#near the radiant knight

[notafiredemon]

Y'know, after reading the story again, I think a lot of the dislike Near Light gets as an event is predicated on it being the endpoint of the Nearl's and Kazmierz's story, which it doesn't really seem to be.

There are still a lot of threads hanging: the nature of the corrupted Robin Hood figure who runs the Armorless Union, the disappearance of Maria and Margaret's parents, not to mention the continued unsettled politicking between the big factions there after the major (heh) shakeup.

As for being a character assassination of Margaret, I also don't truly think that's the case. Like I said, there was just a huge shake up in power there at the top, and even though she is communicating, and sometimes cooperating with the powers that be, she's really doing it in a way that is more asserting and leveraging her individual power to fight for the rights of the infected. Like, her profile also states as much that she is NEVER making deals with any of the factions, she is simply asserting her (considerable) presence to make life better for the infected right now.

Likewise, this is clearly not a state that is going to hold forever: Rather than the gradual change from within that some suspect she is compromising for, it seems more likely, and in line with her established character, that she has some actionable goals she wants to accomplish before leaving. And we know she DOES intend to leave and join back with the Followers in Victoria. Remember, this is not an event she planned for, it's been a reaction to her sister being in danger from the system, and the immediate follow-up to that.

As for the other major sticking point, Margaret not actually being infected, Hypergryph had planted the seeds for that from the beginning: her medical information has always been classified, unusual for Rhodes Island, and we knew already that her being forced out of the country was predicated on her being infected.

Why didn't she tell anyone? Why was it hidden? In the eyes of the wider world she WAS infected, despite any protest she might make; the state had declared it so, and infection itself is not always immediately, physically obvious. Any protests she personally made would be met with suspicion and derision of one trying to claw their way back into society. Certainly attempting to say as much herself during the major would quickly lead to accusations of lying or jockeying for advantage by the state. No, the only way it would be believable for Margaret Nearl to not be infected would be by the very people who declared it was so to suddenly declare it not.

As to the more personal reasons for being called infected... the Followers at least, knew Margaret wasn't infected after her long travels with them. So why hide it at Rhodes Island, why not declare her health, her innocence? It's because truly, being "infected" isn't a matter of health, it's one of class, of social difference. Oripathy, certainly, is a painful and life-shortening disease, one that Margaret doesn't actually have. "Infection" is a social malady, a declaration by the powers that be that you do not matter, that you are lesser, different, inhuman, despite any protest you might make, despite how human you feel. And Margaret certainly has suffered that malady.

So when the KGCC declared, as soon as she won, that no, actually, she is not One of You, she is One of Us, she is human, she is not your champion, and when Margaret walked arm in arm with the Blood Knight to the hall of champions despite this, mutely declaring them both the victor, what she is doing, what the story is doing is putting the truth to the lie of this social malady. There IS no real difference between the infected and the uninfected, the story declared. Infection is a whim of power, meant to conquer, meant to divide.

Solidarity among the people is possible, even when ideals clash.

In short: Kazmierz attempted to assassinate Nearl with the truth of the lie they themselves made, but there's no reason for us to believe them

[brave-symphonia]

Okay, they’re really cute. I think I definitely ship the three of them together.

[yuki-kazami]

Something that I think people took from my big loud mad post about Nearl's infected situatuon is me hating Near Light as an event, which, fair enough, I didn't talk about much else, but what's missing is the context of why I cared so much. It's because Near Light was right on the cusp of supplanting Stultifera Navis as my favorite event in all of Arknights. And I still feel that way!

There are so many interwoven plots and interesting takes, like a friend of mine pointing out that Pinus Sylvestris may be the writers taking on the issues with how they handled Part 1 Reunion by showing how an Infected mutual aid organization can commit violence against the state while still remaining a fundamentally good group.

I love what they do with Platinum, with the way the Lazurites get slowly shown they are not nearly as big of fish as they thought in the grand scheme of things.

I love the dynamic of Plastic Knight with PS, and the way that he gets his views continually challenged.

I love the way that no one is right in Blood Knight and Nearl's battle of ideals, that both of their paths are necessary for true forward progress for the Infected of Kazimierz, which is then all the more beautifully symbolized by them walking arm in arm to the Hall of Champions.

I ADORE the Doctor in this event. This is the first time in my AK experience that I've gotten to see them be such an active player in the narrative, and it felt so right to see them so confident and competent in role. The tea party scene with Platinum was peak!! And their chemistry with Gravel was so believable and developed!!

I could actually go on for days. This shit was peak fiction to me, and my hyper strong reaction to Nearl not being infected is because of how in love I am with everything else, and how much it hurt me for HyperGryph to, in my eyes, miss the mark so badly when they just needed to deliver the existing themes out to their clear logical endpoint to stick the landing of the story.

[mommamothwitch-mudsy]

Hey ho! I'm back with a very special soulsborne team clear! I know I'm late but life got in the way and also tumblr thinks the video is too big so i had to upload it to yt instead which was a pain. No sound cause my laptop sadly cannot run AK for me anymore so I gotta record on my phone and the recorder wont record audio so pain all around!

This clear is special because it marks the 1 year anniversary of the Soulsborne team conceptualization! Sort of. I don't actually remember when but I do know it was Near Light's original run that inspired me to make the soulsborne team in the first place!

I'd also like to welcome our newest members, Młynar as Morgott the Omen King, Lappland as Scourge Beast and (Not in the video) Siege as Godfrey the first Elden lord!

Team Explanation:

Specter - Valtr

Gladiia - Lady Maria

Skadi - Good Hunter

Mudrock - Havel the Rock

Surtr - Elden Ring Fire Giant

NTRK - Nameless King

Shining - Fire Keeper

Nightingale - Plain Doll

La Pluma - Gehrman

Młynar - Morgott

Saga - Sekiro, Blue Spear Monk

Scavenger - Tarnished

Lappland - Scourge Beast

[satellite-evans]

Could you do Benedict Bridgerton with wife reader? She was pregnant and Bridgerton went to a ball. There's a man who makes a move on her and Ben is jealous. Then he saw that the man started to get all touched with his wife and she was clearly uncomfortable. Ben was her knight in shining armor and warned that man 😍 Do it how you want. Thanks !! :))

Handsome Hero

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x reader

Summary: Benedict's protective instincts flared when an unwanted admirer made his pregnant wife uncomfortable.

Word count: 847

Warnings: Fluff, asshole lord who does not know about boundaries

A/N:

Hi nonnie, I want to thank you for your request and for trusting me with writing your idea! I hope you'll like it xx

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, recommendations, vents or questions are always welcome. I love talking to you guys about anything <3

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

The grand ballroom of Bridgerton House was abuzz with laughter and lively conversation. The annual summer ball was in full swing, and the air was thick with the sweet fragrance of blooming roses intertwined with the rich aroma of fine wines and exquisite dishes. The grand chandelier sparkled above, casting a warm golden glow over the elegantly dressed guests. Women in vibrant gowns and men in crisp suits twirled around the dance floor, their movements synchronized to the lively music of the orchestra.

Benedict stood near the refreshment table, a glass of champagne in his hand. His eyes frequently drifted towards his beloved wife, who was standing across the room. You were the epitome of grace, your hand resting gently on your slightly rounded belly, a soft smile gracing your lips as you chatted with Lady Danbury. Your gown, a soft pastel color, accentuated your natural glow, and the delicate lace trim fluttered with each subtle movement.

His heart swelled with love and pride. How radiant you looked tonight, he thought, the very picture of maternal beauty. Your laughter was a melodic counterpoint to the music, a sound that never failed to bring a smile to his face. But even as he basked in his admiration, a shadow of concern crossed his mind. He had noticed a certain gentleman, Lord Prescott, paying you undue attention throughout the evening. Prescott was notorious for his flirtatious behavior, and Benedict’s protective instincts were on high alert.

You were in the middle of a conversation with Lady Danbury, her witty remarks keeping you entertained, when you felt Prescott’s presence. His voice interrupted your chat, smooth yet unsettling.

“Good evening, Lady Bridgerton,” he drawled, his eyes glinting with an all-too-familiar mischief. “You’re looking particularly radiant tonight.”

You offered a polite but distant smile. “Thank you, Lord Prescott. I trust you are enjoying the ball?”

“Oh, immensely,” he replied, his gaze lingering on you a moment longer than necessary. He inched closer, his presence imposing. “But I must say, the evening has just improved considerably.”

Lady Danbury’s sharp eyes flicked between you and Prescott, her brow furrowing slightly. She gave you a subtle nod, recognizing your discomfort and excusing herself with a promise to catch up later.

You tried to steer the conversation towards safer topics, but Prescott was relentless. He leaned in, his hand brushing against your arm. The touch sent a shiver of unease down your spine. You stepped back, but he closed the distance, his fingers trailing down your arm lingering a moment too long.

“So, tell me,” he continued, ignoring your clear discomfort. “How are you finding the evening in your...delicate condition?” His eyes darted to your belly, a lecherous smile playing on his lips.

You stiffened, trying to maintain your composure. “Quite enjoyable, thank you,” you replied curtly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I should rejoin my husband.”

But Prescott was undeterred. “Surely he won’t mind if I steal a moment of your time,” he said, his hand drifting dangerously close to your waist. “It’s not often one gets to converse with such a captivating lady.”

Benedict’s heart lurched as he saw the discomfort flash across your face. His protective instincts roared to the surface. Setting his glass down with a decisive clink, he strode across the ballroom, weaving through the throng of guests with purposeful steps.

He arrived just as Prescott leaned in, his hand now resting on your waist. “Prescott,” Benedict’s voice cut through the air, sharp and cold as steel. The man turned, surprise and a hint of fear flickering in his eyes. “I believe my wife has had enough of your company.”

Prescott straightened, a smirk playing on his lips. “Bridgerton, always the gallant knight. We were merely conversing.”

Benedict’s eyes narrowed, his protective instincts roaring to the surface. "From where I stand, it appears you were overstepping the bounds of decency. My wife is clearly uncomfortable."

Prescott’s smirk faltered under Benedict’s intense gaze. “I suggest you find your entertainment elsewhere,” Benedict continued, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Before I forget my manners.”

Prescott paled slightly, mumbling an apology before slinking away into the crowd.

Benedict turned to you, his expression softening instantly. He gently cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing your cheeks. “Are you alright, my love?” he asked, his voice a tender whisper.

You nodded, leaning into his touch. “I am now. Thank you, Benedict.”

He pulled you into a gentle embrace, careful of your growing belly. “I will always protect you,” he murmured into your hair. “You and our child.”

You smiled, wrapping your arms around him. “I know. You’re my knight in shining armor. My very handsome hero.”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, his heart full. “And you are my everything.”

As the music swelled and the dance floor filled once more, Benedict led you to the edge of the room, finding a quiet corner where you could rest and enjoy the rest of the evening in peace. His hand never left yours, a constant reminder of his unwavering love and protection.

[anniebeemine]

who i'd be- s.r. x reader

oh he's such a sweetheart

warnings: spencer feelings like he's not enough :(, slightly angsty,

Spencer stood in the dimly lit hallway of the BAU, his heart racing as he watched you laugh with the rest of the team. The warmth of your smile lit up the room, drawing everyone’s attention, but it was Spencer who lingered in the shadows, invisible to your radiant light. He wished, more than anything, that he could be the man you wanted—a brave knight, standing tall in shining armor, worthy of your gaze.

Each time you looked at him, his heart would stutter, as if caught in a moment of hesitation. He longed to be bold, to sweep you off your feet and take you on an adventure, to be the one who made you laugh so hard you could hardly breathe. But that wasn’t who he was. Instead, he was the quiet guy in the corner, lost in his thoughts, wishing he could find the words to express the way you made him feel.

