, this is your wedding gown. i would have expected more enthusiasm from you! you are getting married in one week's time. you should be thrilled!"

at her sentiment, you hang your head. shame bubbles up in the pit of your gut as your sisters scoff, shaking their heads. as much as you wanted to protest, you knew that it would be no use.

you had no say in this arrangement.

that fateful day, when the clock struck midnight on your thirteenth birthday, it was arranged that you would be marrying lord lando, heir to the mclaren state. as one of the daughters of the established belmont lineage, you were destined to marry into another royal family.

it was an ideology interwoven throughout your adolescent years, as your father often mentioned that it was your sole purpose in life. well, one of many sole purposes.

your other purpose in life was to bear children. healthy children. children with royal blood. children that would expand the kingdom, far and wide throughout the countryside.

yet, there was nothing that you dreaded more than marrying that man. any time the thought crossed your mind, there was this awful, putrid vile that rose in the back of your throat. a shudder would slither down your spine, the hairs on your arms and neck standing on end.

rather, you wanted to marry out of love. if it meant breaking away from your family, then so be it. if it meant being exiled, then it was a fate you were willing to accept.

after all, your parents were able to marry out of love.

why couldn't you?

although your father would not explicitly tell you the reason, you had a few assumptions. the first was that the marriage would unite the territories together. there would an abundance of spoils to be shared. not only would your father be a richer man, but there would be far more wealth among the common folk. there would be more livestock to raise. more produce to harvest. more land to explore.

the second was a bit darker, but it was the reality of the world you lived in.

when you were sixteen, your father received a decree from the mclaren state. they demanded that lord lando was given a wife by the time he turned twenty-five. from what you could recall, if your father did not comply, then the mclaren state would invade a crucial strip of the belmont territory.

the piece of land was simply a meadow, but there were rumors of what lied beneath. it was rumored that there was an intricate system of caverns and pools underneath the meadow. it was said that the fae dwelled among these caverns and caves, where their magic was highly sought after.

the only access point to these caves were along a steep ridge, located on the edge of the belmont territory. the ridge was only a few kilometers from where the mclaren state began, so it made sense why their family was interested in the meadow.

thus, if you were to go through with the marriage to lord lando, then the land would be consequently shared among the royal families. it would no longer be a quarrel that lasted generations.

in a way, your marriage would be a peace offering. from that moment on, there would only be joy and harmony. everyone would benefit in some way.

well, everyone except you.

you would be thrust into a life you wanted no part of. you would loathe the man you betrothed. you would spiral into a great depression.

the light that once danced in your eyes would wither away, quelled to nothing but darkness.

"give it some time," your mother's voice is gentle now, the stern notes no longer lingering, "i am aware that this has been difficult for you. your father mentioned this morning that you were melancholy. we will speak more about it in the morning. slip out of this gown, freshen up, and get some rest."

you merely nod in response, two of your sisters trailing after your mother as she strolls out of the room. your littlest sister, aurora, stays put, crossing over to you.

carefully, she places a tender hand on your shoulder, "do you need help, sister?"

"of course," the corners of your lips twitch into a meek smile, "i would love your help, aurora."

aurora dips her head, bearing a grin. careful fingers find your back, hastily getting to work. the gown slides down your body, falling to the floor.

several layers are discarded, aurora offering a hand as you carefully fold your gown and undergarments, placing them in your wardrobe. before you know it, she has you sitting at vanity, nimbly combing away at your locks.

aurora was only eighteen, but you felt at times that she was far older, perhaps even older than you. she was wiser than your other siblings, remarkably cunning, and knew how to speak to just about anyone. she was adored by all, as her aura radiated a pureness you were envious of.

and although you were the oldest, you felt that aurora was the sister who took care of everyone. she even doted on your parents, ensuring all of their needs were met.

if anyone was to be married to lord lando, it should be aurora.

yet, you did not want that for her. she deserved a man who would care for her the way she cared for others, if not more. and in your heart, you knew that no suitor would even compare.

"well," aurora tuts, placing the comb beside you, "i am finished. please, get some rest. i am afraid that you are going to need as much sleep as you can manage in these next few days."

"why?" you arch a brow, feeling a laugh bubble up in your throat, "are you nervous about the wedding?"

"i am not going to answer that," aurora shrugs, fighting a smirk, "all i will say is that i am curious to see how it will all unfold. goodnight, sister. i love you."

"i love you," your heart swells as aurora wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in for a brief embrace, "sleep well, my sister."

"you do the same."

however, as your sister's steps crescendo, her warm presence leaving the room, you cannot help but fidget. your head turns, angling toward the window.

in the far distance, way beyond the lush pine trees, you can make out the sea of green. there are little specks, only reminding you of the beautiful flora that grace that stretch of land.

letting out a shaky breath, you rise to your feet, padding over to your door. pressing an ear against it, you cannot make out the sound of hushed voices. aurora must have been the last one to bed.

gnawing at your lip, fingers wrap around the handle, the coolness of the metal earning goosebumps. you pull at the thick wood, wrinkling your nose at the creaking that floods your ears.

the events that follow are a blur.

before you know it, you are on your beloved horse, the sound of hooves echoing throughout the greenery. a breeze rolls through the trees, promising of summer. birds chirp about, ravens squawking at the sight of a fair maiden traveling alone.

yet, you have no fear.

after all, what was there to be afraid of? your life was going to be altered in ways you could not quite grasp. you were no longer going to have freedom. you were no longer going to have a voice.

there was nothing left to lose.

coming to a halt, you slip off your horse, exhaling as you are met with plush grass.

yet, your breath catches in your throat as you hear a twig snap, a shadow emerging from the forest on your right.

"show yourself!" your voice is pitifully small, "i demand that you come out this instant!"

your eyes adjust, squinting as you make out the outline of a man. he is on a horse, but he is alone. yet, your heart races as he approaches, your blood running cold as he whistles, signaling for his horse to stop.

he clambers down, dipping his head, "my apologies, fair maiden. i am simply patrolling the borders. i did not intend to frighten you."

"frighten me?" you spit out, "w-who are you?"

his armor gleams as he bows, bringing a hand to his chest, "i am sir oscar, knight of the mclaren state."

pursing your lips, you pick out the crest adorning his helmet, "do you realize that you are on belmont territory, sir oscar, knight of the mclaren state?"

"yes," he chirps, "i was simply in pursuit of an enemy. however, as i came closer, i realized that it was not an enemy, but rather a maiden. i followed you, as i was under the impression that you were in need of assistance."

"i am exactly where i want to be," folding your arms across your chest, you tilt your head, "i am free to roam wherever i please. my whereabouts are none of your concern. i advise that you leave this territory at once before—"

yet, your breath is taken away as the knight's fingers curl around his helmet, raising it from his head.

before your eyes was the most beautiful man you had ever seen.

"forgive me, fair lady. i just wanted to make sure that my eyes were not deceiving me."

"and what makes you say that?" you press, brow furrowing as he descends to one knee, bowing his bead.

"forgive me, fair lady. for i did not realize that i was standing before a princess."

[cursedcola]

Discussion: "The Prophecy of Twisted Godhood" <- A reimagining of Twisted Wonderland through Greek Mythology. Where instead of a world based on Disney - Yuu is sent to a school meant to train demigods in another realm. Dormitories: Heartslabyul || Savanaclaw (here) || Octavanille || Scarabia || Pomefiore || Ignihyde || Diasomnia || Ramshackle (full lore and main plot outline) || Others Notes: Hey everyone - believe it or not, this was the original idea back when I started working on my TWST otome. I went a more traditional route since I wanted more of an immersive product...but I still have all of these ideas, y'know? So why not share them since I won't be making it into a game. Character designs and comics might come if i ever want to add more

Premise: The Prophecy of the Gods’ Reawakening

At NRC on the Isle of Gods, a prestigious institution built upon the ruins of ancient temples, Yuu (the protagonist) is just another student. However, Yuu’s, a supposed ‘godless human’, arrival is no accident—there’s an ancient prophecy surrounding them that foretells the fall of all gods, threatening the balance between the mortal and divine worlds.

The gods, once all-powerful, are losing their grip over their domains. Their children, the demigods, have become restless, each facing the expectations of their divine parentage while undergoing trials at NRC. The mortals are unaware of the ancient forces at play, but Yuu is caught in the center of this storm by ‘chance’ with no power to return to their realm. As they unravel the ties between the demigods, Yuu discovers that their very existence could either restore the gods' reign or bring about their ultimate downfall.

The students of Night Raven College, in this realm known as Nether Realms College, split into seven dormitories, each reflect different aspects of the divine legacy that they inherit. Each dorm conflict mirrors a myth or curse, and Yuu must navigate these volatile relationships and broken alliances, all while uncovering their own mysterious divine heritage.

Savanaclaw - The Realm of Strength and Pride

In Savanaclaw - in this world given the name 'Koryphaios Dormitory' -, the students’ connections to their divine parentage are fraught with tension, pride, and deep-rooted desires to prove themselves. Each character’s mythological legacy resonates with struggles for power, identity, and the impact of their divine inheritance. As Yuu enters Night Raven College and begins to unravel the Prophecy of the Gods' Reawakening, the dorm members’ challenges become interwoven with the prophecy’s dark implications. Each student wrestles with their own fate, seeking to carve out a future for themselves in a world where the gods’ power is waning.

As Yuu interacts with the members of Koryphaios, they’ll learn that the dorm’s issues are rooted in deeper, personal conflicts tied to the demigods' desire for recognition, transformation, and control over their destiny. This will not only challenge Yuu’s understanding of power and leadership but also force them to seek clarity regarding their presence in this realm – establishing a connection to the plot and this world.

As Yuu interacts with these characters, they will be forced to navigate the balance between strength and humility, loyalty and independence, destiny and free will. Those in Savanaclaw respect their gods for their power but are on unequal footing which breeds conflict. While each member of Savanaclaw struggles with their relation to their god, Yuu's unforeseen presence serves as a catalyst for change (as the godless are meant to be uninvolved, throwing a wrench into regimine and twarting the characters’ individual agendas), forcing the dorm to confront their weaknesses and ultimately become more united in their shared goal.

Through Yuu’s journey, the Koryphaios students will learn that true leadership isn’t about power or dominance but about knowing when to lead and when to follow, sacrifice for others, and recognize their own worth in the eyes of the gods and mortals alike.

Leona KingScholar - Son of Astraeus (Titan of the Stars and Planets)

Reasoning: Astraeus was a strategic figure, working quietly behind the scenes to influence the winds and the stars. Similarly, Leona is observant, calculating, and prefers to act when the moment is right, rather than impulsively.

Connection: Leona’s struggle is rooted in his desire to be recognized and to enact change, despite being second-born. Astraeus, while not the most outwardly powerful, had a significant influence on the cosmos, akin to Leona’s overlooked but potent leadership potential.

Lore Extension:

Curse of Oedipus – King of Thebes

Reasoning: Oedipus, like Leona, struggled with the limitations imposed on him by fate. Leona’s frustration with his role as second-born parallels Oedipus’ inability to escape the prophecy that shaped his life.

Connection: Leona and Oedipus have a deep desire to prove their worth, not out of selfishness, but because they feel a deep responsibility to lead. Oedipus’ tragic pride and fall mirror Leona’s internal struggle with his unrecognized potential. Oedipus, though flawed, was a respected leader who made sacrifices for his people, much like Leona, who cares deeply for his country and people but struggles with his limited position.

Conflict: Leona, much like Oedipus, is consumed with the frustration of fate and the limitations imposed on him due to his position as second-born. As the second prince of his homeland, Leona's ambition to rule is thwarted by his birthright. Oedipus, in his own myth, was bound by a tragic prophecy that foretold he would kill his father and marry his mother—something he could not avoid despite his attempts to defy it. Leona’s story will parallel this sense of inevitability, as he feels doomed to forever live in his god’s shadow, unable to claim the position he believes he deserves.

Tension with Yuu: Leona's cynicism and bitterness are exacerbated by Yuu's arrival. Yuu, while unassuming and unaware of their divine origins, will inadvertently stir something in Leona—a heavy reminder that even a king may struggle to break free of fate. Leona is bound by a prophecy to belong to the stars, yet he wishes to rule in the mortal realm as a king. He has the most experience with mortal politics and life among the demigods – thinking it the gods responsibility to aid the lives they demand respect from (hierarchy/royalty foil w/ how the sunset savanna treats lower class). Yuu’s adaptation and struggle to exist among the demigods is pitiful to him at first, and they serve as a reminder for his distaste towards the gods (urging his plan for rebellion further). Yet as his underhanded plans to usurp are pulled from under him, Yuu’s presence challenges Leona to question if there is truly no way to break free of the burdens of destiny, or if his own pride and unwillingness to accept help has been what holds him back.

Resolution: Leona will have to learn that leadership is not always about claiming power for oneself but rather earning it through compassion and wisdom. Something he has successfully done within his dorm yet is too stubborn to see.  As the gods power begins to wane, the prophecy will help him realize that true rulers are those who lift others up rather than stand alone on a throne.  Yuu will help him accept that fate may be unavoidable, but the journey is within his control. This can be seen through his relationships with his dormmates – Leona’s mini-kingdom – and how they are the crutch that supports Leona in overcoming what Oedipus’ could not. One may not change the outcome but can manipulate how it comes to pass.

Ruggie Bucchi – Estranged 'Bastard' Son of Hermes

Note: An estranged child is an adult child whom has cut off contact with their parent and/or has a bad relationship with them. A bastard child is one out of wedlock - or in this case, between god and low-born mortal.

Reasoning: Ruggie Bucchi is cunning, resourceful, and always looking for ways to make a quick deal, much like Hermes, the trickster god of commerce, thieves, and travelers. Ruggie, while loyal, is also known for cutting corners to get by and is always on the lookout for opportunities that require little effort for big rewards. Just like Hermes, who can navigate tricky situations and use his wit for gain, Ruggie thrives on cleverness and strategy in his day-to-day life.

Connection: The resourcefulness, cunning nature, and tendency to take advantage of opportunities align Ruggie closely with Hermes

Conflict: Ruggie Bucchi, ever the schemer and opportunist, mirrors Hermes’ ability to navigate tricky situations and use wit for personal gain. While his cleverness makes him an invaluable ally in many situations, Ruggie’s primary struggle revolves around his loyalty to those around him and his desire to escape the hardships of his upbringing – this includes his father, whom abandoned him when faced with opposition from the other gods (having committed taboo in a passing fling, resulting in Ruggie’s birth). Ruggie was left to be raised by his mortal grandmother in the slums, until approached by the high gods to attend NRC, as it was his ‘duty’. Ever the opportunist and unable to pass on their offer to give his mortal family a better life- Ruggie accepted as a recognized son of Hermes.

Tension with Yuu: Ruggie initially sees Yuu as someone to be manipulated for gain—someone he could trick or use as leverage. He has a complex relationship with his demigodhood, coming from a clan of the ‘godless’ himself – being nothing more than a passing trick of his father’s. Children of Hermes are bountiful, those born between god and human seen as lesser, yet Ruggie in particular faces prejudice within the school hierarchy because of his upbringing. He climbed through using tricks and a mutual-partnership with Leona. Therefore, Ruggie pities Yuu, yet does not waiver since NRC is free for all. However, Yuu’s integrity and selflessness will challenge Ruggie to reconsider his morally flexible approach to life – reminding him of his time spent in the mortal realm which has been blurred during his time at the Isle of Gods. Their interactions with Leona will revitalize Ruggie’s hope for change, evicting a complex battle between doubt and self-preservation that he has not experienced since boyhood. Through his interactions with Yuu, Ruggie will learn that loyalty is his strongest commodity.

Resolution: Over time, Ruggie will come to respect Yuu’s sense of fairness and selflessness, realizing that while cleverness and cunning can win battles, true loyalty, perseverance, and honesty are what win hearts. Hearts are power, and while unaware of what they hold, Yuu will help him realize that sometimes, real power lies not in investments but in trust and cooperation. His relationship with the gods and his father remains sour – yet he learns that there are allies to be made within NRC walls. He does not walk away changed but is inspired by Yuu’s formidable approach to the school’s hierarchy.

Jack Howl – Son of Athena. Blessing of Calisto

Reasoning: Athena is often associated with wisdom, strategy, and intellect, particularly in warfare. Jack Howl, though more of a straightforward character, does demonstrate a level of insight and strategy in his actions. He might not always show it overtly, but his cleverness and quick thinking are visible in certain situations, especially when helping his friends or working through tough situations. Athena is also the goddess of protection and courage, often stepping in to defend or guide heroes. Similarly, Jack is deeply protective of his friends, dormmates, and morals.  Jack's fierce loyalty and deep connection to his pack of wolves links him to Calisto, a nymph transformed into a bear (which still connects with his wolf-like nature).

Connection: While Jack is more outwardly the "brawn" and Athena is more the "brains," their shared qualities of leadership, protection, and wisdom tie them together. It’s a blend of intellect, strategy, and the willingness to stand up for others that forms the bridge between them. His connection to his pack and potential for transformation magic make him worthy of Calisto's aid, with a twist considering her own tragic connection to wolves.

Conflict: Jack Howl’s fierce loyalty and protective instincts deeply connect him to the myths of both Lycaon and Callisto. Like Lycaon, who was transformed into a wolf as a result of angering Zeus, Jack struggles with his primal instincts and his wolf-like nature. However, instead of being cursed, Jack's bond with the wild is intertwined with Athena's blessing of wisdom and strategy, tempered by Callisto’s gift of transformation. Callisto, a nymph who was tragically turned into a bear, mirrors Jack’s internal battle: her loss of control, her pain, and the way her transformation became a reminder of the wildness that lurked within her. Jack’s struggle revolves around reconciling his deep loyalty to his friends and his pack with the fear that his untamed nature could spiral out of control. His internal conflict drives him to seclude himself, never allowing others to see the beast within.

Tension with Yuu: Jack’s unwavering loyalty to his “pack” makes him a dedicated protector, but he is haunted by the idea that his wild instincts—embodied in his wolf form and his protective nature—could one day turn destructive. As tensions rise at NRC and the gods begin to lose their grip, Jack starts to fear that his primal side will overwhelm him, making him a danger to those he cares about. His strict adherence to routine and discipline is his way of suppressing this inner turmoil. He admires Leona’s perseverance in resisting his own divine nature, seeing him as someone who can keep their emotions and instincts in check. However, Jack’s greatest fear is that, like Callisto, he will lose himself to the wildness inside him, and in doing so, hurt the ones he loves.

Yuu, who is still unraveling their own divine heritage (at this point unaware of their true connection), enters Jack’s life, offering a perspective that challenges his approach to balance. Through Yuu’s journey, Jack comes to realize that balance doesn’t mean suppressing emotions or instincts. It means learning to control them—not through strict repression, but by accepting and understanding them. Yuu’s ability to navigate their own lack of divine power and still find inner strength helps Jack see that embracing his full self is the path toward true control, not just suppressing parts of who he is.

Resolution: In the end, Jack learns to accept both his wolf-like nature and his human side, realizing that true strength comes from understanding and embracing all parts of himself. He doesn’t have to sacrifice his loyalty and protectiveness in order to control his instincts—he can protect others while also honoring his own emotions and needs. His relationship with Yuu helps him realize that it’s okay to be vulnerable and that loyalty doesn’t mean losing yourself in the process of protecting others. Jack’s admiration for Leona’s way of life is challenged, but through his growth, he learns that one must value oneself in order to truly understand and value others. His path becomes one of integration—recognizing that the fierce, loyal protector and the strategic, wise leader within him can coexist harmoniously.

[vhaenaera]

A wedding of Fire & Blood

The Great Hall of Dragonstone was draped in crimson and black, its high walls shimmering with the light of braziers and candelabras. The rich scent of incense mingled with the salt of the sea, battering the ancient stone, setting the stage for a ceremony steeped in tradition and foreboding destiny.

In keeping with ancient Valyrian custom, Queen Visenya had united her children in wedlock to secure the legacy of Maegor even without the acknowledgment of the King who remained in Kings Landing, unknowing to this event. The union was sealed when the first drop of the princess’s blood was shed beneath a rising blood moon—a fateful night when destiny was writ in scarlet and gold. Without heed for her own will, Vhaena was arrayed in the regal finery of her forebears: ceremonial robes of deep scarlets and rich creams trimmed with gold thread, her silver hair intricately braided and interwoven with pearls and gold ringlets, her neck heavy from both duty and the gold around it. Though her violet eyes were cast downward in reluctant deference, her presence at the altar marked the beginning of an unyielding bond. Her brother-groom, the young Prince Maegor—ten years of age and two years her junior—stood with a resolve far beyond his tender years, his posture proud and his spirit unbending, for he knew his duty.

At the centre of the hall, Vhaena’s delicate form shone against the deep hues of the chamber, every detail of her appearance echoing the weight of expectation. Nearby, Visenya Targaryen, tall and commanding in a gown as dark as midnight and an armour-like bodice that spoke of her unyielding authority, watched over the proceedings. In one hand she held the ancestral Valyrian steel sword, Dark Sister, keeping it standing beneath her hand as if it were an extension of her will. Her chin held high as she watched the event, her eyes stern and assuring no objection nor mishaps to disturb the wedding.

The ceremony began in earnest as Visenya took role of priest, intoning ancient words. The incantation—“Father flame, mother mountain. We are the blood of the dragon”—resounded through the hall in High Valyrian, binding the fates of those gathered.

Vhaena’s fingers trembled as she accepted the ceremonial blade from Visenya. With a hesitant glance toward her mother’s stern nod, she stepped toward her brother at the altar. There, the ritual demanded a sacrifice of blood—a slit across the palm. As the blade’s tip met Maegor’s skin, his slight wince was swallowed by the unyielding determination in his violet eyes. In a mirrored act, he extended the blade towards her, and with a quiet resolve, Vhaena pressed forward with both blood and tears pricking from her, allowing the crimson droplets to mingle, sealing their bond.

Queen Visenya stepped between them, raising their joined, bloodstained hands high. “Jorrāelagon ēzi ossēnagon,” she proclaimed—“Let their blood be bound as one.” With that, a strand of obsidian ribbon—threaded with hues of gold and red—was wrapped tightly around their clasped hands, a knot of fate that would never be undone and soaked with their blood.

As the final vows were whispered in soft High Valyrian, the hall erupted with chants of “Zaldrīzes buzdari iksos daor”—a declaration that a dragon was not a slave. Vhaena lowered her head, her cheeks burning with the weight of both duty and reluctant submission, while Maegor’s gaze, assessing yet unyielding, bore into hers.

Visenya nodded, her expression severe yet satisfied. Placing a commanding hand on each of her children’s shoulders, she intoned, “The blood of the dragon is pure. And so it shall remain.” In that solemn moment, amidst the flickering light and the echo of ancient words, the bond forged by custom and sealed in blood affirmed a legacy as enduring and fierce as the dragon’s flame.

Vhaena’s thoughts roiled like the waves battering the cliffs beyond, a tempest of dread and guilt consuming her. She could not help but wonder how her father and Aenys would receive the news of her wedding—nor could she quell the fear of the looks that would cross their faces when they did.

—

P.S. if my high Valyrian is wrong, please lmk!

[celestemona]

DEEP WATERS

pairing: alhaitham x mermaid! reader

in the stillness of tides, alhaitham unearths a mystery long believed to be legend—a mermaid ensnared, with eyes as deep as the ocean and secrets buried in every wave. drawn by fate and enchanted by her silent song, he finds himself caught between myth and reality. in his quest to understand her world, he risks losing his own heart to the uncharted depths.

cw: part i of ii. fem reader, pronouns s/her are mentioned tho it was written in 2nd person. fluff, fluff. female body specifications; long hair! reader, nudity, slight language barrier’ struggles, characters may seem ooc. shoutout to alhaitham for name you. 15.5k words sue me. not proof-read.

reblogs and comments are appreciated ♡

Alhaitham’s day began like any other, filled with the structured predictability he deemed essential.

As Akademiya’s scribe, he was used to working methodically on his tasks, knowing exactly what was needed and never exceeding those limits. Efficiency was a virtue he held in high regard, after all.

But today, at the request of Lesser Lord Kusanali herself, he was dispatched to Port Ormos to investigate some potential concerns involving certain texts arriving from the neighboring nation. A diplomatic matter with Chenyu Vale, she had suggested, that required someone well-versed in logic and languages—a task he could accomplish quickly and with minimal interruption to his personal duties.

Now, as he stood on the outskirts of Port Ormos with his task nearly complete, Alhaitham surveyed the bustling dock.

While Port Ormos often seemed chaotic to him, he couldn’t deny the appeal of watching the ebb and flow of commerce, of lives interwoven in casual exchanges and swift negotiations. But just as he prepared to leave, his attention was drawn to a quieter stretch of the coast, an isolated, rarely visited area far from the main docks. This was usually his kind of place: quiet and solitary.

However, today, the silence was broken by something… peculiar. It wasn’t the rhythmic murmur of the waves or the occasional seagulls that caught his attention, but an odd, strained sound. It was faint but persistent—a low occasional growl mixed with something he couldn’t immediately identify.

Curiosity piqued, Alhaitham allowed his gaze to scan the sandy stretch. There was no one else in sight; no sailors, no matras. This area seemed entirely deserted, only adding to the mystery. 

He approached cautiously, his trained eyes alert with every movement. Then, amidst the scattered shells and seaweed, he saw it: a glimpse of something familiar yet entirely strange.

A tail. Long, dark, and unmistakably fish-like, though far more mesmerizing in its iridescent palette and certainly larger than any common marine animal. Its dark blue with a touch of gray caught the light and shimmered with shifting hues as the waves lapped gently over it.

Alhaitham’s breath hitched as his gaze traveled from the fish tail to its source, finally landing on the figure trapped in a tangled mess of fishing net.

This was no ordinary sea creature. No. It was a mermaid.

For a man who prided himself on his calm and logical demeanor, Alhaitham felt an undeniable wave of disbelief and fascination wash over him.

Mermaids were, at best, myths—Fontaine tales told in taverns and old children’s books. In his days as a student, he had skimmed the sparse historical mentions of mermaids, intrigued by their academic mystery, though ultimately dismissing them as baseless stories. Historians had little to offer about them—no language to decipher, no artifacts to study. It was all speculative, fantasy stories wrapped in the very mystique of the sea. And now, here you were, a very real mermaid right before him.

Your form was incredibly otherworldly, almost surreal in its beauty. Long hair clung to your shoulders and breasts, darkened by the water and tangled with delicate, glistening pearls, while the scales on your arms and ribs caught the faint light. But it was your face, contorted with a mixture of fear and frustration, that held him in place. Your sharp eyes, almost snake-like, blinked warily as you noticed his approach, and a low growl escaped your throat, an instinctive warning.