He wanted to be the man who could turn his expansive vocabulary into poetry when he spoke to you. He imagined telling you how every glance you cast his way sent his heart racing and how the world faded away when you were near. But he could never quite find the right words, and as each moment slipped away, he felt himself grow smaller.

What would it be like to be quick with a joke, to have the perfect timing to make you giggle? He could picture your laughter echoing in his ears, like music he never wanted to end. It was a sound that made his heart ache with longing, and the thought of it kept him awake at night. But no matter how much he practiced in his mind, the jokes always fell flat, the punchlines lost in the depths of his insecurities.

He sighed, a quiet sound of defeat as he watched you mingle with the others. You were so full of life, effortlessly charming and engaging. Guys like him didn’t get to be with girls like you. He was a bookworm, an introvert, a man who preferred the solace of novels to the chaos of social interactions. He felt stuck on the sidelines, too afraid to step into the light.

If only his wish could be granted. He imagined a version of himself that was charismatic, witty, and brave. The kind of man who would take your hand and pull you close, making you feel safe and cherished. He could envision himself walking into a room with you on his arm, facing the world with confidence, the envy of everyone around him. But it would mean confronting the fears that held him back, and that was a challenge he wasn’t sure he could face.

As the evening wound down, Spencer’s heart sank as he watched you wave goodbye to the team. The way your hair caught the light, the smile that graced your lips—everything about you seemed to shine. He tucked his hands into his pockets, feeling the weight of his loneliness settle in his chest.

With a bittersweet sigh, he took a step back, allowing you to leave, his heart heavy with unspoken words. You had no idea how he felt, how you had captivated him from the very first moment. You were everything he wanted, and yet he felt as though he was miles away, an island of uncertainty in a sea of confidence.

He waited an appropriate amount of time, watching the door close behind you, a reminder of the distance between them. In the quiet of the hallway, he replayed every moment, every laugh, every glance you shared, wishing he could gather the courage to bridge the gap.

But as he turned to leave, a flicker of hope ignited in his heart. Maybe one day, he would find a way to be the man you deserved. Until then, he would remain the quiet observer, longing for the moment he could step into the light and finally claim the happiness that seemed just out of reach.

[mydearestbeloved]

Chapter 20 [Draft]

Sung Jinwoo/Trial Player!Reader

CW:

Inspired by @circeyoru ‘s “Future Power Couple”

[Masterlist🦋✨️]

Jinwoo expected a simple meeting.

The kind of meeting he had grown used to—just you, him, your butterflies, and his shadows. He wasn’t sure what he wanted out of today’s talk, but he knew it would be significant. So, imagine his surprise when, upon entering your shop, he was greeted not by you, but by a stunningly elegant woman clad in a mix of black and white, bowing deeply.

“Greetings, Sire,” she said, her voice calm yet warm. “It’s been a while. I hope Sir Jinwoo and his family have been well.”

Jinwoo blinked. That voice—so familiar. And that crimson hair, a vivid shade identical to that of one of your butterflies. He froze, a realization hitting him like a bolt of lightning.

“R-Red?” His voice faltered, disbelief clear in his tone.

The woman straightened, her fiery red eyes gleaming with unmistakable delight. “It truly is a pleasure to introduce myself to you properly now, Sire.”

She smiled brighter, and Jinwoo noted how similar it was to the glow your crimson butterfly displayed whenever it radiated happiness. She looked radiant, regal even, yet there was a gentle familiarity in her demeanor. Before he could say anything else, Igris’s shadowy form flickered out from his side, curiosity practically pouring off the knight’s ethereal figure.

“Oh, hello to you too, Sir Igris!” Red beamed, inclining her head toward him.

Igris stood motionless, the faintest tilt of his helm suggesting his own shock. Jinwoo didn’t know what was more surreal—the fact that one of your butterflies was now a person or the fact that she was now speaking to Igris like an old friend.

Then, he spotted you emerging from a doorway at the back of the shop, carrying a small box. Relief surged through him—finally, someone who could explain. He turned, and before he could stop himself, he fixed you with a very pointed, very intense stare.

You sweatdropped as you took in the scene: Jinwoo’s laser-focused expression, Red’s beaming aura, and Igris standing frozen while wearing what appeared to be a flower crown, likely crafted by Red.

“Stop glaring at me, Jinwoo,” you said, exasperated yet amused. “I’ll explain, seriously.”

---

The four of you eventually settled at a table in your shop’s small sitting area. Red served the drinks—tea for you, coffee for Jinwoo—before bowing again and stepping back to stand near Igris. Jinwoo’s eyes flicked between her and Igris, noting how her movements seemed to mimic those of her butterfly form—graceful, purposeful, almost weightless.

“So,” Jinwoo began, breaking the silence, “you can level up again now?”

You nodded. “Yes.”

“And your butterflies?” His gaze briefly darted to Red, who had taken a seat next to Igris and was now carefully braiding strands of crimson into the ethereal knight’s shadowy figure. Jinwoo had to fight the urge to rub his temples.

“The adult stage unlocked after I completed my ascension quest,” you explained, your tone calm and professional. “Once my children max out their pupa stage, they can ascend to a more corporeal form and gain autonomy. Red here was one of the first to make the leap.”

Jinwoo flinched slightly at the mention of the ascension quest and, by extension, the demon castle. The memory of you nearly collapsing in that fight still lingered in the back of his mind. But something else about your words caught his attention.

“What’s your level now?” he asked, feeling a mix of curiosity and dread.

You hesitated for a moment, your fingers brushing against the edge of your teacup. “I’m at level 150—”

Jinwoo exhaled, his pride slightly bruised but still intact. The gap was significant, but manageable. He’d just have to push harder—

“—last time.”

His mind screeched to a halt. “What?”

You fidgeted ever so slightly, a rare break in your normally composed demeanor. “Well, the system gave me cumulative EXP from all my previous quests. So, right now, I’m at level 200.”

Smack!

The sound of Jinwoo’s face meeting the table echoed through the room. You froze, startled. “Jinwoo?”

He didn’t answer, his arms now folded over his head as if to shield himself from the reality of your words. Even Igris seemed to flinch at the noise, the flower crown slipping slightly askew as Red stared on in muted curiosity.

With a sigh, you got up and walked over to Jinwoo’s slumped form. Gently, you ran your fingers through his hair, the soothing gesture a habit you’d picked up over the months. “Hey, it’s okay,” you murmured softly. “I’ve had years under the system and five years leveling up in an S-rank dungeon. Considering how fast you’re progressing, you’re doing amazing.”

Your hand stilled when Jinwoo’s fingers wrapped around it, his grip firm but not overwhelming. Slowly, he raised his head, his face still half-hidden in the crook of his arm. His ears were red, his cheeks flushed, and his eyes—half-lidded and glassy—refused to meet yours.

Oh my, you thought, struggling not to squeal internally. Is he… embarrassed?

Before you could tease him further, a familiar presence flickered at the edge of your mind. Your butterfly, Trick, spoke urgently: Mother! Miss Hae-In is—!

Simultaneously, Jinwoo’s gaze snapped to the distance, his expression turning serious. “You’re not coming?” he asked, though his tone held no judgment, only curiosity.

“No,” you replied softly. For a moment, you wanted to say more, to explain why, but you stopped yourself. Instead, you smiled at him, a look of quiet confidence and certainty.

“Then wait for me,” Jinwoo said, his hand tightening around yours before he leaned down to place a light kiss on your knuckles. His dark eyes never left yours, his gaze filled with an intensity that left your heart skipping a beat.

“Of course,” you replied, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling within you.

He vanished into the shadows moments later, Igris trailing after him—but not before offering Red a small wave, which she returned with a subtle, wistful smile.

---

As silence returned to the room, you exhaled slowly, a strange determination settling in your chest. Red stepped up beside you, her expression now calm but expectant.

“Now then,” you said, setting your teacup down with a resolute clink. “Shall we see what these new powers can do?”

---

Jinwoo stood over the body of the Ant King, its grotesque form crumbling into ash under the weight of his shadows. But his focus wasn't on his victory. Instead, his eyes darted to the figure lying prone on the sandy ground. Cha Hae-In's body lay lifeless, save for the faint, flickering aura of a silver butterfly perched delicately on her cheek. It pulsed softly, a quiet rhythm that echoed her waning heartbeat.

The butterfly, one of yours. Jinwoo clenched his fists, frustration bubbling inside him.

"Why didn't she heal her completely?" Jinwoo muttered under his breath. You could’ve saved Cha Hae-In without breaking a sweat, yet you didn’t. His mind raced for answers. Was it the system? Had it restrained you again, as it so often did? Or… was there another reason?

His thoughts were cut short by the labored breathing of Hunter Cha. Jinwoo's jaw tightened. If you weren’t going to intervene fully, then it was up to him to finish what you'd started. You trusted him, didn’t you? He’d never failed you before—and he wasn’t about to start now.

The silver butterfly pulsed brighter, a soft hum that seemed to whisper, Hurry.

---

When Min Byung-Gyu opened his eyes, he was certain he should not have been able to. The last thing he remembered was the Ant King’s claws ripping through his body, the searing pain of his life slipping away. Yet here he stood, whole and unblemished, surrounded by a surreal, ethereal landscape.

The ground beneath him was soft, a mosaic of red spider lilies swaying gently in a nonexistent breeze. Their vibrant petals bled into a shallow pool of water, so pristine it mirrored the heavens above. Stars twinkled against the deep navy expanse of the sky, a sight unmarred by clouds or smoke.

And in the center of this dreamlike domain stood a figure cloaked in flowing white, her silhouette blurred at the edges as if dissolving into the glimmering butterflies that surrounded her. Her face was partially veiled, her lips and the tip of her nose visible beneath the translucent fabric.

"You really are a warm person," came her voice—soft, serene, and achingly familiar.

Byung-Gyu turned toward her, his eyes widening. That aura... that presence. It was healing, nurturing, and yet... unearthly. His heart told him he was in the presence of something divine, but his instincts as a healer told him this figure was no god. She was something more. Something human.

The woman smiled faintly, though there was a certain weight in her tone. "Would you like to return alive?"

Her words took him by surprise. Byung-Gyu took a step back, glancing down at his hands. His last memory was of his death—there was no mistaking it.

"I... What do you mean?" he asked hesitantly.

"I can give you a second chance to live," the woman replied. Her voice was unwavering, yet there was a detachment to it, as if she were merely relaying a message. "I think you deserve it. However, it’s not up to me to decide."

Byung-Gyu’s brows furrowed. He could feel the warmth emanating from her, yet there was something distant about her gaze.

"You have a strong sense of duty," she continued, her tone softening slightly. "But know this: if you accept my offer, you are to never step foot on the battlefield again. Even if your friends are in danger. Even if the world itself is ending. The moment you fight again, you will die."

Her words struck him like a thunderclap. Byung-Gyu’s lips parted as if to protest, but no sound came out. He stared at her, his mind swirling with questions, doubts, and fears. This woman—this being—spoke with an authority that was impossible to challenge. And yet, there was no malice in her decree.

“Would you accept?” She extended a hand toward him, her palm steady and unshaking.

Byung-Gyu hesitated, his gaze flickering between her hand and her veiled face. "If I accept…" His voice wavered, but he steadied himself. "Would you protect them in my stead?"

The woman stilled, her expression unreadable. Then, she gave a single nod. "I will stand by humanity’s side."

Byung-Gyu frowned. It wasn’t the answer he wanted. He wanted to hear her say she would fight for them, defend them tooth and nail, as he had. But deep down, he knew better. This figure wasn’t a soldier. She wasn’t a protector in the way he was.

Still, there was something in her aura—something profoundly human. It reminded him of a mother’s love: steadfast, unwavering, and all-encompassing.

"...I'll try my best," she added quietly, her voice softer now, tinged with an emotion he couldn’t place. "Even if you don’t accept."

And just like that, his doubts began to crumble. He didn’t know why, but he trusted her. Maybe it was her warmth, or perhaps it was the quiet resolve in her voice. Whatever the reason, Byung-Gyu felt a strange peace settle over him.

"Then…" He exhaled deeply, his shoulders relaxing. "I choose—"

A soft flutter interrupted him, and he turned his head. A single butterfly had landed on one of the spider lilies, its delicate wings glowing faintly in the starlight. It flitted up toward him, brushing past his cheek like a whisper before disappearing into the wind.

And in that moment, Byung-Gyu made his decision.

---

It was a miracle. There was no other way for Jinwoo to describe it.

The raid had concluded, and the air was heavy with the lingering tension of their battle against the Ant King. Cha Hae-In was stabilized but unconscious, cradled in Ma Dong-Wook’s arms, her condition precariously maintained by the shadow Min Byung-Gyu had become. Jinwoo, adhering to Baek Yoonho's heartfelt plea, had released the shadow of the fallen healer. For Jinwoo, it was an act of respect, honoring the wishes of the man who had given so much for humanity.

They were preparing to leave the cavern when a panicked shout rang out.

“S-Something is happening to Min Byung-Gyu's body!”

Jinwoo’s head snapped toward the source of the commotion. In the dim light of the cave, the sight unfolding before him was unmistakable: Byung-Gyu’s decapitated body was now enveloped in a radiant, otherworldly glow. The light was blinding, drowning out the cavern in pure white brilliance. Gasps echoed through the group as everyone shielded their eyes.

What the—” Jinwoo muttered, his instincts immediately going on high alert.

When the brilliance faded, Jinwoo and the others were left staring in stunned silence.

Min Byung-Gyu's body lay intact. Whole.

Not only had his previously severed head returned to its rightful place, but the wounds from the Ant King were gone. His chest rose and fell with steady breaths, his face peaceful as though waking from a restful sleep.

And then he stirred.

The collective shock in the cavern was almost tangible. No one moved or spoke, rooted to their spots as Min Byung-Gyu’s eyelids fluttered open.

He blinked slowly, his gaze sweeping the room until it landed on Baek Yoonho, who stood frozen, eyes wide and trembling. Byung-Gyu’s expression softened as a faint smile spread across his lips.

“Hyung?”

The single word shattered the silence. Baek Yoonho staggered forward, his mouth opening and closing as if searching for words that wouldn’t come.

“Byung-Gyu…” he finally choked out, his voice breaking.

It was a sight none of them could comprehend.

The others stared, their gazes flitting between Jinwoo and the revived healer. Choi Jong-In, Lim Tae-Gyu, Ma Dong-Wook, and even the A-rank reporter clutching his unpowered camera couldn’t hide their bewilderment. All eyes eventually settled on Jinwoo, silently demanding an explanation.

Jinwoo shook his head, signaling that he had nothing to do with it.

But inwardly, he knew. His sharp gaze caught the faint imprint of a butterfly at the base of Byung-Gyu’s neck, its golden shimmer unmistakable. It was your mark.

You had done this.

---

Later, when the others had left the cave to regroup and ensure Cha Hae-In received medical attention, Jinwoo lingered. He stood in the dim cavern, arms crossed, his shadowy aura faintly pulsing as he waited.

“You sure know how to make an entrance,” Jinwoo teased when the soft glow of silver butterflies appeared behind him, swirling gracefully before forming your familiar figure.

Your pout was immediate, and Jinwoo bit back a grin at how predictable you were. “You don’t need me, anyway,” you retorted with a sigh, brushing imaginary dust off your attire. “You have things under control.”

Jinwoo crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow. “Did I?” he asked, a hint of skepticism in his voice. “Because it sure felt like someone went out of their way to ensure things went a little smoother.”

Your expression faltered for a moment, and you glanced away. “I only stepped in when it was absolutely necessary,” you admitted. “Min Byung-Gyu deserved a second chance. And Hae-In...” You trailed off, your tone softening. “She’s a good person.” Jinwoo didn’t press further, sensing there was more you weren’t saying. Instead, you shifted the topic.

“Jinwoo, help me test something,” you said abruptly, interrupting his thoughts.

He tilted his head, intrigued.

“I’ve been wondering why I keep accumulating experience even when the system doesn’t assign me quests anymore. You hog all the EXP and rewards,” you accused, narrowing your eyes at him.

The jab hit its mark, but Jinwoo’s pride wouldn’t let it show. Instead, he smirked. “Maybe you just can’t keep up,” he said, his tone deliberately teasing.

Your unimpressed stare nearly made him laugh.

“And what do I get for helping you?” he asked, leaning slightly closer, curious about how far you’d go to win him over this time.

“What do you want?”

The question, spoken with such quiet sincerity, caught him off guard.

Your gaze was steady, unwavering, as if you had already anticipated his response. Jinwoo blinked, momentarily at a loss. Was it wrong that your willingness to offer him anything stung a little? Did you think so little of his intentions?

“…Dinner,” he muttered, almost too softly to be heard.

You frowned. “Pardon?”

He straightened, rubbing the back of his neck—a nervous tick you had come to recognize. “Join me for dinner,” he said more firmly, avoiding your eyes.

Your lips twitched into a faint smile. “You do realize that sounds like a date, right?”

The effect was immediate. Jinwoo stiffened, his composure cracking as he quickly tried to explain himself. You could practically see the gears in his head turning as he stumbled over his thoughts.

You let him flounder for a moment before cutting him off with a soft laugh. “I’m joking. Sure, why not?”

Relief flashed across his face, though it was quickly masked by a neutral expression. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but your easy acceptance left him feeling oddly... dissatisfied.

---

As you suspected, your theory proved correct. You gained experience not through direct combat but by supporting others. Assisting Jinwoo, boosting his shadows, and stabilizing Cha Hae-In had all contributed to your growing level.

Yet, Jinwoo’s mood throughout the ordeal was noticeably subdued. Despite his usual stoic demeanor, there was a shadow of dejection in his eyes that even his loyal shadows couldn’t explain.

When you asked them, they only shrugged apologetically, as if to say, “We’re sorry, Lady (Name). We have no idea what’s troubling Our Liege.”

You rubbed your temples in frustration, your butterflies fluttering around you in a show of concern.

What has gotten into him now?

End Note:

Unfinished Draft of [23/11/2024] -

[shanniethewr]

in loving arms

summary: men are cruel as they disgustingly label women lower than them. as unfortunate as it may seem, you fortunately have your dearest who proves that he's not as low as the vile creatures.

warnings: boys being disgusting, harassment, past toxic relationships, sexual harassment, name-calling (slut, whore), swearing, assault, mentions of violence, lowkey ooc

characters: albedo, cyno, kazuha, lyney, and tighnari gn!reader but implied having feminine items such as a purse lowercase intended + not proofread

ALBEDO

traversing through mondstadt was another mundane routine for you, helping the citizens with their troubles and whatnot. fortunately, things had been far more peaceful ever since the traveler had came and gave leeway for peace in the city of freedom.

but that didn't mean horrid things would suddenly stop overnight. oh no, definitely not. because the least you expected was to find yourself in a vacant room in the favonious headquarters, surrounded by what people call the knights.

"heh. you know you shouldn't be walking around with those skimpy clothes you got, looking like a slut." you cringed, feeling a shiver down your spine as you stepped backward from the nearing hand.

"you're absolutely disgusting. how the hell have you become a knight with that filthy attitude? archons, i feel truly disappointed for your parents." you spat with venom in your tone, the consequence for that was angering the knight.

"a feisty one, hah?" he grinned with a sickening feeling, and his hands soon laid on your body, groping in places it shouldn't be. "stop it!" you yelled, thrashing around, attempting to pull the man away. you were no fighter, and that was obvious.

you felt nauseous, you couldn't even comprehend the words that were being said. you just wanted to go see albedo, why must the world play and pull on the strings of your life?

"to think such behavior was conducted in the headquarters filled with people who's desires are to protect the people, not to harass them... truly disappointing." a familiar voice, the speech was relaxed, if not, unfazed. however, there was a tone of hostility, dripping with poison.

albedo, whose eyes are glimmering with disgust and anger, a contrast to his gentle and calm expression. "c-chief alchemist!" you took the opportunity to slip away, quick to get to albedo's side and taking his hand in yours, an attempt of comforting yourself and to soothe the chalk prince's anger.

"i'm sorry my dear, have i not been caught up with affairs, this wouldn't have happened." albedo said, eyes softening when meeting with yours, lips on your forehead as you relished in his calming presence. "you can go wait outside, i'll just deal with some unnecessary variables."

ushered to exit the room, you saw nothing, but you sure did hear the sound of a fist meeting with a face along with the cries of the knight begging for forgiveness.

CYNO

being a scholar in the akademiya and the rumored beloved of the general mahamatra was not a peaceful matter as you thought of it before. fortunately, it had its perks, the downside was that some people just forget about it.

"c'mon baby, let's just forget the past and move on, 'kay?" the man, boy, you used to call your lover has been invading your personal privacy and has been continuously annoying you about it.

'how the hell did he even find me...' you thought, gritting your fists as you stood up from your seat, being agitated for far too long. "hey! don't ignore me babe!"

exiting lambad's tavern, the night sky of sumeru looks down upon your figure along with the radiant stars. the scenery would be perfect for a romantic and dreamy moment, but unfortunately, an irritating being is stuck to you like a leech, having no intention of letting go.

"can you fucking stop!?" you yelled after the constant annoyance of the presence following you for archons knows how long, stunning your ex, standing in shock at your sudden outburst. "there's no future for the two of us! if you wanted one, you should've treated me like the way you want to be treated! i will never go back to the likes of you again."

"is that how you treat me? after i took care and loved you for so long!?" that was all you needed to snap, as the loud sound of a slap was heard echoing in the quiet, empty streets of sumeru.

"took care of me!? what the hell are you talking about you bastard!? i was the one who did all of your unfinished works and projects, i was the one making money!! you, you ungrateful bastard always took the savings i had just to buy some useless pair of jewelry only to find out you were giving it to some other girl!"

tears brimmed your eyes as you felt your throat becoming hoarse after every second of yelling at the awful man in front of you. archons, you just wanted to have a peaceful drink at a tavern, not to meet the person you hated the most.

because damn, he was acting like a fucking weed.

"hah!? you're really starting to become more disobedient now, talking back to me." you yelped in pain as he pulled on your hair, kneeing your stomach as you coughed in pain.

"where's your lover now, huh? don't tell me all of those rumors were fake." he chuckled evilly as you sob from the pain.

and everything went like a blur, you heard your ex howling in pain along with the sounds of bones being broken. not soon after, you were cradled in strong arms against a sturdy chest, the very action soothed your pain and worries.

"you weren't home my love, don't worry, i'm here now, i won't let anything bother you from now on." cyno's stern yet gentle voice brought you to reality as you melted in his embrace.

cyno's amber eyes soon turned into the eyes of a predator eyeing its prey, a frown on his lips, one of anger. "and as for you. i recommend you not to bother them anymore, less you want to be enclosed behind cold bars, feel free to take up the offer anytime."

your ex panicked, taking off in fear. your lover huffed, soon carrying you in his sturdy arms. "sorry cyno, for.. making you worry." you quietly stated against his chest as he remained quiet for a few moments before speaking.

"please, don't. it's my duty to make sure you're safe and loved, so no matter what, i trust that you will rely on me in times of need."