Alhaitham took a deep breath, grounding himself in reality. This creature—no, this mermaid—wasn’t just a legend he could dismiss. You were tangible, vulnerable, and caught in a trap you clearly couldn’t escape from.

Kneeling out of your reach, he chose his movements with calculated care. “Easy there,” he murmured, his tone neutral yet soft, more for his own benefit than yours. He doubted you’d understand, but it was instinctive to try and soothe you. He slowly extended a hand, palm open, hoping you could see he meant no harm.

Your sharp gaze tracked his every movement, a soft, cautious hiss slipping from your lips. You moved your tail against the net, trying once again to free yourself, but the more you struggled, the tighter the net seemed to trap you. Alhaitham’s gaze dropped to your bare torso, noticing the faint shimmer of scales marred by bruises, likely from your attempts to break free.

He looked back at you, meeting your wary, defiant gaze. Your intelligence was unmistakable—in your eyes, he could see a spark of recognition and caution. You knew he was a threat, but also, perhaps, your only chance.

“Alright,” he said, as if reasoning with a wild creature, and began to move carefully toward the edge of the net. You tensed, the sharp gleam of your canines visible as you bared your teeth in warning. Alhaitham paused, feeling a mix of danger and a strange empathy.

“Relax,” he said softly, ensuring his gestures were as non-threatening as possible. You continued to watch him, your expression still wary but curious. Up close, he could see your long, sharp nails, the delicate, translucent membranes between your fingers and the subtle rise and fall of your gills as you breathed shallowly and anxiously. Your beauty was undeniable but in a way that felt unreal, beyond anything he had ever encountered.

Alhaitham slowly reached for the knife at his belt, the blade glinting in the faint light. Your eyes narrowed, a low, almost inaudible growl escaping as you observed him. “I’m here to help,” he assured, keeping his tone calm, as if you could understand his intent through his voice alone.

As he brought the blade closer to the tangled net, your body went rigid, muscles tensing as if ready to spring—or strike. Your gaze locked onto his, every line of your body taut, your breathing shallow and rapid. For a brief moment, he paused, meeting your gaze with a nod of understanding, as if to say: Trust me, just for now.

With practiced ease, he cut a few threads, loosening the net just enough to give you some room. You flinched, your tail contracting involuntarily, but you didn’t pull away, allowing him to continue his work. He cut it carefully, each movement deliberate, keeping his own breathing steady as he watched your response.

He couldn’t help but wonder at the absurdity of it all. Here he was, the notorious and logical Scribe of the Akademiya, performing a rescue for something—or someone—he once dismissed as pure fantasy. The tales he had brushed aside as stories seemed to dissolve before this living being. Yet his mind continued to spin with questions he couldn’t suppress: How did you end up here, trapped in this net? And what would become of you now?

As he cut the last thread, he noticed your injured tail more clearly, a long red line seeping through the translucent scales. A frown crossed his face as he sheathed the knife, feeling the faintest pang of concern.

“You’re hurt,” he said quietly, not knowing if you would understand him. You shifted slightly, flexing your tail as if testing your freedom, your expression cautious but no longer as frantic. Your eyes met his again, and for a moment, something like gratitude flashed in your gaze—fleeting, almost imperceptible, but there.

He couldn’t help but smile slightly, feeling a pull of fascination, his mind instinctively cataloging every feature, every movement. 

Yet Alhaitham’s thoughts clicked into the details of the situation with calculated precision.

He observed the desolate stretch of beach where he found you, far removed from the main port and any regular fishing route. This area was more of a neglected backwater than a place frequented by locals, let alone fishermen. He was certain you hadn’t been captured here intentionally; instead, you must have ventured here alone, in danger or by mistake, only to be caught by the tangled mess of nets, possibly abandoned by a passing fishing boat.

He looked back at you, his analytical gaze softening slightly. Faced with this new reality, you bore little resemblance to the wild, monstrous figures folklore sometimes suggested. You were undeniably alive, aware, and your beauty, strange and striking, had an almost hypnotic quality.

But despite his attempts at rational analysis, concern rooted itself as he examined your injuries.

The wound on your tail continued bleeding slowly, deep crimson droplets blending into the sea water. He didn’t know how long you had been trapped, but the blood loss, however gradual, could spell trouble if left untreated. There was also the issue of eremites and mercenaries who roamed the outskirts of Port Ormos, not to mention treasure hunters and opportunists. You’d be a prize beyond imagination for many of them if they found you in this weakened state…

The weight of your expectant gaze held him in the moment, your snake-like eyes gleaming with suspicion and interest. You watched him closely, trying to understand him as he studied you. He could see in the slight press of your lips, as if bracing to hiss or growl, ready to flee if needed. But he also noticed that, even in your obvious wariness, there was a glimmer of something more—a reluctant trust, perhaps, that he wasn’t here to harm you.

He took a careful step forward, his voice calm. “Can you understand me?” he asked, each word slow and deliberate. 

Silence, save for the rhythmic lap of waves against the shore.

Opting to approach you through another means, Alhaitham raised a hand to his chest, fingertips gently pressing over his heart. He met your eyes, holding your gaze firmly, and said, “Alhaitham,” keeping his voice low, repeating the name once more, “Al-Haitham,” drawing each syllable with deliberate clarity.

You head tilted cutely, eyes blinking expressively. You watched his gesture, your gaze lingering on the hand over his heart, as if trying to decipher the meaning in his movements and tone. He could see your intrigue, the silent intelligence behind your eyes suggesting that, though there was no response, his words had not entirely gone unnoticed.

Satisfied to have given you something to hold onto, Alhaitham took a deep breath to calm himself.

Internally, the scribe wrestled with a series of difficult choices. Returning you to the sea seemed the most logical path, but there was no certainty that you’d survive the injuries. And considering the bystanders lingering in the area, leaving you there could be even more risky. On the other hand, bringing you to his own home was… complicated. The logistics alone were challenging. He lived a fair distance from Port Ormos—nearly half an hour by walking—and carrying you the entire way risked exposure for both you and himself.

As he turned these options over in his mind, you shifted slightly, a barely audible groan revealing you discomfort. The sight stirred an unexpected protectiveness within him. Practicality aside, leaving you in that state wasn’t an option he could consider.

He crouched beside you once again, his expression softening when he met your gaze. “It seems you’ve left me with little choice,” he murmured, half to himself. “I’ll have to find a way to take you with me.”

You blinked, your gaze never leaving him.

When he extended his hand toward you, you immediately stiffened and hissed aggressively, your body tensing as if bracing for what might come next. Alhaitham kept his movements slow and deliberate, waiting until the tension in your shoulders eased enough. When he placed a careful hand beneath you, your damp skin was smooth, cool to the touch, and your scales gleamed slightly even in the last traces of sunlight. Your breathing steadied, though he could still feel your persistent nerves.

He thought for a moment, gauging your weight, and realized it’d be challenging to carry you all the way to his home without attracting attention. He glanced back at the main harbor, then at you, pondering an alternative solution.

Then his eyes landed on an old wooden cart leaning against the weathered side of a nearby storage shed. The cart was small, probably used to transport boxes of fish or bags of supplies from the coast, with thick wheels designed to handle rough paths. Judging by the nets and equipment scattered around it, it likely belonged to a fisherman or trader who had left it unattended for the day.

With a hint of reluctance, Alhaitham assessed the cart and the possible risks of borrowing it. But practicality won out; the cart was discreet and functional, a solution he couldn’t ignore.

Carefully, he carried you toward the cart, moving at a steady, unhurried pace to keep your calm. You were clearly frightened, your body tensing slightly as he approached the cart, but your eyes remained focused on him, not on the unfamiliar contraption.

“It’s the best I can do for now,” he murmured, his tone gentler, as he placed a soft cloth he had found along the cart’s surface, creating a makeshift cushion over the rough wood.

Slowly, he guided you to sit, your injured tail carefully positioned on the padding. Your eyes darted between him and the cart, a flicker of nervousness visible in the way your fingers clenched and relaxed, but you stayed still, watching him intently as he adjusted the cloth around you.

Once he was certain you were settled, he grasped the iron handle of the cart and began to pull, setting a careful yet steady rhythm. The journey ahead was longer than he had anticipated, and he kept his attention on the road, his mind flooded with questions he couldn’t yet answer.

As you both traced the more secluded paths back to his home, Alhaitham found himself glancing over his shoulder at you, curiosity mingling with a cautious sense of awe. The sound of the cart’s wheels rolling over the uneven path filled the silence between you two, a strangely rhythmic backdrop for his swirling thoughts.

This encounter was unlike anything he had ever experienced. He had encountered beings as mythical as they were magical during his studies, but mermaids—real mermaids—had always been a subject wrapped in mystery and skepticism. And now here he was, with a living, breathing mystery being carried by him in an old, borrowed cart, with questions he could hardly begin to ask.

As he neared home, Alhaitham’s thoughts began to drift toward Kaveh, his housemate. The scribe knew he had the right to bring anyone he wanted into his own home, yet he couldn’t entirely ignore the small tug of doubt about what the architect might think of this stranger among them—especially given the undeniable peculiarity of the situation.

When they finally arrived, Alhaitham noticed an unusual stillness in the cart.

Looking back, he was startled to find you breathing heavily, your chest rising and falling with visible effort. Your eyelids fluttered, your gaze unfocused and barely registering your surroundings. He had assumed you were silent due to simple exhaustion, but now he could see your strength waning; the wound on your tail was no longer bleeding heavily, but your skin had lost its previous luster, becoming dull and slightly pale.

He realized, with a start, that you had likely been out of the water for too long, your injuries worsening your condition. Without a second thought, he lifted you into his arms, your weight shifting in his hold as he carefully cradled you against his chest. Your skin was colder than he had expected, and you barely reacted, your head drooping slightly to one side as he carried you through the entrance.

The house was quiet, he noticed. Kaveh was probably finishing a project or relaxing at the local tavern. In a way, it was a relief; Alhaitham didn’t want to face questions yet, not when every minute counted. Quickly, he headed to his suite, knowing the bathroom there would be the best place to stabilize you.

Reaching the bathroom, the scribe laid you on the floor, leaning you against the wall while he turned on the bathtub’s faucet. The water splashed and rose in the tub, filling the room with a soft, familiar sound, and he carefully tested the temperature, ensuring it was comfortable for you.

Once the tub was full, he returned to your side, sliding his arms around you to lift you again, and gently submerged you in the water.

The effect was almost immediate. The tension in your shoulders began to ease, your body relaxing as you adjusted to the gentle embrace of the water. Your tail submerged partially, the scales faintly shimmering as your breathing began to steady. You blinked slowly, your eyes finally regaining some clarity, and your gaze turned to him once more.

Alhaitham found himself watching you, captivated. The way you moved in the water was like observing a creature in its natural element; you were graceful, serene, each of your movements fluid and instinctive, even in such a small space. For a moment, you seemed almost at peace, adjusting to your new environment with a slight sense of wonder.

After a while, Alhaitham sat on a stool nearby, examining the wound on your tail with a more clinical gaze. The cut looked deeper up close, irregular and red along the edges, likely worsened by your struggle against the net.

Carefully, he extended his hand toward it, intending to assess the damage — but at the first touch, you recoiled, a soft yet distinct growl rumbling in your throat. Your eyes locked onto his hand, narrowing in a sharp warning.

“Easy,” he said softly, his voice measured and calm. “I just want to help.”

You held his gaze, still defensive, your eyes distrustful and unyielding.

Alhaitham considered his options, realizing he needed to show you his intentions. Slowly, he rolled up his sleeve, exposing a small area of his forearm. Using a small, sterilized knife from the medical kit he kept nearby, he made a small cut. Without breaking eye contact, he took a roll of bandages and tended to the wound, pressing a small cloth to it to stop the bleeding, then securing it with careful precision.

You watched intently, your sharp eyes following every movement as he applied the bandage and finished his demonstration. He extended his hand, showing you the process was harmless, then gestured toward your injured tail with a look of gentle insistence.

Your gaze shifted from the bandaged arm to his face, and then, slowly, you relented, your tail moving toward him in a tentative gesture of trust.

Alhaitham excused and his fingers moved over the surface of your tail, the scales cool and smooth under his touch, a strange blend of softness and strength. He found himself fascinated by the texture, each scale catching faint glimmers of color as he carefully cleaned the wound and applied a thin layer of antiseptic balm.

Your reaction was hesitant, but you didn’t resist, your gaze fixed on him with a mix of attentiveness and intrigue. Alhaitham was silent, focusing on his task, though he couldn’t shake the strange sensation of examining something so mythical, so utterly otherworldly.

When he finished, he moved back a bit, giving you space to adjust and settle into the bathtub.

For a moment, the room fell silent, and Alhaitham realized you were likely hungry. Recalling his pantry, he remembered there were some canned fish—a simple, if humble, option. He rose, nodding apologetically before heading to the kitchen.

There, he grabbed the can and opened it, the salty, familiar scent wafting into the air. When he returned, you watched him with expectant eyes, your curiosity rekindled. He sat beside the tub again and offered the food, waiting to see how you would react. At first, you wrinkled your nose, suspicion shining in your gaze, but after a moment, you carefully took a piece, chewing it timidly.