KAZUHA

you leisurely walked into the streets of inazuma, enjoying the taste of freedom after the sakoku decree was abolished, there was a new upbeat in the city and the people were thriving.

that was only a few minutes ago, until you found yourself in a quiet alleyway with a weird man cornering you. "you shouldn't have gone walking around like that, you filthy whore, that desperate for attention?"

there wasn't anything special about your clothes, a typical inazuman outfit with a few alterations thanks to your dear friend, ayaka, who told the seamstress to add a few decorations, claiming it would brighten your beauty more.

"you creep. just because the sakoku decree was abolished, that doesn't mean you can just waltz in and start sexualizing our cultural outfit! have you not heard of respect!?" you countered, glaring at the man as your grip on your purse tightened, you should've asked kazuha for some martial lessons at the very least.

"but i can do whatever the hell i want. it's your fault for wearing those clothes." his hand was on your shoulder, attempting to pull down the sleeves as you thrashed your arms around.

"NO! STOP IT!" you hated this, you wanted to run, scream. but how could you do that when you're pinned against the wall as the man was grinning evilly? you prayed for the archons to at least save you from this moment.

and fortunately enough, your prayers were answered.

"attempting to sexually assault on an unwilling individual, much less my beloved, you've inclined me to do worse than having you rot behind the bars of inazuma." a voice so gentle yet cold and stern, kazuha spoke, hands gripped into a fist, "who the hell are you!?"

"just a wanderer passing by. now, if you'd allow me..." the samurai was quick to act on his feet, punching the stranger, causing him to falter and fall to his knees. kazuha immediately embraced you in his loving arms, lightly combing his fingers through your locks in hopes of soothing your shaking figure as he hid your partially clothed body from anyone's eyes.

"i'm sorry for taking so long, my dove. from now on, i swear on my name to never let you experience such things again. i will be your sword and i will protect you until death does us part."

LYNEY

the quiet atmosphere of the backstage was what you needed after a tiring night of endless cheering for your lover's and his sister's performance. undoubtedly, their performance was always pristine and beautiful, like always.

most of the staff had already packed away and home they went, for sleep had fallen among most of the people in fontaine. you were simply waiting for lyney as promised, claiming he had to go finish a quick task, leaving you alone in the empty opera.

the least you expected was to find yourself on the floor with a man you feared, on top of you with a terrifying grin on his lips. he has your hands pinned above your head as you weakly kick your legs around, only for it to be held down with his legs.

"i never expected you to wait like an obedient puppy for a man other than me! i think you deserve to be punished, i mean, come on, cheating already when we're just taking a break?"

you gritted your teeth in agitation, "the hell do you mean break? we broke up years ago! who the hell said we're still together?" you spat, glaring hard against the man on top of you.

"is that so? then i have no choice but to force you, it's your fault for doing this to me. if only you could've acted like you would with that filthy magician." a blade, seemingly out of nowhere was in his possession, lightly pressing it against your cheek as your breath hitched.

"knock it off!" you yelled, thrashing your limbs around as the man let out a disgusting laugh, enjoying the suffering he was putting you through.

"trespassing in the backstage is not something for audiences like you, especially when you dare to attack mon trésor, is something that i will not let go of lightly regardless of the circumstances." lyney said, his charming smile was seen yet his aura was the contrast of the magician lyney. he is upset, in the sense of madness.

"hah! what can you even do? throw cards at me?" the man chortled, you however, were subtly trying to escape from his grasp which lyney noticed. with a snap of his fingers, you found yourself in the arms of the one you dearly loved. "what!?"

"oh, i'll do something far worse than that. you see, i've been wanting to test out a new magic trick, one where they saw and tear through your limbs. your actions today demonstrated that you're the perfect candidate for such a terrific trick!" lyney's voice was coated in venom, his eyes glared with the intention to do something to the man.

you heard only bits and parts, as his hands were over your eyes and ears, embracing you closer to him as a gesture that you were safe with him. that was a pure and pristine fact, as the magician lyney would filter his words about you with nothing but truths.

"let the show begin! ah, but before that, mon trésor, please wait outside for a while. don't worry, i promise not to make you wait for too long, and i will make sure i will protect you as it is my duty as your lover to do so."

TIGHNARI

a visit to gandharva ville was a normal weekly routine for you, as you had a busy job, and so did your partner, tighnari. but that didn't stop the two of you to express your love to one another each weekly visit.

you were patiently waiting for him at an empty hut, quietly indulging in the music of nature as you sipped on your favorite drink that collei knew all too well, having it prepared before your arrival.

"oh hey! look who it is, it's been a while, old friend." one of your former scholars from the akademiya said, taking a seat in front of you as you smiled, "you as well. how are you fairing lately?"

"same old, same old. how about you? i heard you've gotten a partner recently." you nodded in response, "yup! he's actually—" "he must be lucky, huh?"

you went silent, a shiver crawling down your spine, and you knew something wasn't right. "what do you mean?" "well, you know, you've always been a heavy sleeper. i could've done anything to you and you wouldn't even wake up or even know about it."

"but it's not surprising if he'd already done that to you. i mean, even arjurn and daksh wanted to do you but they never got a chance. gotta give them one in the future, right?" he laughed as if he was just talking about the weather while you were shocked, disgusted even.

"please leave," you stated, glaring hard at the person you once thought as a friend in front of you, only for him to wolf whistle in return. "feisty huh?"

his hand wandered under the table and found itself on your thighs, causing you to flinch and stand up abruptly. "if you're here just to make disgusting comments about me and my partner, leave! you are not needed here."

"come on sweetheart, that can't do. besides, he doesn't need to know what'll happen between us." standing up, you found yourself defensively taking a step back from the awful creature in front of you.

"stop it. leave! i don't need you or your disgusting presence in this room, right now! if you won't leave, then i have no choice to report you to the chief officer of the forest rangers."

"then, let's just make this quick, alright? just—"

"they said to leave. you have made a trespassed against a very dangerous territory sir, with that filthy behavior, you are officially never welcomed in gandharva ville again." tighnari spoke from behind, his galre hard as his voice remained cold and ruthlessly.

making a beeline towards tighnari, you found yourself in his embrace along with his sweet gesture of a forehead kiss. "you dare to force my partner into something they were unwilling to do, have i seen them being harassed and forced into the act, i will not act as merciful as i did today."

"so please. leave, before i make your consequence harsher than it is. if you dare to go near to my lotus again, i am not afraid to make a hole in that head of yours."

— © wr.shannie created on 8.26.23 finished on 8.27.23

do NOT copy or plagiarize my work!!

[thebiscuitlabryinth]

Here is a secret: Pure Vanilla Cookie had felt like he was being watched for a long, long time.

He can't quite pinpoint when exactly that started, if it was before or after he earned his Soul Jam. He thinks it must have been after, because he thinks he wrote it off as the Light of Truth's presence, but the specifics don't really matter. Either way, the feeling of eyes on him had been so constant that it faded into normalcy, and he hadn't noticed it since.

Until now.

Now, with Shadow Milk Cookie breaching the seal, and crumbling Elder Faerie Cookie, and White Lily Cookie becoming the new Guardian of the Seal, and White Lily Cookie being really and truly back in the first place and– and—

The point is that Pure Vanilla is quickly realising that a lot of his prior assumptions don't hold weight anymore. A lot of things he had believed to be unshakeable truths turned out to be wrong or, even worse... well, lies.

And these realisations aren't all bad, truly. Some are sweet with relief and the familiar scent of lilies. But his feelings on the matter aren't helped by the fact that suddenly, for the first time in years, he can feel those eyes on him again in piercing clarity, burning with a malice he had failed to notice all this time.

Pure Vanilla does his best to leave them be, focusing on the unmistakeable warmth of White Lily at his side, and the determined hearts of the children, and everything that needs to be done. It is uncomfortable, but it is manageable.

Delivering word to Crispia about the situation is no quick business, let alone waiting for word to return back. As such, they are staying in Faeriewood for the foreseeable future, waiting on a response from the Republic or the other Heroes. The Faerie Cookies are lovely and more than welcome to the notion, though that is hardly a surprise with how beloved White Lily is to them, and rightly so.

Pure Vanilla Cookie, to his credit, does his best to relax as they wait, but it is increasingly difficult as time wears on. He cannot bear to go anywhere near the Silver Tree, because the weight of that gaze increases by a tenfold whenever he is anywhere near its vicinity, almost crushing him, as if urging him to- well, it makes navigating the Faerie Kingdom difficult, if he cannot get too close to its centre.

Pure Vanilla sighs from where he is settled gingerly down among the soft pastels of the flowers, nestled carefully beneath the shade of the bending canopy of less dangerous trees. From here, he can see White Lily's radiant figure across the bridges and walkways, roped up in conversation with the Silver Tree Knights and surely discussing her new title and all that may entail. Whatever the case, he is content to have her within his sight, soothing some age-old nerves.

He busies his hands with a flower crown, the repetitive motions helping to distract from the twisting trunks of the trees lingering in the corner of his vision, their silvery bark marred with dozens of squinting eyes, black as shadows with vibrant blue—

No, no, no – but it's too late, Pure Vanilla's hands stumbling on his work and crushing a flower in his clumsiness. Regret instantly soaks into his core, and he hurriedly releases the poor bud, only feeling worse when he sees that some of its nectar and colour has stained his hands. Such delicate beauty, destroyed by his own foolishness. He certainly can't give this crown to White Lily now.

Bitterly unwanted, the thought that Shadow Milk must be laughing at him now flits across his mind, and he drops the flower crown like its petals are dripping poison, lest he ruin it any further.

In the end, no matter how much he pushes it aside, his thoughts always swing back to the same dreadful realisation. If Shadow Milk has been watching him all along - and deep down, Pure Vanilla knows it to be true, even though he hates it - then he must have seen everything. Every moment he was vulnerable, every moment he was hiding, every moment he thought was private.

It's terrifying. His mind keeps reeling at the mere idea, flicking through his lowest moments with the aching, sickening knowledge that he had seen it all. It feels unfathomably invasive, almost as much as Shadow Milk's voice burrowing into his head like it belongs there. Nothing Pure Vanilla has experienced has been solely his own, and it seems like it never was.

Pure Vanilla is saved from his own sinking thoughts by the gentle warble of birdsong, and grateful for the distraction, he looks up to find a small bird descending from the canopy. Admittedly, it is different from the blue birds he is used to, looking to be a spore variant of some sort, but he smiles at it just as cheerfully.

"Hello, chickadee. How are you today?" He greets affectionately, voice warming as he holds out a hand for the spore bird to land on. It does with a chirped greeting back, and for the briefest, most blissful moment, Pure Vanilla feels light with the simplest happiness.

And then the bird looks up at him, with not two, or four, but countless eyes opening across its entire body, inky black and mockingly blue.

Pure Vanilla startles fiercely, jolting back and shutting his eyes tightly on instinct, and the movement is more than enough to scare the bird away, but he is too occupied with fumbling for his staff in the grass beside him to pay it any mind.

Finally, his fingers find purchase, and he hastily lifts the staff upright, half-leaning against it as he looks through its eye. The pupil darts around until it lands on the bird once more, where it has fled back to a perch among the branches.

It looks normal, or as normal as a spore variant can be. It certainly doesn't have a hundred knowing eyes.

The trees don't have eyes either, for that matter.

Pure Vanilla presses his forehead against his staff, desperately tempted to keep his eyes closed forever, to rely solely on his staff so he doesn't have to risk seeing anything unreal. It's a dangerous, guilty thought, but it persists even when he gathers the strength to crack his own eyes open once more.

He blinks once, twice, hesitantly looking around.