It was as if a switch had been flipped. You devoured the rest with surprising intensity, your hunger evident as you finished the fish with quick, eager bites. When you looked back at him, pupils dilated and gleaming, your expression softened into something almost sweet. The unguarded look, the silent request in your face, caught him off guard—you wanted more.

A slight smile played on his lips, amused by your sudden change. Without saying a word, he grabbed another can, opened it, and offered it to you. You accepted it with the same voracious energy, and he found himself even more captivated, watching you eat with a fascination that was part analytical, part genuine curiosity, a faint hint of acceptance surfacing.

“So that’s all it takes to earn your trust, huh? Just a bit of food,” he remarked, his voice carrying a tone of entertainment as he straightened on the stool, arms crossed. His eyes gleamed with rare humor, the softened edge that few had ever seen. When he chuckled, you looked up, momentarily intrigued by the sound.

But that lightness faded as his mind returned to the current situation, his brow furrowing in quiet thought.

Alhaitham couldn’t help but feel unsettled by the scene of this creature from myth, an enigma he could barely believe was real, now looking at him from his bathtub. And he, a man usually content with the solitude of his own space, was now bound to share it with you, a mystery he found himself inevitably drawn to.

He took a deep breath and leaned toward you, his fingers interlacing.

“Where did you come from, huh?” he asked, his voice softer this time, as if coaxing an answer. “How did you end up here in Sumeru of all places?”

Each question felt like a whisper, a thread he was following in search of answers he wasn’t sure you even had.

His gaze lingered on your face, his eyes softened as he searched for some hint of recognition, something that would give him insight into the untold story you carried. But you only tilted your head, watching him with those beautiful, sharp, and intrigued eyes, and he sighed, recognizing that these questions might not yield anything for now.

With a contemplative look, he continued, more to himself now, “I don’t know how long you’ll be staying here, but…” His gaze drifted to the edge of the tub. “We’ll need to get past this language barrier,” he said, watching you carefully, noticing how you seemed to respond, if not to his words, then at least to his tone. You might not have spoken yet, but he had a strong suspicion you understood more than he initially thought.

He straightened up again, arms crossed over his chest, already planning his next steps. “Teaching you some basics should be manageable,” he mused. “You seem smart. I’ll start with simple words. Maybe that’ll give us some common ground.”

His thoughts briefly wandered to the Akademiya’s library. The House of Daena held numerous books and journals, fragments of knowledge, notes from scholars who had studied all sorts of myths. Perhaps there was something in those pages that could hold the answers he needed. He’d make a point to return there tomorrow.

Lost in thought, he murmured, “I can’t keep you in the tub forever, either. We’ll have to address that eventually.” His voice trailed off as he considered the situation more practically. For now, the tub would suffice, but it was far from a long-term solution.

You followed his every movement, though it was clear your interest was more in your surroundings than in him.

Occasionally, your gaze would drift from the dim candlelight to the strange objects decorating the bathroom, absorbing each detail of this world that was foreign to you. Alhaitham found himself staring at you, surprised at how naturally you seemed to fit into the space—a strange contrast considering you were a creature of the water, yet here you were, curious and present in the heart of his world.

Moments passed in silence, both lost in separate thoughts—Alhaitham weighing his options.

Some time later, he noticed the way your eyes began to close, your body finally giving in to the day’s exhaustion. You leaned against the edge of the tub, breathing softly, eyelids heavy. A faint, almost affectionate smile crossed his lips as he murmured, “A long day, no doubt.”

With a low chuckle, he straightened, adjusting the dim lighting to give you peace. “Goodnight,” he said softly, letting the silence of the bathroom settle over you as he returned to his suite.

Once in his room, he shed the day’s fatigue along with his usual attire, slipping into more comfortable clothing. Yet even as he tried to shift his focus, his thoughts returned to you. The mystery of who you were, what you were, haunted him in the most unexpected ways. Every answer led to another question, but that wasn’t the unsettling part. No—it was the quiet fascination you stirred within him, a desire to unravel that he never had felt before.

Heading to the kitchen, he prepared a quick meal for himself. He served a simple broth, letting it simmer as he went over the potential tasks for tomorrow.

Pay a visit to the Akademiya’ library was a must, he concluded. Perhaps he could find some records that might offer insights into mermaid lore.

But there was more to consider—how would he navigate the practicalities of living alongside you? How’d Kaveh react to your existence? The solution to the language barrier seemed a smart move, but could you communicate in the same way humans did? The thoughts accumulated, persisting as he carried his food back to his chair.

Settling in with a book about the different cultures of the desert tribes, Alhaitham tried to immerse himself in its pages, though his eyes drifted now and then toward his suite door. There was a strange sense of responsibility he couldn’t ignore.

When he had read as much as his mind would allow for the night, he got up, walking quietly to the bathroom to check on you one last time.

You were there. You were real.

The faintest trace of a smile crossed his face as he saw you sleeping, your body half-submerged in the water, your tail draped over the side of the tub. The room fell into a gentle silence, the soft rhythm of your breathing the only sound.

He lingered there for a moment longer than necessary, his mind reluctantly calming as he absorbed the peace of the moment. Finally, he closed the door and turned, heading back to his room.

After finishing his nightly routines somewhere else, Alhaitham lay in bed, his thoughts wavering between the strange events of the day and the mysteries tomorrow would bring. But tonight, he allowed himself a rare luxury: to set aside the unknown, choosing instead to let the calm of the moment settle over him.

With one last lingering thought of you, he let sleep claim him, already aware that his life had changed, subtly but irrevocably, the moment he found you.

When the first rays of dawn slipped into the room, Alhaitham woke, his mind returning to the surreal events of the previous day. 

For a brief moment, he wondered if it had all been a trick of his tired mind, but the memory of your cautious yet inquisitive gaze quickly dismissed the notion. Getting up, he adjusted his clothes and headed to the bathroom, his mind already reflecting on the day’s responsibilities—and the unique situation of having a mermaid as an unexpected guest.

Opening the bathroom door, he was greeted by the sight of you already awake, fingers trailing through the water with a kind of childlike curiosity. As soon as you sensed his presence, you lifted your head, and he was met with what could only be described as a warm, welcoming look. Your sharp, reflective eyes held a glimmer of trust, hesitant but undeniably there, as if his arrival was something to be anticipated rather than feared. 

Alhaitham felt a small smile tug at his lips as he observed your response, taking it as a sign that you were becoming accustomed to him.

“Good morning,” he greeted, his voice softened by the quietness of the early hour.

The words seemed to capture your attention even more closely, though he knew the meaning might be lost on you. Still, he kept his tone gentle, observing the way you seemed to listen, almost as if searching for something familiar in his voice. “I see you’re feeling at home,” there was a hint of amusement in his tone, his eyes flicking to the water you were swirling with your fingers.

Turning to the sink, he splashed water on his face and grabbed his toothbrush, methodically following the movements of his morning routine. He was aware of your gaze, fixed on each motion, following the toothbrush in his hand as he brought it to his mouth. Pausing, he looked at you, the faintest smile curving his lips as he leaned back against the sink.

“Curious now, aren’t we? It’s a toothbrush. We use it to… well, keep our teeth clean,” he explained, though he had no real expectation that you’d understand. Nevertheless, there was something strangely satisfying about sharing these little details with you, as if guiding you through the peculiarities of human life.

You watched him closely, your eyes darting between the toothbrush, the sink, and the running water. The slight confusion on your face was so genuine, so openly curious, that he found himself chuckling quietly. “I suppose none of this makes sense to you. But we humans have our habits.”

When he finished, Alhaitham straightened, casting one last look in your direction before heading to the door. “I’ll bring you some breakfast,” he said, as much out of habit as anything else, already noting the slight inquisitive tilt of your head. He lingered a moment longer than necessary, almost reluctant to leave the room, before finally heading to the kitchen to prepare for the day.

Entering the kitchen, he found Kaveh already there, hunched over a cup of coffee with a look that bordered on pure misery. The dark circles under his eyes and his slow, almost agonizing sips of coffee told Alhaitham everything he needed to know.

“Rough night?” Alhaitham’s tone was clearly teasing, though he made little effort to hide his mild disapproval. Kaveh didn’t even bother looking up, merely muttering something unintelligible as he stared at his mug.

“Don’t start,” the other man grumbled, his voice thick with exhaustion. “It’s too early for your lectures.”

Alhaitham’s lips twitched in mockery, barely hiding an ironic smile. “Lectures? Hardly. Just an observation. Maybe a bit of moderation would do you good.”

Kaveh scoffed, waving his hand dismissively. “Moderation isn’t exactly your strong suit either, judging by the amount of research papers scattered around.” He drained his coffee, muttering something about Alhaitham’s inability to keep the house organized and stumbled toward his room, the door closing with a weary thud behind him.

Shaking his head, Alhaitham turned his attention to the fridge, rummaging through its contents with a quiet purpose. He picked a selection of food he hoped might appeal to you—some leftover shrimp, dried fish, and a few other options he thought might please a creature of the sea.

Returning to you, he noticed how your gaze instantly brightened at the sight of the food he held. A barely concealed smile crossed his face as he watched your eager expression, the way you leaned forward slightly, anticipation evident in your wide eyes.

“I see I’ve already discovered the key to earning your trust,” he commented with a soft chuckle, placing the food beside the tub. “A little food, and suddenly I’m not so intimidating.”

Sitting on the stool near the tub, he watched you as you picked up the shrimp, a glimmer of wonder followed by the same fervor with which you had devoured last night’s meal. The moment you tasted it, your expression shifted to one of contentment, and he couldn’t help but be amused by how expressive you were.

“Listen,” he began in a conversational tone, though he knew the full implications were likely lost on you, “I’ll need to be away for a while,” he paused, as if weighing his words. “However, in the meantime, I’ll also check if there’s anything that might be useful for understanding your situation.”

You looked up briefly, eyes attentive, and Alhaitham felt a spark of satisfaction at your apparent focus. It was as if, despite the language barrier, some part of you had grasped the importance of his words.

He continued, a thoughtful tone in his voice, “Besides, I can’t leave you in the bathtub indefinitely, so I’ll work on a more appropriate solution. I’d like to have it back, after all,” he paused, almost speaking to himself, “Then, there’s Kaveh too who I should approach the current subject but I can deal with him later. The most important now is figure out how we’re gonna work on building your vocabulary. Just enough so we can understand each other.”

The statement lingered in the air, half a plan and half a promise.

Alhaitham realized he was already thinking about putting his plans in action, wondering if he might start teaching you simple words and phrases as soon as possible. His fingers tapped absently on his knee as he considered the logistics, the potential challenges—and rewards—of bridging that language gap.

From time to time, your gaze fell on him, as if assessing his intentions, though it didn’t take long before your focus shifted again, captivated by something else now that sunlight bright your surroundings. He marveled at your ability to find fascination in the simplest things, and for a brief moment, he felt a strange pang of something he couldn’t quite identify—a bubbling discomfort in his stomach, almost unsettling.

The silence became comfortable, broken only by the occasional soft sound of the water and  you eating.

Alhaitham’s gaze drifted to the soft morning light stretching across the bathroom floor, and he suddenly realized he’d lost track of time.

A sigh escaped him as he finally rose from his seat. “Looks like that’s my cue.”

Your gaze followed him, an imperceptible questioning look in your eyes that made him chuckle softly. “What?” he said, his voice gentler. “I may not understand where you came from, but I’ll make sure you’re comfortable here.”

With one last look, he left the room to gather his things and prepare for work.

As he adjusted his attire, his thoughts returned to the moments you’d spent observing him—a feeling that lingered, even as he headed to the kitchen for a quick cup of coffee.

Before leaving, he returned to check on you one last time and considered whether or not to lock the bedroom door. He doubted you’d drag yourself around the house and was sure Kaveh wouldn’t intrude on his privacy. So, he only closed the door and make his way to the exit.

He cast one last look behind him before leaving his home and heading toward the Akademiya.

At his work, Alhaitham went through the day with practiced ease. 

The tasks before him were routine; his hands swiftly leafed through documents, marking necessary corrections and assessing reports without losing pace. Occasionally, a colleague would pass by with a nod or a brief greeting, which he returned in his usual, calm manner, though his thoughts kept drifting back to you. He found himself wondering how you were doing, alone and adjusting to the strange, new world of his home.

During lunch, he took a detour to the House of Daena.

The familiar shelves surrounded him, but he was focused, his eyes scanning the spines of books and journals, all marked with references to the ancient legends and myths of Teyvat. Thanks to his access to restricted areas, he pored over some of the oldest and rarest manuscripts, hoping to glean at least a trace of knowledge about mermaids.

Most entries were vague at best—poetic reflections, scattered notes from long-dead historians, and tales from Fontaine that seemed like fables. However, he gathered hints that mermaids, if they existed, were mysterious beings known for their enchantments and charm over men, with powers beyond human understanding. Intriguing, though frustratingly incomplete.

As the sun began to set, Alhaitham finally left the office. 

On his way home, he stopped by a nearby fishmonger’s stall. Fresh seafood was piled high—crabs, shrimp, mussels. Selecting a variety, he figured you would enjoy the options. Just as he was reaching for his mora pouch, he spotted Kaveh rushing toward him from across the plaza, his usually composed friend looking distinctly out of sorts.

“Alhaitham!” Kaveh’s voice was breathless, incredulous, as he skidded to a halt beside him. “You—you need to go home. Right now!”

The scribe raised an eyebrow. “Good to see you too. But if you notice, I’m a bit busy at the moment.”

“No, no, you don’t understand,” Kaveh said, nervously running a hand through his hair. “There’s—there’s a naked woman in our kitchen!”

Both Alhaitham and the vendor froze, the scribe’s mind, thouggh, racing a mile a minute. Kaveh looked genuinely shaken, his cheeks flushed, eyes wide with a mix of panic and disbelief.

“A woman…?” Alhaitham repeated, the words slipping out as he tried to process what his friend had said.

“Yes! A very naked woman! In our kitchen!” Kaveh’s voice dropped to a hiss. “She’s just—she’s in there, rummaging through the food like she owns the place!”

The realization hit Alhaitham like a shock, his pulse quickening. He barely acknowledged the merchant’s chocked stare as he turned, leaving his purchases behind as he quickly made his way home. Kaveh struggled to keep up, throwing his hands in the air.

“Alhaitham, what’s going on? Do you know something? I should’ve known I wasn’t imagining things when I heard voices coming from your room this morning. Since when do you bring women home without even giving me a heads-up? And—she’s stunning! But who—what—?”

Alhaitham didn’t respond. His mind was a whirlwind of questions, scenarios, and a strange, unexpected excitement tinged with worry. He’d hoped you’d stay in the bathtub—not creating legs and wandering around defenseless.

Kaveh was still talking, ranting in exasperation, but Alhaitham only caught fragments.

“Just… be quiet for a moment,” he muttered, eyes fixed on the path as his pace quickened.

Upon arriving home, he opened the door cautiously, Kaveh practically breathing down his neck. Heading toward the kitchen, he felt a palpable tension. And then he saw you.

You were in the center of it, bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun streaming through the windows. Your human form was… breathtaking. The long, now-dry locks of your hair cascaded over your shoulders, reaching your waist, framing your face with an ethereal quality that somehow amplified your beauty tenfold. Your features—sharp yet soft, and your eyes, still carrying that same hint of mystery and allure—caught the light, leaving him speechless.

Your skin seemed to glow, luminous in a way that appeared almost otherworldly. And you were indeed very, very naked.

His gaze remained, caught between awe and sheer disbelief. You were in his kitchen, the same creature he had found tangled in the fishing net, and yet, looking at you now, he couldn’t help but feel utterly captivated.

Kaveh stammered beside him, his face bright red as he averted his gaze. “Alhaitham, seriously! Are you going to explain this or just keep staring?”

Snapping out of his trance, Alhaitham cleared his throat, masking his surprise with a carefully neutral expression. He stepped forward, catching your attention. “You… You’re human now,” he murmured, almost to himself, the amazement still lingering in his voice.

You looked up, meeting his gaze with a glint of recognition and curiosity. In that moment, Alhaitham felt a faint trace of familiarity in your eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the bond that had formed between you.

Then, to his surprise, you opened your mouth, and a single soft word escaped.

“‘Haitham.”

Alhaitham’s eyes widened. His name—or a version of it—spoken in your voice for the first time.

A strange warmth spread through him as he heard it, his own name seeming to carry an unexpected weight, as if imbued with the raw honesty of a first word. He barely had time to process it before you stepped closer and gently pulled his face toward yours, brushing the tip of your nose against his.

Kaveh let out an audible gasp beside him, his face flooding with color as he stumbled back, practically tripping over his own feet. “Archons above! What is happening to the world?” His voice was nearly a squeak as he pressed himself against the far wall, looking like he might faint from the shock.

Alhaitham, though not someone easily perturbed, found himself momentarily frozen, his pulse quickening as he processed your action. He had read about mermaid customs, albeit only briefly in fragmented records, but it occurred to him that this gesture might mean something— perhaps a greeting, a way of recognizing trust and acceptance.

With that realization, his surprise softened into something closer to warmth. The gesture felt innocent, sincere. Alhaitham’s lips curved upward, and his eyes softened as he met yours. “So, that’s how you say ‘hello,’” he murmured, his voice low, as if not wanting to break the moment.

You tilted your head, amusement gleaming in your gaze for the first time, as if you could somehow sense his thoughts. Meanwhile, Kaveh, still pressed against the wall, looked on with equal parts horror and disbelief.

“Oh, I’m going to lose my mind,” he muttered, covering his eyes as if to give the two of you some privacy. “Alhaitham, please tell me you have some kind of explanation for this—this whole situation.”

Ignoring the other man’s confused state, Alhaitham took a step back. “You surprised me,” he said, his voice softened, warmth in his tone. “I wasn’t expecting this. I wasn’t even sure if you could take on a human form, let alone speak so quickly.” He managed a small smile, the corners of his lips curling as he realized he had far more to learn about you than he initially thought.

Kaveh, still covering his eyes with one hand, muttered, “Unbelievable! You're still talking? Only you'd find yourself in this situation and still stay calm.”

Alhaitham shot him a brief look, though he couldn’t entirely blame him. Turning to you, he gently gestured for you to follow. “Come. Let’s find something for you to wear.”

As you followed him, Alhaitham tried to ignore Kaveh’s incredulous expression. He knew he’d be bombarded with questions later, but for now, all that mattered was getting you settled, dressed, and perhaps—if possible—beginning to understand the mystery you had brought into his life.

Alhaitham’s clothes hung loosely on you, but he found a way to tie them securely, adjusting the sleeves and waistband as comfortably as possible. 

While he dressed you, his eyes always averting when they fell on your exposed intimates, you looked down at yourself, wide-eyed and fascinated, tilting your head as if entranced by the strange, soft fabric now covering your skin. He noticed how you examined each new sensation—the way the sleeves brushed against your arms, how the fabric rested on your shoulders, and the feeling of something covering your legs. A small smile tugged at his lips as he watched you try to make sense of it all.

Once he ensured you were clothed, your wound tended, and provided with food that seemed to delight you, Alhaitham guided you back to the main room, where Kaveh awaited.

The architect’s mouth fell open as he observed your every movement, absorbing how you moved with a blend of grace and wonder, entirely captivated by each new detail around you. Blissfully unaware of their gazes, you seemed utterly fascinated by how your own feet flexed and moved, watching them with open curiosity as if they were little, curious creatures.

Kaveh broke the silence, his eyes still wide with disbelief. “Alright… start explaining, or I might think I’m hallucinating. Or still drunk.”

Ever practical, Alhaitham recounted the events precisely, detailing how he found you entangled in fishing nets, the injury you’d suffered, and his decision to bring you home to heal.

“I didn’t know if she would survive in the wild with her injuries,” he added, his tone practical, though he couldn’t help glancing at you to make sure you were still comfortable. “It seemed the most reasonable option.”

Kaveh nodded slowly, his expression blank as he pieced together the story. “So, you’re saying she’s not just some random woman, but actually a mermaid—a living legend—and you decided to bring her here.” He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a low whistle. “I can’t say I blame you. But… what do you plan to do next?”

Alhaitham crossed his arms, his gaze steady. “She’s free to leave whenever she wants. But with her injury”—he gestured subtly to your bandaged leg—“I doubt she’ll go far. Until she heals, she’ll stay here, and I’ll try to learn as much as I can. We still know so little about her species.”

Kaveh raised an eyebrow. “You realize what you’re saying, right? We’re talking about a mermaid, not just some stray animal you can study. People would pay a fortune just to catch a glimpse of her. She could be in real danger if someone else, or even the Akademiya, finds out.”

Alhaitham didn’t waver. “I’m well aware. That’s why, for now, she stays here. I’ll be careful.”

Kaveh, even relunctantly, nodded, his concern gradually shifting to fascination as he watched you stretch your legs, then flex your feet experimentally, giggling with delight.

“Does she understand us? I mean, can she speak our language since she had said your name a while ago?”

A faint smile played at the corner of Alhaitham’s lips. “She’s getting the hang of it.”

Kaveh brightened, leaning forward with a smile. “Ah, well, in that case…” He pointed to himself, speaking slowly and clearly, “Kaveh!”

Your gaze quickly lifted from your feet to study Kaveh, and you seemed to pay considerable attention to his name. With your brows slightly furrowed, you tilted your head, then murmured softly, “Haitham.”

Kaveh’s smile faltered, his face contorting in confusion as he shot Alhaitham an incredulous look, who was suppressing an amused look.

Determined, Kaveh repeated his name, louder this time. “Kaveh,” he insisted, as if pure repetition would yield better results.

You watched him with a mixture of curiosity and slight confusion, though a barely perceptible glimmer of pure mischief crossed your eyes. Confident, you repeated again: “Haitham.”

Alhaitham couldn’t hold back. A low chuckle escaped him, and he shook his head, watching Kaveh’s patience fray as he let out a dramatic sigh.

“Oh, I get it,” Kaveh muttered, crossing his arms and pouting. “I’m just the ‘other guy,’ huh?”

“She’s learning,” Alhaitham reassured, a faint but warm smile touching his lips. “It’ll take time, and she seems to have chosen a starting point.” He looked at you, his gaze softened. This didn’t escape the architect’s sharp eyes, who raised an eyebrow subtly.

In the end, Kaveh rolled his eyes but couldn’t fully hide a smile. “Well, I suppose I’m honored to be in her presence anyway,” his gaze lingered on you, his voice softening with a kind of reverence. “It’s still hard to believe. This—this is actually real.”

Alhaitham’s gaze shifted from Kaveh back to you, his eyes calm but observant. “Yes,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else, “it is.” The smile in his eyes remained, becoming a bit more serious. “And I think our lives just got a lot more interesting.”

The conversation continued, flowing naturally between Alhaitham and Kaveh, though their attention rarely drifted from you.

Kaveh’s eyes shone with unmistakable fascination every time he looked in your direction, still grappling with the fact that he was in the presence of a mermaid. Alhaitham, meanwhile, was studying you with a different intent, as if weighing the potential for you not only adapt further, or learn and communicate, but perhaps even bridge the gap between your worlds entirely.

And yet, both men couldn’t ignore your beauty—a graceful, ethereal presence that captivated them even in this simple, domestic setting.

After a lull in the conversation, Kaveh cleared his throat, shifting his gaze between Alhaitham and you. “You know, I was thinking… does she have a name?” He looked at Alhaitham expectantly, as if the answer was obvious.

Alhaitham blinked, his expression unreadable for a moment. He hadn’t even considered it until now; you’d only just learned to say his name, so the thought of you having one of your own hadn’t crossed his mind.

Seeing his hesitation, Kaveh continued, “We can’t just keep calling her ‘she,’ ‘mermaid’, ‘woman’ or something vague all the time. She deserves a name.”

Alhaitham nodded thoughtfully. “You’re right. She should have a name… something that suits her.” He looked at you, his gaze contemplative, as if searching for some hidden part of your essence to capture in a single word.

Kaveh, always the creative, leaned forward eagerly. “Alright, how about… ‘Sapphire’? She has that ethereal, oceanic vibe, right?”

Alhaitham frowned slightly. “Too obvious.”

Undeterred, Kaveh tried again. “Alright, then… ‘Pearl’? She has this… luminous quality.”

Alhaitham tilted his head. “A bit too delicate. It doesn’t match her strength.”

Kaveh leaned back on the sofa, rolling his eyes in annoyance. “Alright, Mr. Critic. What do you suggest?”

A faint spark of memory lit up Alhaitham’s eyes, and he looked at you, seemingly lost in thought.

“There was an ancient text I read some time ago about the mythology of a lost kingdom. In it, there was a name that stood out to me… (Y/N).” The name slipped from his lips with a gentle reverence, as if resurrected from some ancient memory.

You looked up, tilting your head at the sound. Something about the name resonated, as if it called to a part of you that you hadn’t realized was waiting for it. A faint glimmer of recognition seemed to flicker in your gaze, and the smallest, almost imperceptible smile curved your lips. Alhaitham noticed, his eyes widening as he observed your reaction.

Kaveh, noticing your response as well, let out a low whistle. “Well, that settles it. (Y/N). It has a mystique aura, something that feels… timeless.”

Alhaitham nodded, his gaze locked on yours with a hint of satisfaction. “(Y/N),” he repeated softly, as if affirming the choice. You responded by smiling at him, your expression open and serene, as if accepting the name as your own.

In that moment, Alhaitham felt a quiet sense of accomplishment, as if he had bridged another small yet meaningful gap between you and the human world. Kaveh, adjusting himself with a smile, looked at you both in reverence. “Well, it seems we’ve officially welcomed (Y/N) into our lives.”

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

The days passed quickly, and Alhaitham found himself studying you almost as closely as you seemed to study the world around you. 

Teaching you turned out to be a surprisingly smooth process—‘hello’, ‘yes’ and ‘no’ being the words you’ve learned easily and used the most along with his name. You absorbed new words with a quiet curiosity, and even when your attention drifted to things like sunlight gleaming on a glass or the smell of incense from somewhere nearby, you still seemed to remember his words as if you’d stored them in a special place in your mind.

Your palette was another revelation for him. While seafood seemed to be a favorite, you showed great interest in trying every dish he introduced to you, from savory curries to exotic native fruits from Sumeru. Alhaitham watched as your eyes widened in surprise at the first taste of a ripe Zaytun Peach, the juice trickling down your chin as you savored each bite. He found himself smiling at how you looked at the fruit as if it were a gift, a piece of magic in the form of sweetness.