There are no eyes. Just a spooked spore bird in the canopy, a half-crushed flower crown hanging off his lap, and White Lily in the distance, now joined by an energetic Gingerbrave and his friends.

Pure Vanilla watches for a moment, waiting. When everything remains as it is, he sighs again, heavily, wearily, and sinks back into the bed of flowers, holding his staff to his chest in a loose grip, even as he lays down.

He thinks he hears a mean giggle chime faintly in his ears, but what does he know? That's probably a lie too.

[rae-pss]

Hello! i read your hc, to be specific i read this one

Can i request the same scenarios with Mammon, Zagan, Andrealphus and Lucifer(he's optional)?

Thank you♡

masterlist

˗ˏˋ꒰ 💭 ꒱ . . . i've decided not to do lucifer simply because we don't know anything about his personality, so i'm not as knowledgable as i could be about his persona. i hope you like it, dear @lemonivall (<3). ˗ˏˋ꒰ 💭 ꒱ . . . lowercase intended, 645 words, possible spoilers of chapters 3 and 4 in mam's part.

〔 MAMMON 〕

—mammon is a special case since you woke up on him and how you had to be with him during the brief stay in the hospital and later when he was "saved" from adamas's kidnapping.

—despite that, you didn’t hesitate twice before using satan as your beloved knight in shining armor, since thanks to him it was relatively easy for you to escape from the taller demon.

—this didn't sit well with mammon, not when his new master seemed to ignore him like the plague.

—a feeling of doubt grew in him. he even went so far as to offer you riches for your time and mere existence near him. and that was until he took the step and asked you the reason for such actions on your part.

—obviously, he would laugh softly once your reasons were known. he couldn't help but let his hand fall on your head, ruffling your hair while, with such a radiant smile, he told you how adorable you were.

〔 ZAGAN 〕

—when you were together, the scene was certainly comical.

—for one reason or another, one that only you knew, silence ruled around you whenever zagan was close to you or you couldn't escape him.

—this was something that, for obvious reasons, did not sit well with the demon, who could only accept that fact without understanding it. still, it wasn't like he had time during the war to ask you for explanations, or that he even found himself capable of doing so at the moment thanks to his shyness.

—however one afternoon he finally had the opportunity and inner-strength to ask you why you obviously avoided him.

—how his cheeks felt so warm and rosy in color, plus that clear bewilderment in his eyes, was enough of a reaction to leave you both knowing how the other felt about it.

〔 ANDREALPHUS 〕

—that someone with such a soul, that aura like yours only could be, didn’t pay attention, or even acknowledge his presence in almost any possible way hurt, it hurt a lot.

—the fact that he couldn't know anything about you, apart from the sound of your voice directed at other demons and what others commented about you wherever he went, andrealphus coould do nothing but longing for your touch, your voice, your attention, yearn for you.

—he couldn't do much more than wish that one fateful day he’d be the center of your attention, even if it was just for a damn second.

—and, it was not until a moment in which you could do nothing but stay together in a closed room, that all the truth from your lips escaped in a quick confession.

—astonishment bathed his expression, which changed to one of tender joy. with your permission, his hands could finally trace your face as he so desired. finally, he could feel you next to him.

[brave-symphonia]

Viviana wants Nearl to beg her to stay?

I would say that Nearl already has 2 girlfriends, but you never know, they might be open to adding Viviana.

[blasphemousclaw]

(For the pictures thing) "Gold accompanied by shadow":

(Normal Ulcerated Tree Spirits breathe pure golden fire without blackness, it is just for Shadow Land one) You can see, it is very radiant gold!

Omens wraiths fire:

It looks distinctly yellow-with-black too, but the color is 'dirtier', and even leaning more towards desaturated orange!

Watchful Spirits:

They are ALMOST white, but not fully! It is barely saturated yellow! Here is the example of Watchful Spirit fire near Blackflame, for comparison:

Yep. Not as pure white/grey as Blackflame!

Deathblight fire:

If I had to choose which one this one is the most like, I'd say Shadow Land's fire! It makes sense as "all death eventually drifts there", but it is also worth to mention this gold is not as radiant! It could be ignored, but it could also could be its own fire.

OR it could mirror how lightning of Ancient Dragons becomes golden upon settling within humanoids! It's true form is red but it becomes golden with humans and gods that use it, so, likewise, true form of Destined Death fire is red with black, but the form Mausoleum Knights wield becomes yellow! Again, it is not the same as "true power stolen" with Godskins, but lessened version of the actual thing with which Demigods they're guarding were slain!

I never truly realized HOW MANY different types of fire there are in this game… I’m overwhelmed!!! out of curiosity I also checked to see if the Horned Bairn orbs were the same color as the Watchful Spirit incantation from Grandam, but no, I think they’re different… it seems like this flame is more saturated with less black in it than the Horned Bairn spirits…

I would have thought this and the Horned Bairn spirits would have been the same color since they’re both vengeful hornsent spirits, but I guess they aren’t? they aren’t super different though? maybe it’s more like a category of flames rather than being exactly the same thing… IDK

[yuki-kazami]

fwiw I'm definitely being hyperbolic in tone to some degree in the post because this is basically the first time I crashed headfirst into something that felt truly wrong to me in an AK story. Up until this point, I have had basically no complaints that weren't nitpicks.

My overall huge issue here is the implications that come from her not just being honest about this from the start. Nearl has always been presented as a paragon, the closest thing to a superman-type character in Arknights. She owns up to the failures of her people and does her best to seek to mend others hearts. She is an incredibly stalwart defender of the people she cares about.

With that in mind, it feels categorically wrong that she would be able, or even willing, to hide her uninfected status like this, especially when publicly revealing it would have helped people wisen up to the scumminess of the KGCC faster. It gets especially strange once you consider that she was perfectly content to let them bill her as infected even after she returned, to the point where we actively see Pinus Sylvestris taking inspiration, only to be in some capacity disappointed to find out she is not actually like them. They somewhat brush it off in the narrative, but I feel like it wouldn't exactly go over nearly as well in reality to find out one of your founding ideological figures was never actually infected in the first place and doesn't understand the particulars of your struggle like you thought.

In an objective sense, Nearl is maybe the best possible candidate for "someone who is uninfected but genuinely fights for the infected with all of her being", but I still feel like it's a cheap twist that weakens her narrative presence and is basically a wholly unnecessary plot beat that at best negatively impacts her character, if not ruining it entirely. If they wanted this moment, I think a much better option would have been what was suggested in another reblog:

Margaret Nearl's original exile was indeed due to her own grandfather trying to "keep her out of trouble" or "teach her a lesson" or somesuch, along with the KGCC wanting the annoying unaffiliated Grand Knight out of their hair, but she then actually contracted it proper during her early wanders either before or with the Followers.

This lets them have the "uninfected" reveal as the KGCC's attempt at a cheap dig, but then you could have Nearl simply pull up her shirt and show her lesions on live TV, making the seemingly correct info from the KGCC get absolutely owned and making her scene of carrying her fellow infected knight to the hall all the more powerful.

Basically, it's unnecessary character tension that feels like it was created to give Nearl a reason to be criticized or something, and I think it would have been better off as a last desperate attempt for the KGCC to silence her ideals before she totally shambles them.

HOO BOY I am capital F Fucking Mad about the ""twist"" near the end of Near Light. What the actual shit were the writers thinking? This reads like some soap opera shit where they need to find a narrative twist to propel another season. Nearl is infected and I categorically refuse to engage with the boneheaded as fuck decision to suddenly make it canon that Margaret lied to everyone close to her and just pretended to have the struggle of everyone else around her. It turns her fight with the Blood Knight from an amazing battle of ideals where neither side is wrong and both are necessary for the future to improve into Margaret stolen-valoring her way back into her privilege while inspiring exactly 0 infected because they all should be rightfully mad at her for doing that shit.

I refuse to let such a compelling genuinely Lawful Good positive character, whose spice comes from the contrast she makes against a wide world of greys and necessary evils that make up living on Terra, become just another fucking Neolib who "really understands the struggle she swears". Anything I write in this setting, including my planned fic with her as a main character, will have her Infected as a plot point just like most of the Rhodes cast, and I absolutely refuse to acknowledge otherwise.

EDIT:

adding this thought I had so my thought is not lost along the reblog chain:

To make a further point here, I think it literally makes an unrecoverably-large plot hole if Nearl is not infected.

This means she knew the Blood Knight would eventually gas out due to his Oripathy and let it happen without saying a word.

This means every time another operator confided in her after a hard day, she was lying to them if she said a single word in shared understanding.

This means that the character who is said by everyone to be stubborn as a mule and straightforward has actually been perpetuating a conspiracy for several years on end.

I don't know about y'all, but that literally does not sound like Margaret Nearl. I think that ruins her to the point that all positive impact of hers is offset across the entire narrative. That all previous characterization of her was a front, a show to make sure that no one found a reason to question her. And I respect her way too fucking much for that to be how she goes out. So Margaret Nearl is infected, and the writer of Near Light made a mistake.

[skyloftian-nutcase]

The crisp, cool air and bright sun heralded the death of winter, a welcome reprieve from snowy patrols and freezing in metal armor. Abel enjoyed winter, honestly - snow brought a beauty and silence to the world that he rarely experienced, and both he and Tilieth could get lost staring out at the white expanse until they were both dragged indoors by her parents because they were shivering. Nevertheless, spring brought new life to the world, and it was Tilieth’s favorite season, so Abel liked it too.

Most importantly, though, the eve of springtime was when Abel was given a break so he could return home.

Breathing in the scent of flowers, Abel guided his horse from the Dueling Peaks Stable, feeling his heart swell with excitement as he headed towards the fort. He hadn’t been home in nearly six months, and he couldn’t wait to see his family. He glanced to his right to see wild horses grazing in the distance, giving him comfort and making him smile. This area was the most beautiful in Hyrule, in his opinion. He remembered when he was first stationed near Hateno Village, and he thanked Hylia every day for that blessing.

Movement up ahead caught his attention, and the knight squinted as he saw someone riding his way at a full canter. Abel moved his steed towards the right side of the road to make way, senses alert for trouble, when he recognized the white spotted mare and his heart sped up in eager anticipation.

Tilieth’s smile was as bright as the sun, but the way she held herself was strange. She slowed her horse’s pace, one hand hidden under a cloak that she had tightly wrapped around her while the other guided the reins. Her light blonde curly hair was in its usual half up style, frizzy but carefree in the breeze. Abel sped up to cover the distance, and within seconds the two were side beside and in each other’s arms.

“What are you doing out here?” Abel asked as Tilieth giggled in his embrace. He didn’t let her go, he couldn’t, not after being away from her for so long, but something felt strange. Tilieth seemed in high spirits, but he didn’t like how he picked up on a change in atmosphere. Was it simply because it had been six months? What was wrong?

Tilieth looked up at him, face radiant, eyes sparkling with anticipation and tears. She kissed him first and foremost, and he returned it in full, enjoying the texture of her lips, the smell of her skin, the way his body melted under her touch, the way he felt safe and loved. Whatever was different, surely it couldn’t be so bad.

When his wife finally pulled away, she gave him one last kiss on the tip of his nose, giggling. “Oh, honey, it’s so good to see you.”

“I missed you,” Abel admitted with a soft sigh, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead before continuing with his earlier questioning. “But how did you know I’d be here today? What are you doing out here?”

“I spent yesterday planning out your route,” Tilieth answered with a little shrug. “You’re pretty predictable, you know, once I knew where you’d last been stationed based on your letters.”

Abel chuckled. He supposed he was predictable. His wife certainly wasn’t, though - he hadn’t expected her to meet him at the fort rather than waiting in the village.

“I just couldn’t wait to tell you!” Tilieth continued, squeezing him tightly as their horses waited patiently alongside each other.

“Tell me what?” Abel asked good naturedly, nuzzling her with his cheek.

“Oh, honey,” Tilieth gasped, pulling away, too excited to contain herself. “I’m—here, look!”

Abruptly, his wife reached forward to grab his hand, pushing her cloak off one shoulder to reveal her clothes underneath a little more. Abel wondered if perhaps she’d made something new, knowing she enjoyed to sew, when he noticed that her body shape was different.

Her abdomen was…

Tilieth guided his hand towards her belly, letting it rest there. Abel froze up entirely, his mind very quickly coming to the conclusion she was hinting at.

The little movement underneath his touch confirmed it.

“You—you’re—” He couldn’t even finish the statement, brain stopping short of the words, entire being reeling at the realization. Then the anxiety immediately hit. “You shouldn’t be riding, Til, what if—we need to get you home, and—”

Tilieth laughed outright now, kissing him again to silence his worried words. “I just had to see you, Abel! But come on, we can go home together.”

Abel stared at her, worries and happiness and relief and terror mixing together to the point that he didn’t even know what to say. So he just held her again, never wanting to let go, never wanting this moment to end, never wanting to get over the realization that he was a father now.

I’m a father.

What did—how could he be—what was he going to—the baby—there was a baby.

Tilieth was pregnant.

Abel laughed. He laughed until he cried, he held Tilieth as he trembled, and she rubbed his back lovingly, and he didn’t know what to say or do but by the goddess he would do everything he could for his wife and child. He would. He promised.

The couple moved side by side on their horses, the sun bright, spring in the air, new life all around them, and despite the silence that hung between them for the moment, their eyes spoke far more than any word in any language ever could.

And for one, beautiful moment, everything was perfect.

[dragongodryss]

The knight and the dragon

(Stingue centric) (Warning: (Long( 16'000+Words)))

Incorporates the following prompts: Cursed, Impossible Quest, Abandoned Child and Forbidden Love.

Once upon a time, there lived a knight, Sir Sting Eucliffe by name. Though he was well liked by the common folk for his radiant self confidence and easygoing demeanor, his peers despised him for his arrogance and strange origins. Not that he would ever care.

He'd been abandoned, left as an infant at the order's door, and taken in by the knights of the Dawn Order. From a young age, many had taken notice of his talents. Some whispered vicious rumors in envious tones, whilst others sought to groom him into the perfect weapon, to be used for their machinations. Sir Eucliffe was well aware of that, for he was no fool, and so he hardened his heart and carried on.

To the common folk, he was quite the hero, defeating monsters, witches and bandits alike with ruthless efficiency, a confident smile on his face as he fought alone. No one would fight beside him, they all considered it beneath their station. With no one to turn to, all Sir Eucliffe had to rely on were himself and his skills. That was plenty, he told himself. More than those weak willed mongrels that boasted themselves to be knights would ever have.

To the knights, he was an arrogant fool who had rejected the gods themselves, who had only gotten away with it because he was the cruel and corrupt commander's prized weapon. Needless to say, there was no love between Sir Eucliffe and the knights of the Dawn Order. And so, for years to come, Sir Eucliffe of the Dawn Order fought alone, amongst cheers of hollow praise and whispers of jealous hatred.

When he had reached his twentieth year, or thereabouts, he had developed a reputation among the knights for being quick to draw his blade and slow to forgive. That meaning that he had yet to forgive any transgression against him. By that point, some had come to miss the mischievous yet kind and hopeful child he had once been, but it was too late.

Slowly, stories of his many duels had reached to common folk that had once loved him so, and as they found their way back to his ears, he grew enraged. But still, he fought on, further hardening his heart as the only source of warmth in his life started to fade. His light burned on, as cold as the ghost lights that haunted the moors. Present, if only as a cruel mockery of the warmth he once held.

The day the commander fell, all expected Sir Eucliffe to fall with him, and he would have, if not for the king's intervention. Never one to pass up the opportunity to appear benevolent, he offered the fallen knight a chance to redeem himself.

Deep in the mountains, far beyond where any sane traveler would ever venture, a toddler lay crying, deep in a cold dark cave. 'Monster', they had called him as they had dragged him out there, for the simple crime of being cursed by a witch, for the sins of his parents, no less. Not that he understood, not yet.

They had been scared to kill him anywhere near home, for fear that he would return to haunt them, and thus had taken him high up into the mountains, where no one would come across his vengeful spirit. As fate would have it, he wasn't alone, and the voice coming from deep within the darkness started to soothe the crying toddler, offering him his life for his company. Of course it was not so simple, but the child would have done anything to not be alone, for the voice to stay. It was no price to offer the shadow his company, not when he had nowhere else to go. Unlike him, however, the shadow wanted vengeance for the betrayal he had suffered, no matter that it had taken place centuries prior.

Over a few years, the nameless child, with the shadow's help, learned read and write and hunt and gather and make medicines. But slowly, his curse began to rear its ugly head as the small patch of glossy black scales on his hand began to spread up his arm. It was a good thing, the shadow assured him. Harnessed properly, it would give him power. And so the child began to exert control over the curse, learning to force it to turn his fingers into razor sharp claws or to retract back into the small patch of scales.

On his tenth year, or thereabouts, he ventured from the mountains with the medicines he'd made, to find more people at the shadow's behest. He didn't understand why; As far as he'd known, they'd been happy. They'd had everything they needed. But when he finally set eyes on the village, the scent of warm bread filling his nose, he understood, or at least he believed he did. It was busy, but absolutely captivating. His scales covered, he made his way into the settlement, returning the strange looks he received with a silent, wide-eyed stare.

For a couple of weeks, he found refuge in the stables, until one day, a stable hand came across the sleeping child and saw the scales on his hand. Once again, the child heard that nigh-forgotten word: 'Monster'. Never again would he forget it. Many words clung to his mind like the cobwebs that littered the mountain caves, but none like 'Rogue'. The tale repeated itself on occasion, with the shadow's whispers becoming ever darker as he encouraged Rogue to try again and again.

Every time he was rejected by a new village, Rogue fled to the mountains. Every time he was forced to use his magic to defend himself, the scales spread a little further, until the transformation reached his lungs. He was maybe fifteen when it happened, the townsfolk's violence, his growing curse and the shadow's whispers finally getting to him, and all his pain flowed out into a river of darkness pouring from his mouth as he screamed in frustration. As he blinked to awareness, he took in the destruction, the crumbling walls, the shallowly breathing forms of the villagers that had so viciously attacked him.

"Finish them."

The coldness in the shadow's voice snapped Rogue to awareness and he turned to flee when something caught his attention. He was on all fours, his back arched, looking at the small villagers. He looked down at his feet, no, his hands, to find scaly claws digging into the ground. In panic, he jumped back, feeling a surge of pain in a limb he was sure hadn't existed before. He'd hit a house, but with what? He tried to move the limb to find his feet lifting from the ground and flapped his newfound wings once more, soaring into the skies back into the mountains. Only there did he force his body to return to human form.

From that day on, knights and adventurers alike ventured into Rogue's mountains. Frequently, he moved deeper into the mountains, away from the hunters, and away from the shadow, who had once been his only friend. But though he could outrun the hunters, he could never escape the deal he had made that fateful day, deep in the mountains. Never again, he vowed, would he seek out another human.

But his heart was stronger than his mind and his honor combined, for many times he broke that vow. Every time he found one of pursuers injured by the many peril the treacherous mountains his, he turned back to heal them. It was his fault that they were there in the first place. Their lives would be on his hands.

As though they were the plague, Rogue avoided using his powers, for fear that he couldn't turn back to being human. Though the hunters never found their dragon, rumors of a mountain witch started to spread, and many would feign injuries to lure him out. But in spite of the shadow's warnings, Rogue would still go check. What else could he do? What if he let someone who needed help die for fear of his own death?

Sir Eucliffe pondered the impossible tasks set by the king, wondering if it would not be better to die with honor. Retrieve the Heart of the Northern Skies, an ancient gem with the power to grant wishes, lost generations ago, slay the dragon of the Traitors' Mounts and capture the mountain witch and bring him before the king. Any one of these tasks would difficult for a group, but for one man, it was an impossible task.

But Sir Eucliffe would not back down. And as such, he announced his decision to the king and made his way to the mountains, to hunt down the elusive witch.

Cold glares followed him in every town he passed through, but he dismissed them with a bright smile and mocking wave. Perhaps it would have been easier on his heart to avoid settlements when possible, but Sir Eucliffe was a tenacious man, and so he kept his head held high. After two days, he reached his first destination, the home of two of the hunters, one of whom was said to have encountered the witch.

He knocked on their door, loudly and firmly, unwilling to suffer a refusal. Fortunately for everyone involved, a woman, with a jagged scar running from her jaw to her chest, opened the door. Her eyes darkened when she saw the knight, but he entered without a greeting and sat down at her table.

"You are the one who came across the mountain witch, are you not?" He asked flippantly as the woman reached for what he presumed was a weapon. She nodded grimly, closing the door.

"What does that have to do with you?" She growled, moving toward the door on the other side of the room and gripping her weapon. Someone had to be behind there, someone she wanted to protect. Sir Eucliffe couldn't ever have imagined what that felt like.

"The king has tasked me with capturing the witch. That is all that you need to know. Now will you hinder me, knowing I come on behalf of the crown, or will you do your duty to your kingdom?" He asked coldly, all semblance of friendliness gone like the wind. The woman's face set in grim determination, but she called to someone beyond the door. Someone stirred within, carefully making their way toward them. A man, sporting a mangled leg, limped through the doorway, supported by a rough crutch. Fearless, he sat in the seat opposite the fallen knight, his wife standing protectively beside him. Sir Eucliffe repeated his questions.

"Indeed. I was caught in a rock slide as Karina and I were hunting down the dragon, and we got separated. I shouted for help, but with all the wind, I feared that the gods themselves wouldn't have heard me. And yet here he was. A young man, probably about your age now, sliding down the cliff so gracefully that I mistook him for an angel, until I saw his eyes. No angel would have eyes like that. No human either, for that matter. I still dream about them, you know. He couldn't have heard me calling, I tell you! He must have conjured that rock slide himself to trick me. I very nearly fell for it, you know. He pulled the rocks off me as though they were but pillows, but he was smaller than me. Than I am now! Taller than you, mind. He could never have lifted all those rocks so easily, not without magic!" The man rambled. He was a fairly skinny man, about a head shorter than Sir Eucliffe.

"And then? What did the witch do?" The knight interrupted.

"I was just getting there. He pulled out some potions and started healing my wound. Then he just left. Disappeared. Karina arrived a few minutes later. And you know the crazy thing? All the other sightings are the same. Severe injury, the witch appears and leaves just before backup comes. And he'll come even if you just pretend, or so I heard, but only if you're alone. The minute before backup shows, he'll be gone."

"Good thing I'm going alone then."

With those words, he left the village, making his way to the mountains. His sharp eyes, rivaled only by his blade, watched the skies. With his luck, he couldn't rule out that the dragon wouldn't strike while he was distracted.

After a week of traveling, Sir Eucliffe prepared to set a trap for the witch, with little hope that it would succeed. It was hardly a refined trap, merely designed to test the limits of the witch's abilities. Sir Eucliffe would stage a fall, leaving his sword just out of reach, and if the witch appeared, the knight would strike him with a poisoned dagger. The place was isolated, he would see the witch coming from afar.

However, in his plan, there was but one hitch: The ledge from which he would stage his fall was but an arm's length away from the nest of a griffon! Barely concealed by the jutting rocks, it had avoided Sir Eucliffe's attention. As such, when he climbed the ledge, about to 'slip', the griffon struck him from behind. His sword, which he had rigged to fall out of reach, did just that.