One afternoon, Alhaitham arrived home to the sound of aggressive hisses and faint, curious purrs. Concerned, he quickly entered the house to find you pressed against the wall, wide-eyed as a gray tabby cat—likely a neighbor’s runaway—rubbed itself against your legs. At first, you recoiled, showing claws and sharp canines in an instinctive defense. But as soon as the creature began to purr, you softened. Alhaitham watched, amused, as you knelt down, carefully petting the animal with an almost reverent gentleness, murmuring the word “yes” repeatedly as if you were in mutual agreement with the feline’s own rumbling approving.

Then, there was Kaveh. 

The architect’s affection grew towards you—although every time he was determined to make you remember his name, he was met with your unique mischievous smile and the same answer each time: “Haitham.” 

You said it with a bit of cadence, as if relishing how it made him frown in exaggerated frustration. Alhaitham, leaning back in his chair one evening, smirked at the interaction, watching Kaveh’s latest attempt dissolve into another sigh of defeat.

“All right, I see what it’s going on” Kaveh grumbled one day, crossing his arms as you observed him with a playful glint in your eyes. “You’ll acknowledge me properly, eventually.” 

Once, however, you found Kaveh hunched over his workspace, focused on a miniature architectural model. You approached quietly, observing the delicate structures he had assembled with fascination. Noticing your presence, he looked up and saw the appreciative smile on your face, understanding it as a compliment. “At least someone here likes my work,” he murmured with a chuckle. “If only all my clients were this easy to please…” He paused, ironically melancholic, earning an empathetic hum from you.

Both men had fallen into a rhythm around you, somehow more accommodating than they had expected. They adjusted to your needs perfectly, sharing the responsibility of ensuring your comfort, and found themselves both challenged and charmed by your presence.

For you, on the other hand, their world had become a comfortable place, one where you settled into a rhythm of small delights and quiet discoveries.

One day, as Alhaitham prepared tea for the three of you, he found himself reflecting aloud, speaking as if to himself. “I never imagined a mythical creature would be so adaptable,” he glanced at you sitting on the floor of the living room, distractedly munching half an apple and reading the newspaper, marveling at the images and texts with the adorable little sounds of awe you let out. Alhaitham couldn’t hold back the affectionate smile.

Kaveh, sitting cross-legged as he studied his latest designs, looked up and nodded, laughing. “She’s adapted better than I did when I moved here,” he commented. “It’s nice to finally have a roommate who doesn’t critique my design choices every five minutes.”

Alhaitham shot him a look, but he wasn’t offended. “Maybe she knows that beauty is best observed without unnecessary comments,” he replied coolly, his eyes lingering on you as you immersed yourself in your things.

In your own way, you had made your home with them. And, day by day, both Alhaitham and Kaveh were discovering that perhaps they had made their home with you too.

Alhaitham had also been keeping his promise, carefully ensuring your safety and privacy within the walls of his home. 

However, as the days passed, he began to notice that your curiosity was growing restless. Though your injuries were healing well, you seemed all too aware of the world outside, especially whenever you sat by the living room window.

Hours would slip by as you watched the passing crowds, children playing, merchants bartering. He and Kaveh had tried to explain the dangers of going out, cautioning you that it wasn't the best idea until you were fully recovered, but your eagerness to explore was unmistakable.

So, after weighing the pros and cons and discussing the arrangement with Kaveh, Alhaitham made a decision: a small outing, just enough to satisfy your curiosity without risking too much exposure. You needed clothes anyway, something more suitable than his shirts or Kaveh’s oversized tunics. And thus, one sunny afternoon, after a few of your lessons and some necessary safety ensures, Alhaitham guided you through the bustling streets of Sumeru City and towards the Grand Bazaar.

The moment your bare feet touched the warm, sun-dappled street stones, your eyes lit up with childlike wonder. Every detail enchanted you—the intricate architecture, the intoxicating scent of spices in the air, the hum of life around you. Alhaitham noticed the way your gaze darted to every vibrant stall and passing stranger, taking in the chaos with delight.

However, he also noticed something else: the way nearly every man you passed seemed to pause, transfixed, their gazes lingering on you. 

It wasn’t just that they were admiring your beauty—they were captivated, their expressions turning almost dreamlike, as if spellbound. Alhaitham’s brows furrowed as he watched one guy receive a swift smack from his wife when she caught him staring a bit too long. He took a step closer to you, shielding you slightly from the attention, and you, caught up in everything around you, hardly noticed.

You gasped softly as you entered the Grand Bazaar, eyes wide with excitement. The stalls were filled with handmade crafts, woven fabrics, jars of colorful spices, and foods you’d never seen before. Alhaitham, trailing just behind you, couldn't help but feel a flicker of warmth as he watched you light up at each new discovery, as if the world itself had become a treasure chest, and you were here to explore its wonders.

Before long, something shiny caught your attention—a stall laden with intricate jewelry. Without thinking, you wandered away from his side, drawn to the display like a moth to flame. Alhaitham followed, watching as you reached out to touch a delicate hairpin encrusted with tiny, shimmering green stones. 

The vendor, an older woman with a warm smile, caught your fascination and chuckled softly. “A beautiful accessory for a beautiful lady,” she said, her gaze shifting to Alhaitham with a knowing smile.

“Do you like that one?” Alhaitham asked gently. His tone was softened by an affection he didn’t quite manage to conceal.

“Yes,” you replied, your voice almost reverent as you ran your fingers over the hairpin, tracing each glimmering stone as though it held secrets of the ocean within.

He didn’t hesitate, reaching for his pouch and handing the vendor the necessary payment. The woman winked, her smile widening. “Lucky man, I’d say,” she murmured in a voice barely above a whisper, but Alhaitham caught it. He didn’t answer.

With a delighted smile, you thanked the vendor in your own way—a beaming, enchanted expression that lit up the old woman’s face as much as it did Alhaitham’s. You carefully cradled the accessory as if it were the most precious thing you’d ever owned, gazing at it as you walked away. But soon enough, your attention shifted to the scent of roasting fish at a nearby food stall. The vendor there, turning a skewer of freshly spiced fish over an open flame, waved you over with a friendly grin.

As you darted toward the stall, Alhaitham noticed something else in the jewelry display—a pendant with a smooth, iridescent stone that bore a striking resemblance to your tail. Silently, he purchased it, tucking the necklace into his pocket. The vendor gave him a sly look, but he ignored it, focusing instead on you, already entranced by the food stand.

“Oh, to be young again,” the vendor mused as she watched he leaving.

When he caught up with you at the food stall, you were leaning over the counter, staring in awe at the array of delicacies. The stall owner chuckled as you tilted your head curiously, taking in the fish skewers and assorted seafood. “She’s like a little fox in a new den,” he said to Alhaitham, amused by your wide-eyed fascination.

Alhaitham gave a small, knowing smile as he nodded. “You have no idea.”

The scribe exchanged a few coins for one of the skewers, then handed it to you with a small smile. Your fingers barely wrapped around it before you eagerly took a bite—too eager, it turned out, as you winced, the hot fish burning your tongue. Alhaitham sighed softly, his gaze both amused and indulgent.

“Careful,” he murmured, taking the skewer back for a moment and blowing gently on it, cooling it with a practiced patience. Watching him, you imitated his action, blowing on the skewer with the same careful attentiveness, which made his lips tug upward slightly. As he handed it back, you took another bite, this time savoring the flavors more slowly.

As the two of you continued to weave through the market, you marveled at every passing sight—the colors, the sounds of bartering, and the occasional street performer. You paused to watch a dancer swaying gracefully, her movements captivating as her bright clothing fluttered with each spin. Passersby occasionally nodded and greeted Alhaitham, who gave polite nods in return—their eyes going wide open when they saw you standing by his side. His attention, though, often shifted to you, keeping you close as you wandered, enchanted by your enthusiastic wonder.

Eventually, you stopped before a more discreet storefront draped with curtains of deep blue and gold. The sign above bore intricate lettering, and inside, racks and shelves brimmed with garments of all kinds. 

Alhaitham led you in, and you finished the skewer just as he did a quick sweep of the store. Taking the skewer stick, he tossed it into a nearby waste bin and approached the owner, an older gentleman with warm, thoughtful eyes.

The store was a treasure trove of fabrics in every shade, from vibrant hues to rich jewel tones, each piece imbued with a hint of Sumeru’s distinct, earthy style. Alhaitham and the owner spoke in low tones, exchanging opinions on a few pieces he was considering for you. But your eyes soon caught on a different rack—dresses and skirts crafted with delicate fabrics and intricate patterns.

Just then, a younger woman stepped out from behind one of the store’s curtain partitions. She looked you over with a friendly smile, her gaze lingering in admiration. “You have an eye for the finest pieces,” she said, her voice warm. “These are all my father’s designs. Here, let’s find one for you to try.”

She sorted through the rack with a discerning eye before settling on a dress. It was a pearly white, form-fitting but flowing at the hem, with soft layers and gentle ruffles. She led you to the dressing room, helping you into it as you fumbled with the ties and delicate fabric.

When you emerged from behind the dressing room curtain, the woman sighed audibly, her expression caught between pride and awe. Her reaction caught Alhaitham’s attention, and as he turned, his eyes settled on you—and stayed.

The dress fit you in a way that was both modest and striking. The neckline formed a gentle "V" between your collarbones, dipping gracefully but tastefully. The silhouette hugged your curves, enhancing your natural beauty, while the flowing fabric below the waist gave the dress an ethereal elegance, rising just above your heels.

Alhaitham was quiet, his gaze intent, his usual unreadable expression amazed, revealing a glimmer of something deeper—an admiration that ran silently but profoundly through him. He couldn’t look away, as though you’d become the center of his world in that moment.

For a brief moment, you met his eyes, and a silent understanding passed between you. You felt his unspoken thoughts, his breath subtly drawn in awe, and his gaze, filled with softness, lingering as though he was seeing you in a new light.

The shop owner’s voice cut through the moment. “I’d say we’ve found the perfect model for this design,” he said with a chuckle, nodding approvingly at you. “It looks as though it was made for her.”

Alhaitham’s lips curved into a faint smile, and he nodded. “Yeah. Indeed,” he agreed, his tone subdued but genuine. The shop owner offered a discount for future purchases, which Alhaitham accepted gratefully.

After purchasing a few more clothes, Alhaitham approached you and, with a hint of a smile, told you, “You look beautiful.” Though the words were simple, the sincerity in his gaze made them feel more profound. You understood his compliment, your expression softening as you smiled back at him with a shyness that made you glance away, if only for a second.

The shop owner mentioned shoes, but Alhaitham shook his head gently. He knew you’d be more comfortable as you were, free of any restricting footwear.

With your new clothes in hand, you left the place, your eyes still brimming with curiosity. Alhaitham stayed close to you as you continued exploring the bazaar, his mood lightened by the unexpected happiness you seemed to bring him. There was a new excitement in your steps, and he watched with subtle amusement, unable to deny the warmth growing within him as he saw the joy in your expression.

Returning home, you felt content, each step still buzzing with excitement from your discoveries, and the dress Alhaitham bought you flowing like water around you. 

Entering the house, the warm scent of food drifted from the kitchen. Kaveh was already there, busy at the stove, humming softly to himself as he prepared lunch. When he turned around and caught sight of you, his eyes widened, a slow, dazzled-like smile spreading across his face. 

“Well, look at you,” he said warmly, clearly charmed by the sight. “You look wonderful! For the first time, Alhaitham did a good job by buying you this dress,” his tone had a hint of teasing, and you saw Alhaitham’s brow twitch slightly, but he stayed silent, watching the two of you.

Kaveh’s admiration had a certain ease to it, a natural warmth that made you feel instantly welcome. He turned back to the stove, but not without another approving nod at your attire. Alhaitham’s silence prompted him to ask, “So… how was the city?” He threw a teasing glance Alhaitham’s way then at you. “Did our scribe here give you the grand tour all by himself?”

Alhaitham sighed, a hint of a smirk on his lips. “She wasn’t exactly difficult to entertain,” he replied dryly. “Everything was new, so it didn’t take much.”

Kaveh chuckled. 

“Of course it didn’t,” he set the food down, his gaze filled with an amused understanding. Alhaitham merely looked away, feigning indifference, though you sensed a certain pride beneath his casual tone.

During lunch, the two of them recounted little moments from the day—Kaveh enjoying the story of you burning your tongue on the fish skewer, and Alhaitham quietly reliving the way your eyes had sparkled at the Grand Bazaar’s colorful sights. But despite their words, their gazes often turned back to you, captivated by your delight in all the new things you’d encountered.

At one point, Kaveh leaned back, shooting Alhaitham a knowing look.

“So, a personal shopping trip, huh? Just the two of you,” he teased, clearly amused by the idea of Alhaitham guiding someone around. “How sweet.”

Alhaitham narrowed his gaze, giving Kaveh a warning look that said more than words could. But there was a subtle softness in his eyes as they drifted back to you, a sense of quiet caring that you caught, even if he tried to hide it.

After lunch, you noticed Alhaitham start to gathering the dishes, starting to cleaning them as Kaveh made his way to the living room. Walking over him, you lingered, staring at him until Kaveh looked back, caught off guard by your gaze, feeling a bit embarrassed. When you pulled out the hairpin Alhaitham had bought you earlier, he seemed to understand, a faint blush of realization coloring his cheeks.

“Oh, you want me to do your hair?” He chuckled, gesturing for you to sit. “Alright, alright, I’ll help.”