His options were to use his dagger, which he had concealed from the witch so far, or kill the griffon with his bare hands. Ever the valiant knight, Sir Eucliffe seized the griffon by the throat, pressing his thumbs into its windpipe. For a few agonizing minutes, he held on, despite the panicked monster's struggles, until it fell from the air into the valley below, far further than Sir Eucliffe had anticipated. With great dexterity, he maneuvered himself to fall onto it, breaking his fall.

Then he lay, with bated breath, at the bottom of the valley, hoping that the ordeal hadn't been for naught. Luck was with him that day, as the witch appeared not an hour later, trotting cautiously towards the fallen knight. "Another?" The breeze carried his tired whisper as he slowed to a walk.

"Please... Help me..." Sir Eucliffe begged, though he was unharmed. The witch closed the distance, kneeling an arm's length from him.

"Where does it hurt?" He asked softly, as though speaking to a frightened child. Sir Eucliffe resented it. The witch's eyes swept over him, and could see what the former hunter had meant. Those captivating red eyes could bewitch any who looked upon them. Such was not an angel's power. His mark's face was gaunt, and his eyes were sunken, almost overshadowed by the dark circles around them. Sir Eucliffe thought that would serve to make anyone else less attractive, but it only made him wonder what could possibly have caused him to look like that. Finally, he realized that the witch was expecting an answer.

"My...my back. And my shoulder. The right one." He cursed himself for getting caught in the witch's spell. He had been the kingdom's greatest knight! Shame crept over him.

"Can I take a look?" The witch asked. What did he think Sir Eucliffe expected him to do? "I mean, because of your armor. I can't check with your armor on." Some witch he was.

"You may." Sir Eucliffe agreed. The witch shuffled over, trying to make sense of the knight's pauldrons and how to remove them. It didn't help that Sir Eucliffe was lying on his supposedly injured shoulder. Perhaps he could stab him now, but he wanted to give the witch a chance to let his guard down first. Finally, the witch sighed.

"I didn't want to do this before knowing how grievous your wounds were, but I don't suppose we have a choice. I'll have to move you." The witch paused, waiting for Sir Eucliffe's assent. The knight nodded slowly, his back was supposed to be injured after all. "This will probably hurt. I could give you something for the pain, but it will make it harder to find what's wrong. It is your choice." The witch kept his voice low, but even then, it was bewitching. If this was how he spoke, Sir Eucliffe feared to hear him sing.

"I'm strong. I'll do without." The first part had been an affirmation to himself more than an answer. But it was the right choice. Who knew what side effects the potion would have?

Carefully, the witch snaked a hand under the knight before lifting Sir Eucliffe's left arm over his shoulder, preparing to pick him up. As the witch started to pull, with a gentle strength Sir Eucliffe hadn't anticipated despite the hunter's warnings, their chests connected, and Sir Eucliffe wondered when the last time he had been held was.

The dagger was in his left bracer, his left arm conveniently at the witch's back. The knight shoved down his sentimental side, which had to have come from the witch's magic anyway, and struck. He felt the weapon slide smoothly into the witch's lower back, prompting a cry of shock from the witch. Sir Eucliffe braced himself to be dropped as he roughly pulled out the dagger, but even as the witch crumpled to his knees, he didn't drop the knight. Worried, Sir Eucliffe contemplated stabbing him again, not wanting the witch's strength to be turned against him. It didn't come to that, as the witch carefully placed him against the griffons cooling body and staggered back. It seemed like the poison wasn't working, Sir Eucliffe noted for future reference.

Lifeless red eyes met Sir Eucliffe's cold blue ones. No surprise could be found the witch's face, only disappointment.

He dropped his bag of potions within reach of the knight and staggered away into the bushes, away from this newest betrayal. It was foolish, Rogue knew, to hope that things would be different every time he met a new person. In his defense, however, victims of legitimate accidents were usually less likely to try to kill him and any who did end up attacking usually did so a lot sooner, as soon as he came into range. His shadow mocked him once again, as always when he was betrayed, but Rogue could barely hear it. Could only register the ground approaching at frightening speeds. Had the dagger been poisoned? As his limbs grew ever heavier, Rogue concluded that the answer was yes.

So this was how he would die. A raindrop narrowly missed his eye as the rain he'd been looking forward to since that morning finally came.

Sir Eucliffe looked through the bag, filled with potions and medical supplies. The witch had made the effort of labeling the potions and had clearly made the conscious choice of leaving the bag with him. Not for the first time, the knight was starting to suspect. Thud. Sir Eucliffe looked up in the direction of the sound, where the witch had gone. Gingerly, he got to his feet, picked up the bag of medicine and followed the witch's path as it started to rain.

The rain had started pouring in the short minute it had taken him to reach the witch, who appeared to have succumbed to the poison. He was still conscious, at least somewhat. The side of his face that was visible was wet with rain, his hair and clothes already drenched. Though he lay still, Sir Eucliffe could see the fear in his eye. The knight looked around for a dry place to hide and wait out the rain. His eyes fell on a small cave nearby and he gritted his teeth, preparing to carry the witch there. Because he needed him alive. For no other reason.

To Rogue's surprise, the knight picked him up and started to walk away. Didn't he know that it was dangerous to travel in this weather? Rogue tried to tell him, but he could not make his tongue cooperate. Fortunately, the knight stopped soon after, putting him down on the rocky floor of a shallow cave. Then he started rummaging in his backpack out of Rogue's sight. Desperately, Rogue tried to turn his head to look, but he couldn't move. He could feel his eyelids growing heavy and fought to at least control them. He couldn't fall asleep now. In a frantic attempt to free himself, Rogue called upon his curse, scared of the knight's silence.

Wings burst from his back, tearing his shirt and painfully colliding with the cave wall. Thanks to them, he got to his feet, but those couldn't hold him.

Sir Eucliffe spun around as he heard something hit the wall, just in time to see the witch fall to the ground. He tried to lift himself up by his draconic wings, but he seemed to have less control over them with every moment that passed. In his addled state, the witch still seemed to realize it. In but a second, the wings folded in on themselves and disappeared, leaving the witch to collapse miserably onto the floor.

Sir Eucliffe grabbed the rope he'd been looking for and made his way to the witch, dragging him to the wall once more, below one of the roots partially protruding from the deepest wall of the cave, far from the rain. He looped the rope around the root and started to bind the witch's wrists together, all the while contemplating the implications of the draconic wings. As he worked on securing the restraints, the witch's sleeve fell back to reveal glossy, obsidian scales. Sir Eucliffe ran his finger over them, marveling at how smooth they were. The witch's hand twitched, as though he had tried to pull his hand away, and the knight turned to see that he was still stubbornly clinging to consciousness. He took his hand away from the scales and got up to set up camp. They weren't going anywhere tonight.

The witch had finally gone to sleep, slumped against the wall. He was turned towards Sir Eucliffe, reproachful even in his sleep. If Sir Eucliffe was right, and he was sure he was, the dragon and the witch were one and the same. Problem was, he needed one dead, and one alive. He would cross that bridge when he got to it. Now all he needed was to find the Heart of the Northern Skies, a gem lost for centuries. Daunting as defeating a witch and a dragon seemed, the task he'd feared most was this one, the one he'd left for last. Where could he even start?

He'd heard rumors of a seer on the other side of the mountains, perhaps he could start there. But for now, he needed to perform a little magic of his own. He looked at the enchanted cuffs in his hands, recalling the ritual. Draw blood from himself and the witch, pour it on the cuffs, then cuff the witch. If it worked, it would bind the witch to him, preventing him from going further than Sir Eucliffe allowed and, more importantly, from using magic. The king had lent them to him for the purpose of bringing the witch back, like a trophy of sorts. Though disgusted by the idea, the knight started the ritual. His life depended on this mission. Meticulously, he cleaned the dagger of any traces of poison before drawing blood from himself, before suddenly remembering the stab wound that he had given the witch. He took some blood from the wound, smearing the cuffs. They started to glow red, absorbing the blood. After untying the witch, Sir Eucliffe cuffed him, before carrying him to the open bedroll. He laid the witch down on his stomach before cleaning his wound. Removing the tattered shirt, he saw scars, many of them. Not from weapons, or at least not from things intended as weapons. If he had to guess, the two round scars, one on his arm and one on his lower back, had come from a pitchfork, several years ago. The slashes had probably come from a bullwhip, Sir Eucliffe thought, tracing them. They were also old, likely sustained during childhood. Feeling sick to his stomach, Sir Eucliffe wrapped the knife wound before wrapping the witch in his blanket and tucking him into the bedroll.

The knight removed his armor before sifting through his supplies for food. As he ate, he watched the witch. What was his name?

After a couple of hours, the witch started to stir, but stayed asleep for the moment. Sir Eucliffe wondered if he should wake him to offer him some food. Looking at the shadows under his eyes, he decided against it.

Rogue felt warm. Warmer that he had in a while. He wanted to go back to sleep, but the memories from before he had fallen unconscious started flooding back. Warily, he opened his eyes. He was lying face down on... was it a bed? He wasn't sure. Gingerly, he sat up, or at least tried to, until a sharp pain shot through his back. Gritting his teeth, he tried again, more slowly this time. The cold air bit at his exposed back, and the resulting shiver made his arms give way. An arm snaked around his chest before he could fall down again, lowering him gently back into the bed. Rogue turned his head.

The knight was crouched beside him, a look of concern on his face. "Stay still. You've torn your wound open." He told Rogue firmly. Rogue froze, abruptly aware that the scales on his arm were in plain sight. Had the knight noticed them?

Sir Eucliffe worked on wrapping the wound again. He felt the witch's heartbeat quicken and tried to work more gently. In the corner of his eyes, he noticed the witch's arm move, then felt him wince beneath his hands. Firmly, he took hold of the witch's arm, stilling it. "You'll hurt yourself."

Rogue was tempted to ask why the knight cared. It wasn't as though he had stabbed himself. More worryingly, the knight's hand was on his scales, though he had yet to comment on them. "Let me go." He ordered, as menacingly as possible.

"I'll get off you when I've finished taking care of your wound." The knight told him, but let go of his arm. Once again, Rogue tried to hide it under the blanket. He was already a witch to the knight, no need to appear a monster. Suddenly, he froze, remembering his attempt at escape before passing out. The knight had seen his wings! Then why was he taking care of Rogue now? "I know you're cold, but I'll only take a minute." The knight promised. Now that he mentioned it, Rogue was cold.

Once the knight had finished, he put one of his hands under Rogue's shoulder and put the other around his waist, carefully turning him around. Rogue hissed at the unexpected touch, but the knight carefully put him down and pulled the blanket back over him before moving away.

Sir Eucliffe pulled the food out of his bag before returning to the witch, who was warily watching him. "You must be starving. Help yourself." He handed the witch the food. Hesitantly, the witch took it from him, not taking his eyes off him as he started to eat. "My name is Sting Eucliffe. What's yours?" The witch swallowed his mouthful before answering.

"Rogue, I suppose." He said. He took another bite of the dried beef, still watching Sir Eucliffe. The knight sat down beside him, meeting his reproachful eyes.

"Please to make your acquaintance, Rogue." Sir Eucliffe said, desperate to stop the witch from looking at him like he was some sort of monster. He didn't know why. He had stabbed Rogue in the back mere hours ago, after all. He had every right to see Sir Eucliffe as a monster.

"Are you really?" Rogue asked dully. Sir Eucliffe bristled, forcibly reminding himself that Rogue was asking a reasonable question, no matter how much it stung. He thought for a moment, searching for an answer.