You settled in the chair, feeling his gentle hands working through your hair. He gathered it halfway, securing the rest with the pin and letting loose strands fall around your face. When he was done, he guided you to a mirror, smiling proudly as you took in the sight. The style was simple but lovely, suiting you perfectly.

“Beautiful,” he murmured softly, watching your expression over your shoulders as you took in the effect. For a moment, the two of you were lost in the quietness of that shared moment.

From behind you, a soft sound drew your attention. Alhaitham was standing in the doorway, watching, a fond look on his face. He must have finished cleaning the kitchen but had stayed, observing without saying a word.

You turned back to Kaveh, your gaze warm and filled with gratitude. 

“Kaveh,” you said softly, the name unfamiliar on your tongue but carrying genuine meaning.

His eyes widened, surprise flickering across his face before he grinned, laughing as he leaned back, crossing his arms.

“Finally saying my name, huh?” He teased, though his voice was warm, “I guess even a mermaid knows when to appreciate the finer things.” Despite his playful words, there was an unmistakable happiness in his gaze, as if your small act of gratitude had touched him.

With the meal finished and the midday light softening, the three of you spread out around the house. You curiously inspected the clothes Alhaitham had bought, marveling at the soft fabrics, while the two men chatted in the adjacent room. Kaveh’s voice floated over, calling to his housemate.

“Hey, listen. Cyno passed by earlier inviting us out to the tavern tonight. Tighnari is also coming. I didn’t give him an immediate answer given our… adorable guest,” his gaze flicked meaningfully to you, a question lingering unspoken between the two men.

They both turned, glancing at you thoughtfully. For a moment, you saw them exchange a silent conversation, considering whether the outing might be risky. But then Alhaitham gave a slight nod, resolute.

“We’ll take her with us,” he said confidently. “With the right precautions, it should be fine.” He glanced at you, his eyes filled with the assurance that they’d watch over you. “Besides,” he added with a hint of a smile, “I feel she’d be upset if we don’t take her to explore a little bit more now that she has seen the outside world.”

Kaveh chuckled, nodding. “Then it’s settled. Tonight, we’ll go to the tavern—all three of us.”

As the sky slowly darkened, anticipation hung in the air, the promise of the evening drawing closer. 

The afternoon had drifted by with Alhaitham trying to teach you new words and phrases, but your attention kept slipping back to the new clothes he’d bought. You ran your fingers over the fabrics, turning them this way and that to catch the light, dazzled with the colors and the softness. Alhaitham eventually gave up, sighing in quiet amusement as he noted just how material and delightfully vain you could be—a discovery he should’ve expected.

Later, you wandered into his suite room to bathe, instinctively drawn to the water. The moment you slipped into the warm tub, your legs transformed back into your shimmering tail, scales glinting under the water’s surface. 

It had left Kaveh speechless the first time he’d seen it—his penny dropping at your truly identity. You were truly a mermaid. Nonetheless, he wasn't less captivated by the change and your graceful form. Alhaitham, however, while more composed, could hardly hide his fascination, watching with a quiet intensity every time he witnessed the transition.

After bathing, you found yourself in a familiar routine: sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting as Alhaitham approached with your clothes. This time, though, he brought one of the recent purchase pieces; a beautiful dress in his hand—its fabric being of a rich, jade green; a vibrant hue that reminds of his own eyes-color but that seemed to intensify the shine and warmth of yours only. 

As he helped you ease into it, his fingers lingered as he adjusted the zipper, his gaze studying you, perhaps more than he realized. And though you found yourself shivering at the intensity of his eyes, there you were too—looking up at him, meeting his gaze firmly and sensing an admiration that he only allowed you to see.

“It suits you,” he murmured, his voice low, a hint of awe slipping through his usually neutral tone. In that dress, you seemed otherworldly, like a goddess who had emerged from the depths of the sea, carrying its beauty onto dry land with impossible grace.

He knelt down then to inspect your injury, noting the lingering redness. Alhaitham carefully applied an ointment, his touch gentle but focused, and you watched his expressions shift with a subtle concern. Then, with a slight nod of satisfaction, he helped you to your feet.

After that, you made your way to Kaveh, showing him the hairpin again, calling his name with a soft voice.

His smile grew, a touch of pride in his gaze as he admired the way his name sounded from your lips, and he took great care in doing your hair once more, letting strands fall loose to frame your face as he did before.

Finally ready, you three left for Lambad’s Tavern. 

The streets were alive with the buzz of evening activity, laughter and music drifting through the air as Alhaitham and Kaveh walked beside you. The city was lit by soft lantern light, and you felt a thrill at being part of it all, the world so different from anything you’d known.

At the tavern, the warm atmosphere enveloped you, the scent of spices and roasted meats filling the air.

Alhaitham spotted Cyno and Tighnari across the room almost immediately as the two of them also turned as you approached. Their greeting smiles fainted when their gazes fell on you, a moment of pure awe passing over their faces afterwards. Cyno blinked, visibly stunned, while Tighnari’s foxy-ears twitched, his sharp eyes widening in surprise.

The General Mahamatra, usually so composed, couldn’t seem to look away, his thoughts racing. He was accustomed to beauty in the world around him, yet something about your presence felt almost magical, like an ethereal vision he couldn’t quite understand.

As for Tighnari, his keen senses took in every detail—the way the green dress brought out the otherworldly depth in your eyes, or the elegance of your form. You were unlike anyone he’d ever encountered, and he was captivated, even if he tried to hide it.

Before any questions could arise, Kaveh, ever the quick-thinker, stepped in with an explanation. “She’s an exchange student. From Fontaine,” he said, shrugging nonchalantly. “She’s staying with us while she studies…uh, the culture of Sumeru.”

Alhaitham sighed at the obviousness of Kaveh’s excuse, but he didn’t counter it. Cyno and Tighnari shared a skeptical glance, clearly doubting the story, yet they chose not to press further. Instead, Alhaitham formally introduced you, mentioning your name, which you responded to with a slight, graceful nod and a cute ‘hello’ following.

But feeling the need to greet them in the way of your kind, you leaned closer, gently rubbing your nose against theirs. 

Kaveh gasped out loud.

Cyno’s eyes widened, a slight flush crept up his cheeks as he froze, uncharacteristically at a loss. Tighnari, caught off guard, felt his ears tensing, the action both charming and bewildering him. Your giggles bubbled up as you noticed their flustered expressions, a soft, musical sound that filled the space between you all.

Kaveh let out a nervous chuckle. “Ah…yeah, that’s—uh, her way of saying hello. Strange, right? These Fontaine’ people…”

Alhaitham, on the other hand, observed it all with a hint of entertainment, his gaze lingering on you fondly. Watching your interactions, he noted how naturally you’d adapted to his world, your curiosity and unique charm drawing everyone in, effortlessly weaving you into their circle. There was warmth in his eyes, a feeling that spoke of his growing fondness, and you caught his gaze, offering him a small, contented smile.

As the group settled in, you sat across from Cyno and Tighnari, studying them both with unabashed curiosity. 

Still recovering from your unexpected greeting, the two men seemed unsure of where to look, awkwardly averting their eyes when you met their gaze. Alhaitham leaned back in his chair, a hint of amusement in his expression as he explained, “She’s not much for words, as you can see. Rather, she’s more the observant type.”

Cyno and Tighnari nodded, seeming to understand, though their curiosity was hardly quelled. 

The tavern around you started to fill with more patrons, the hum of voices rising, mingling with the occasional laugh, the sounds coming from different instruments and the clinking of glasses. It created a cozy warmth in the dimly lit space, and you felt it settle over you as if you were part of something larger, an integral piece in the lively tapestry of Sumeru’s life.

Kaveh wasted no time flagging down the bartender. “Bring your best wine,” he said with a grand, somewhat theatrical gesture, earning a sigh from Alhaitham.

Meanwhile, Tighnari leaned in toward you, his ears twitching with interest as he tried to engage you in conversation.

“So, do you like Sumeru so far?” he asked, a gentle curiosity in his tone.

You nodded with an enthusiastic “Yes”—the single word clear and confident, though it was accompanied by a slight tilt of your head.

Encouraged, he asked, “Do you enjoy learning about plants and animals?” Tighnari’s eyes sparkled, and you could tell he was ready to launch into an explanation if given the chance.

You paused, then shook your head, “No,” you answered, earning a quiet chuckled from Alhaitham.

“Ah, I see,” Tighnari replied, trying to hide his mild disappointment. “What about... Alhaitham and Kaveh?” His eyes glanced toward Alhaitham, who pretend to ignore his friend’s question.

You didn’t thought twice when you answered “Yes” with an affectionate smile, which made Tighnari smirk.

While you answered, you noticed Cyno observing you intently, his gaze unwavering and sharp. It wasn’t suspicious—it was more as if he were studying a puzzle, his curiosity piqued by your every move. His face softened whenever he noticed the subtle gestures that replaced your lack of words, as though trying to understand this new, unfamiliar way of communicating.

When the food and wine finally arrived, you noticed each man taking their mugs and raising them in a silent toast, exchanging knowing glances.

Intrigued, you pointed at Alhaitham’s drink, brows raised with interest. He looked at you hesitantly. “I’m not sure you’ll like it,” he warned, his tone gentle but unsure. Still, he handed you a mug.

The moment you tasted the wine, your expression twisted as the bitter taste hit your tongue. The others burst out laughing as you grimaced, clearly displeased.

Kaveh, grinning widely, leaned over with an exaggerated shrug. “Not everyone appreciates a fine vintage on the first try,” he teased, eyes sparkling with the warmth of the wine already.

But then, determined, you lifted the mug to your lips and downed the rest in a single go. As you set the mug down, you pointed to it, your eyes sparkling with challenge. The table fell silent for a beat, and then Kaveh broke into a delighted laugh. “Oh, now that’s spirit!” he cheered, filling your mug again with exaggerated enthusiasm.

Alhaitham, a touch surprised but clearly amused, leaned closer and murmured, “Take easy, ok?” His tone was warm, carrying that familiar attentiveness, the kind of care he often tried to mask with practicality. You met his gaze and gave a small nod, though your mischievous smile was enough to tell him you weren’t exactly planning on slowing down.

As the evening went on, the wine kept flowing, and so did the laughter. Kaveh quickly grew tipsy, his cheeks flushed as he leaned into his chair with a self-satisfied grin, occasionally throwing his arm around you, Cyno or Tighnari as he launched into some anecdote about his “architectural genius,” much to Alhaitham’s thinly veiled eye-rolls.

“Oh, and then,” Kaveh slurred, nudging Cyno with a huff, “there was that time Alhaitham here tried to negotiate a ‘reasonable’ discount on my work. Can you believe that?” He snorted, casting a playful, slightly glazed look in Alhaitham’s direction. “I swear, he’d argue the wind into changing direction if it suited him.”

Alhaitham only raised a brow, looking at him with an expression that silently asked for patience. “Kaveh, if I hadn’t ‘negotiated,’ you’d still be working to pay off last month’s tab.”

Tighnari chuckled, watching the exchange. “You two really are quite the pair,” he commented, taking a sip of his drink, his gaze shifting between the two of them with an amused glint.

Cyno, turning his attention to you, said, “Do you always put up with them like this?” His tone was deadpan, yet you sensed a glimmer of humor beneath his serious gaze.

Understanding his question, you nodded, a soft laugh escaping you. They all seemed to lighten up, relaxing in the warmth of your quiet amusement.

As the night deepened, Cyno set his drink down with a look of pure focus. “How about a round of TCG?” he suggested, eyes gleaming with anticipation. Tighnari let out a groan, tilting his head back dramatically.

“Oh no, not this again,” he sighed, but even he knew there was no escape.

Kaveh laughed, rolling his eyes in good-natured defeat.

“Fine, fine. But we’re keeping it short, or we’ll never hear the end of it from you,” he reached for his glass and gave you a playful wink. “Prepare yourself for the most intense game you’ve ever seen,” he said, clearly intending to make a spectacle of Cyno’s enthusiasm.

Curious, you leaned closer, watching as Cyno arranged the cards and dice with meticulous precision. His fingers moved quickly, each card laid down like a sacred ritual. Noticing your interest, he paused to offer a brief explanation of the game’s mechanics. 

“It’s all about strategy,” he explained, his tone almost reverent. “You play a character card, use skills, and roll dice to see how much power you have.” His eyes narrowed, smiling as he continued, “And don’t think it’s as simple as it sounds.”

You blinked, absorbing his words, but you barely had time to form a plan before the game was underway. 

Somehow, against all odds, you won the first round. The table fell into a mix of laughter and shock, each of them offering half-joking explanations.

“Beginner’s luck,” Tighnari insisted, though there was a glint of amusement in his eye.

Alhaitham chuckled softly. “Maybe (Y/N) is just a natural.”

But as the rounds continued, it became clear that “luck” wasn’t the only thing helping you.

One match after another, you swept the table, your fingers moving with a natural, effortless grace as you outplayed each of them. Cyno’s brow furrowed in concentration, and you could practically see the gears turning in his mind as he tried, unsuccessfully, to decode your moves.

Finally, with a mixture of disbelief and exasperation, Cyno looked at his cards in silence. “How…?” he muttered, half to himself.

Kaveh snorted, leaning back in his chair with a smirk. “Face it, man, she’s just unbeatable tonight. You, my friend, have been dethroned.”

Tighnari grinned, amused by Cyno’s frustration. “It’s impressive, honestly. Even the Champion of TCG is no match for her.”

You laughed, lifting your glass in a playful toast to your victory, which earned a round of mock cheers from the others. 

Alhaitham’s gaze was soft as he watched you—your enthusiasm, the brightness in your eyes as you revel in the thrill of each win. He’d seen you embracing new experiences and adventures of his ordinary day with open arms.

From the quiet enthusiasm when you learned a new word to the happiness back in the bazaar, and now, this lively night at the tavern—he felt an undeniable warmth, a subtle pull that went beyond simple admiration.

Just as another round was about to start, a group of local men, drunk and brimming with energy, pulled Kaveh from his chair and into a circle. “Come on, architect! Show us your moves!” they cheered, clapping their hands and forming a semi-circle for him to lead. With a laugh, Kaveh obliged, seamlessly joining them in the traditional dabke.

You watched in fascination, your attention captivated by the rhythmic stomping and spirited clapping. 

Kaveh’s movements were fluid, each step and stomp precise yet brimming with exuberance. His grin was infectious, and you found yourself clapping along, enchanted by the lively beat that seemed to pulse through the entire tavern.

Noticing your joy, Kaveh reached out and took your hand, pulling you into the half-circle. “Come on! You’ll love it!” he encouraged, and you laughed, letting yourself be drawn into the dance. 

Standing beside him, you mirrored his movements as best as you could, and although your steps were hesitant at first, his laughter and the others’ encouragement quickly dissolved any nervousness.

You found yourself swept up in the joy of the moment, your laughter ringing out as you stomped and clapped in sync with Kaveh. The tavern patrons cheered, a few even joining in to expand the circle. Each beat of the music seemed to echo in your heart, a vibrant, untamed rhythm that made you feel alive. Your hair swayed with each movement, your dress flowed around you as if it had a life of its own. For a brief moment, you forgot everything else, lost in the pure exhilaration of dance and laughter.

Watching from the sidelines, Alhaitham’s gaze lingered on you. 

He didn’t need to say a word; his expression spoke volumes. In his eyes, you were radiant—a vision of grace, strength, and unrestrained joy. He couldn’t help but marvel at how easily you fit into this place, how naturally you became part of it despite its strangeness. His chest tightened, a burning ache settling there, unfamiliar and yet… welcome. He remembered the first time he’d seen you, not too long ago, feeling vulnerable and cautious. Yet here you were, laughter filling the air, eyes alight with joy.

He hadn’t expected this—a mermaid, of all things, to stir something so profoundly human within him. But watching you, he couldn’t deny the feeling. It wasn’t simply admiration or intrigue anymore. It was something real, deeper, something that made his pulse quicken whenever he locked your gazes whenever you shared a fleeting smile or a touch of silent understanding.

A sudden chuckle from Tighnari pulled him from his thoughts, and he glanced over to see his friend smirking knowingly. “Not joining them?” He teased, his voice pitched just low enough for Alhaitham to hear.

Alhaitham glanced back at you, his lips curving in a slight smile. “I’m enjoying the view.”

Tighnari hummed, raising a brow. “Seems like you’re enjoying more than just the view.”

Ignoring Tighnari’s comment once again, Alhaitham focused his attention on you once more. 

When your eyes met, he felt that sensation again—a quiet acknowledgment of something unspoken but deeply felt. He gave you a subtle nod, his gaze lingering, as if committing this moment to memory.

When the dance ended, you were breathless, your cheeks flushed with happiness as you returned to the table. Kaveh, very tipsy and clearly pleased, clinked his glass against yours. “You were fantastic!” he cheered, his eyes bright with genuine pride.

Laughing, you took a sip of your drink, catching Alhaitham’s eye as you did. 

Ever since you started to live with him, sharing his culture, entering in the lonely empty of his heart and connecting with every detail that made of Alhaitham who he is, his intense gaze was something you couldn’t escape from—although neither did you want it when you were so mesmerized by him as he seemed to be with you. 

But tonight, something was different—something indescribable, unknown but pleasant, sent a soft thrill through you. This was more than a shared moment—it was a promise, a silent connection that seemed to anchor you both, even amidst the noise surrounding you.

The night had fully settled by the time the three of you left the tavern. 

The streets were nearly empty, bathed in the soft silver glow of a full moon overhead. A gentle breeze moved through the quiet city, carrying the faint, earthy scent of Sumeru’s flora. Stars scattered like distant lanterns in the sky, each one casting a pinprick of light over the tranquil world below. You looked up, awestruck by the vastness of the sky here. It was as if the city itself was cradled in the arms of the heavens, each corner brushed with stardust.

Alhaitham glanced at you, noticing the quiet wonder in your eyes as you took in the night’s beauty.

In the soft moonlight, your face was illuminated with an almost ethereal glow, your expression open and unguarded. Something about the way you stood there, gazing upwards as if communing with the stars, pulled invisible strings in his chest. Alhaitham found himself watching you in silence, the affection in his gaze hidden in the shadows, an unspoken tenderness that he wasn’t yet ready to voice.

Beside you, Kaveh swayed unsteadily, mumbling to himself in an incomprehensible mixture of words. You giggled, finding his drunken ramblings endlessly amusing, while Alhaitham sighed, shaking his head in disapproval but unable to suppress a small smile. He’d been prepared to carry Kaveh’s weight on his own, but you easily supported your share, surprising him with your hidden strength as you steadied the unsteady architect. You felt Alhaitham’s curious gaze settle on you, but you kept your eyes on Kaveh, helping guide him as he slurred out half-formed songs and laughter.

When you finally arrived at home, the quiet settled around you like a warm embrace. 

Together, you and Alhaitham gently placed Kaveh onto his bed, his face sinking blissfully into the pillows as he drifted into a heavy, blissful sleep. You both lingered for a moment, watching to make sure he was comfortable, before retreating to the living room, leaving Kaveh to his dreams.

Once there, the two of you stood alone, the silence wrapping around you like silk. The dim lamplight cast soft shadows across the room, pooling in the spaces between you. You faced each other, yet no words came—none were needed. 

Your eyes met his, and in that moment, something unspoken passed between you, a silent understanding woven with the night’s intimacy. It was a conversation of looks alone, a language more ancient than words. Your heart felt full, as if it were holding a secret too precious to release.

Alhaitham’s gaze held yours, steady and unwavering, as he reached into his pocket and drew out the small chain he’d bought back at the bazaar. The gemstone's shiny and iridescent hues caught the light, reflecting shades that soon reminded you of your tail’s colors—a perfect echo of your hidden self. 

He held it out to you, his lips curving into a wise smile that reached his eyes.

Without a word, he gestured for you to turn around. You did so, your heart pounding with anticipation as he draped the chain around your neck, his fingers brushing the nape of your neck as he fastened the clasp. The warmth of his touch lingered even after his hands moved away, and you lifted a hand to the pendant, feeling its weight settle over your heart.

Looking down, you felt a surge of emotions, a mixture of joy and affection as you admired the gift. But it wasn’t just happiness—it was something deeper, something far beyond simple gratitude. 

When you lifted your gaze back to him, your expression was serene, eyes glimmering with unspoken emotions.

Slowly, you reached up, placing a hand on his neck and gently pulling his face closer. Without hesitation, you leaned in, touching your forehead against his—a significant and intimate gesture but full of affection.

“Thank you,” you murmured, the words carrying layers of meaning, a depth that went beyond the simple gesture. It was gratitude for more than just the necklace—it was for his kindness, his patience, his caring, for seeing you in a way no one else could. For being a safe harbor in this unfamiliar world.

He was taken aback for a moment, the soft touch of your skin against his both surprising and disarming him. But then, a quiet smile forming as he held your gaze, his hand coming up to gently cradle your cheek. 

“You’re welcome,” he replied, his voice a gentle murmur, his thumb tracing a light path along your cheekbone.

Your hands lingered on his neck, feeling the softness of its skin and his hair, his own expression melting into something almost vulnerable. 

For a long, endless moment, you stayed there, close enough to feel the warmth of his breath, to catch the quiet tenderness in his jade eyes.

Neither of you spoke, letting the silence stretch, filling the room with the weight of implicity emotions. His gaze held yours, steady, and yet within it was a flicker of that deeper, unguarded feeling—a quiet, burgeoning affection that made your heart race.

Time seemed to stand still as you looked into each other’s eyes, a shared warmth weaving between you, a silent promise that neither of you had the words to speak.

And maybe, you didn’t even need it. 

[continue...]

[lokittystuckinatree]

Out of every single relationship in the Whoniverse, whatever the Doctor and the Master have going on just hits different. Like a rock. I’m sure everyone feels this way about their fave Doctor ship, but my experience is that once you go Thoschei, you cannot go back. Given the narrative symmetry, character foiling, interwoven parallels, tragically dramatic irony, frustratingly unspeakable ambiguous romance that defies traditional ship canonization in the true chaotic spirit of Doctor Who, and a unique backstory setup that allows the characters to have history that other individuals cannot match, while fate (and the format of the show) pushes them together over and over again indefinitely, without hope of lasting reconnection lest the setup break, the Doctor and Master’s codependent anti-soulmate life or death partnership arguably (narratively) cheapens every other pairing beyond comparison. Their tragedy never leaves you. (And keeps you up at night)

[mildy-vibing]

Woe, pirates be upon ye

Alright kiddos, time for my yapping on a kids show, starting with our pirates.

Calico Jack

Loosely based upon the real John "Calico Jack" Rackham interwoven with my personal thoughts and canon. Calico was "partners" with one Anne Bonny (partners is an extremely loose term between them as it was an open secret that Bonny was really in it for her crew mate, Mary Read). Besides that, Calico and Bonny had two kits who later grew up and stayed with the crew. They were known as Elizabeth "Fangs" and William "Terrible Tabby". William so happened to pick up a wife, Louise "Whispers" Reeves. This pairing created our favorite weirdo, Kwazii.

[From left to right] Anne Bonny, Calico Jack, Elizabeth "Fangs", William "Terrible Tabby", Mary Read, Kwazii and Louise "Whispers" Reeves

Getting the family tree over with, they were a particularly infamous and treacherous crew that plundered and captured anything that set sail in the sea. When Calico was 45 and Kwazii 6, operations hit the fan. In a changing ocean, it came to a halt when the Ranger was boarded following a scuffed raid. All except Kwazii were taken prisoner (Kwazii hid and avoided capture).

At this time, the punishment for piracy was, of course, d e a t h. However, to ensure that in the slim chance one did escape the rope, declawing would be performed. The authorities were right to do so, as Calico was able to slip away just before it was his time. He had attempted to break out his crew, only to find Bonny and Read missing and Fangs, Terrible and Whispers long gone. He escaped, finding Kwazii hidden at Port and commandeered another, smaller, ship to sail off with.

It was just the pair of them until Kwazii turned 13. They were on the run and have been unable to rest as long as The Calico Jack was still alive. So, Calico decided to spare Kwazii that fate. He left Kwazii in a fishing village with the story of "I'm going after some of the most dangerous treasure in the Amazon, I need you to stay here and watch yourself while I go."" Sailed out into the sea, taunted some royal ships, made a show of 'dying in a storm' and fell off the face of the earth, allowing "Calico Jack" to die.

He lived in isolation in the Amazon with his parrot and had time to think over everything he'd done. He regretted leaving Kwazii alone but knew it was for the best after what happened to the crew.

Kwazii

We know the story of the goober, but all I can say for MY story is that he came into contact with the Octonauts after trying to steal one of the gups. At the time, there were only three crew members: Inkling, Tweak, and Barnacles. So happened Barnacles was on that gup. What happened is anyone's guess, but the two left the gup, Barnacles covered in scratches and Kwazii soaking wet in sea water, as friends. Kwazii was kept on probation for trying to steal a gup but was allowed to stay on the (then very new and very in development) Octopod. He quickly proved himself to be a very good crew mate and eventually became Lieutenant. Up until finding Calico, everyone believed Kwazii was just a big fan of pirates (except Barnacles who knew of the incident and its details).

Little Bits

- Calico Jack is declawed, meaning he's missing the bone from the final knuckle (fingertips for us). He has golden prosthetics that help him, though they aren't very effective. They're mostly just for show and secondary weaponry.

- Calico is uneasy around Barnacles. Most likely, due to Barnacle's sounding like a British Royal Navy Official. Also, because he's a huge Polar Bear.

- Calico will not allow any doctor of any shape or form examine him (especially Peso). He hides away whenever he is hurt, insisting upon fixing it himself. He still remembers the last time a doctor got near him.

- Checks in with Kwazii frequently now that he has an octowatch. Though this means often getting face timed at 3 a.m., Kwazzi doesn't mind it.

- Has chronic pain in his hands due to the declawing.

- Lost most of his jewelry the first time he was captured, literally broke. He prefers living off the land but will gladly accept any fish biscuits or food Kwazii brings.

- He only wants the best for Kwazii, so when Paani came along, he gladly accepted him into the family. Calico often takes Paani exploring in more remote regions to show him any and all lakes, ponds, and rivers since "you like water, right? I like water too! Here, look at this puddle in the middle of nowhere."

- Calico doesn't smell as bad as one would expect. He smells like citrus and sea breeze. Unlike Kwazii, who smells like he just crawled out of a dentists office.

- Calico has a fear of places with less than 2 exits. He rarely enters the octopod or gups due to this. He always needs an exit in eyesight to feel safe.

Thanks for coming to the yapping session! Have some sketches too