"More than I have been meeting most people, especially of late." Rogue would have hated to be someone he wasn't pleased to meet if that was the case. "Are you still cold?" Absolutely, but Rogue wasn't going to tell him that. He shook his head, and yet Sting clearly didn't buy it. Before he could respond, however, Rogue finally noticed the cuffs on his wrists. What were they for? Were they magical? They had to be. What did they do?

"It's alright! They're just there to stop you from running away. Just try to ignore them." Sting said quickly. He unbuttoned his coat and took it off. "Since your shirt is ruined, you can wear this." He reached for Rogue, but now that he had regained some strength, Rogue didn't intend to let himself be picked up. Hastily, he tried to shuffle away, but the pain in his back made him pause. "Careful!"

"I'm alright. I'm not cold." Rogue lied.

"You're still shivering. I know you're afraid of me, and you have every right to despise me. That doesn't mean I am going to let you make things worse for yourself." Sir Eucliffe told him firmly. "Now we're going to put the coat on you, and then I'll go back to my book and leave you alone. Then when the rain stops, we'll leave." He reached for Rogue again, and though the witch glared at him, he didn't back away. Sir Eucliffe would consider that a victory. He sat Rogue up and bundled him up in his warm coat. He was already missing it, but Rogue needed it more. "There we go. Now as promised, I'll leave you alone."

When the rain ceased a couple of days later, Rogue watched Sting pack up his camp, valiantly ignoring the way his stomach felt as though it had been filled with lead. The knight had been silent for the most part.

The only conversation of note was when he had told Rogue that he was free to go as far as the cuffs would let him. That had been followed by a short argument once Rogue had found out just how short that distance was. After dragging himself ten meters along the cave wall, his feet had simply ceased to move. Panicked, Rogue had sought another path, but never could he stray further from the knight. The bastard had been watching his every move from the dry safety of the cave, likely gloating at the terrified man’s attempts. Rogue had, in his desperation, tried to manifest his wings. That was when he had discovered the cuffs’ secondary properties. Distraught, he had slumped down beside a tree, which did little to shield him from the pouring rain. His wounds were tearing into him, some of his old scars even acting up.

Once Sting had dragged him back into the cave and Rogue had caught his breath, he had started shouting at the knight, demanding to be set free. Of course, his request had been denied, and after repeated attempts, Rogue had stopped trying. He hadn’t spoken since then and had no intention of changing that.

Sir Eucliffe felt Rogue's glare on his back, but every time he turned around, the witch had turned away. Sighing, Sir Eucliffe finished packing and turned to the witch. The silence had gone on long enough. "Alright, Rogue. Ready to go?" Not a word. Shame. "Come on Rogue. Lovely voice like yours, tis a shame not to use it." The witch still didn't speak, but he found the courage to glare at him again. Anyone else, he would have challenged to a duel. It was an insult after all. But not only did Rogue have every reason to look at him that way, not least of all after his comment, he was completely the knight's mercy. Not to mention it would have been odd to challenge him after staring at his eyes for so long. "I suppose that was hardly appropriate." Sir Eucliffe conceded gently. Rogue looked at him blankly.

The knight made his way over and slowly tried to lift Rogue to his feet. Letting himself go limp, the witch gave Sir Eucliffe a wide smirk. Sir Eucliffe rolled his eyes. "Not going to make this easy for me, are you? Brat." Rogue stuck his tongue out. Sir Eucliffe chuckled faintly, the first genuine laugh he'd had in a long while, and carefully set him down. The witch's triumphant smile brought new laughter to the knight. "I'd wager you're proud of yourself."

"Very." Rogue didn't manage to stop that one word. He cursed himself internally as Sting's cold blue eyes lit up the slightest bit. He locked his jaw and looked away. The knight chuckled gently.

"Very well, but we need to go. We still need to find the Heart of the Northern Skies. Come on."

"What do you mean we?" Rogue spat.

Sir Eucliffe explained his quest to the highly unimpressed Rogue. Slowly, the witch grew more worried. "And as you're bound to me for the time being, you're coming with me." Rogue didn't seem to be paying attention. His normally sharp eyes were wide and glazed over, staring slightly over the knight's shoulder. After a moment, his shoulders jerked, and seemingly subconsciously, curled up into a ball.

Until now, Rogue had not fully grasped the extent of the trouble he was in. He didn't want to know what the king had planned for him. Witches were dangerous. He wasn't one, but the king didn't know that. Keeping one around, especially one who was here against his will, was deeply foolish. What could the king possibly want with him? "Rogue? Focus on me." Sting ordered him firmly. Rogue blinked at him. The knight was kneeling beside him, genuine concern on his face. His hand cautiously hovered over Rogue's wrist, and he almost pulled it away out of habit.

Rogue wanted to ask him what would happen, but the words wouldn't come. All he could do was look intently at Sting. Comfortingly, the knight brushed his fingertips against his scales. "There, there-" His whisper cut off, his hand stilling against Rogue's arm.

Briefly surprised by the tears flowing freely, Sir Eucliffe resumed his attempts to comfort the witch. Guilt stabbed at his heart as he watched Rogue break down. He'd seemed so stoic, and Sir Eucliffe hadn't expected him to fall apart in front of a stranger. "Come on. Tell me what's going on." Rogue glared at him, hastily wiping away his tears.

"What do you think? I got stabbed in the back and you're going to drag me back to your accursed king for who knows what." The witch growled in a cracked voice.

"My apologies, Rogue. It is the only way for me to find redemption."

"Redemption for your crimes. Why must I bear the consequences?" Rogue snarled, looking more dragonlike than ever. "What have I done to deserve this?"

"The people fear you, and nothing else matters. Perhaps I can persuade the king to release you, when we return victorious. But for that to stand a chance, you'll need to convince the people that you aren't a threat to them. Come with me. Help me find the heart." Sir Eucliffe requested earnestly. Rogue's glare softened, and Sir Eucliffe could practically see the moment he started to hope. The knight prayed that it would not be in vain.

With that, Sir Eucliffe carefully helped Rogue leave the cave, slowly making their way down the winding mountain path. Fortunately the skies remained clear as they cleared the mountains in a week's walk. Fewer and fewer people recognized the knight, and slowly, his demeanor brightened. Rogue grew less nervous the longer they traveled, as they never stayed long enough for his scales to be discovered.

They reached the town where the seer was said to live. Sir Eucliffe asked around as to where they lived, and soon, they found the house. The knight knocked on door, breath bated. Rogue stayed behind him, eyeing the door uneasily. The door swung open with a creak, revealing a blonde woman, far younger than Sir Eucliffe had expected the seer to be. Maybe she was their granddaughter. "Good day, madam. We come to seek a seer, we heard of one who lives here." The knight told her. She shook her head.

"Begone. You aren't welcome here."

"For what reason?" Sir Eucliffe demanded.

"Your reputation precedes you, Sir Eucliffe of the Dawn Order. You are not welcome here." She reiterated, her voice growing heated.

"Let us go, Sting." Rogue suggested. Maybe if they never found the Heart of the Northern Skies, he would never be turned in to the king. The woman's brown eyes briefly flashed gold, so quickly that Rogue almost thought he had imagined it.

"A moment, please. You, we are willing to deal with, Ryos of Anemone. No... Rogue, isn't it?"

"What was the first one?" Rogue asked quickly, the rest of her sentence rapidly fading from his mind. Her eyes flashed gold again.

"You didn't know? Your given name is Ryos. Ryos of Anemone." We know our target. Anemone. His shadow spoke for the first time since he's run into Sting. Having grown used to the quiet, Rogue jumped back. Sting caught him as he stumbled, drawing his blade as he glared at the woman.

"What did you do to him!" Sir Eucliffe shouted. He hadn't registered anything the woman had said, had only seen her eyes flash gold.

"Sting, what are you doing?" Rogue hissed, struggling to his feet. The woman, no, the seer, tapped her knuckles against the door frame. Rogue heard two people get up and make their way to them, stopping just out of sight.

"Will you come or not?" The seer asked, her patience seemingly fading fast. Little as Rogue wanted to find the Heart, he didn't really a good reason to refuse. He nodded reluctantly.

"No. He won't be until you tell me what you did." Sir Eucliffe threatened.

"Yes I will be. She didn't do anything, Sting. Besides, you have no reason to care." Rogue snapped. Sir Eucliffe considered dragging him away, but they needed the information,

"Very well then. Call out if you need me." Rogue had no intention of doing that. A little annoyed at himself for giving up an ironclad reason to reject information, he stepped inside. The seer shut the door, and the other two people stepped into the light, seemingly from nowhere. The tallest one, a pink haired man somewhat shorter than Rogue, spoke:

"Luce, why have you gone back on our decision? We agreed that we wouldn't assist knights, and certainly not the witch-slayer himself!" He asked, confounded. The white haired woman was still eyeing the door cautiously, watching the seer lock it.

"We'll discuss this upstairs, Natsu. Lisanna, sweetheart, could you get us something to drink? This may take a while." Sting would be very pleased with that. Natsu led the way upstairs, gesturing for Rogue to follow him. Luce joined them after assuring that the door was properly secured.

"Who are you?" Natsu questioned, sitting down in a plush chair.

"Rogue."

Natsu waited for a moment, as though expecting Rogue to continue, but Rogue didn't, still wary of the trio's motives. "Could out-babble a brook, you could." The man commented, reaching out towards a candle and lighting it with a snap of his fingers. Rogue's eyes widened. "Never seen magic before? Hey Luce, why would you let him in if he's traveling with the witch-slayer and he's not magic?"

"Not now, Natsu. Wait until Lisanna gets here." The seer said. "It will save me my breath."

Fortunately, it was not long a wait, for soon Rogue heard her footsteps on the stairs. She carried two platters, one containing two jugs and four cups and the other carrying a mountain of bread rolls. They were still warm, their smell carrying over to where Rogue was seated. "Milk or wine?" She asked. Rogue asked for the former, his experience with wine limited to observing the occasional town drunk. Hardly a favorable impression.

Once they all had their respective foods and beverages, the seer started to speak: "As you may have gathered, my name is Lucy, and these are Natsu and Lisanna. Lisanna, this is Rogue." The white haired woman waved at him, and Rogue hesitantly waved back. "The three of us are all witches, so I hope you understand why we don't wish to deal with your companion." Rogue nodded. He didn't really want to deal with his companion either. Perhaps it was in his head, but the half healed wound in his back twinged a little as he thought so. Lucy had stopped speaking, and Rogue realized that she was expecting a response. He nodded hurried, turning his focus back to her.

"We came here to ask about the Heart of the Northern Skies. It's been missing for centuries. We don't know where to begin looking." Rogue explained.

"Yes, I am aware. But that is not why I let you in. You're not here of your own free will, are you?" Lucy asked. Natsu and Lisanna's eyes widened. Rogue shook his head, wondering where this was going. "I can't see the specifics, but you have two options: The first is to stay with us, and kill the witch-slayer. The second is to go with him and fulfill his quest." Her tone was grave, and Rogue knew she was hiding something. Silently, he waited for her to continue, twisting the cuffs around his wrists. "If you stay with us, your curse will never be lifted. Your mind should remain the same, but eventually, you'll transform permanently."

"I don't believe I could stay. These cuffs bind me to him." Rogue admitted, revealing the cuffs and by extension his scales.

"That is why we would have to kill him." Lucy stated, folding her hands into her lap. Rogue didn't know what to say. Freedom was within his grasp, but he wasn't sure he could kill for it. It was of no matter. He didn't want to kill for it. He didn't want anyone to die for it.

"I'll go with him." Rogue decided.

"What do you mean? He put a sealing spell on you, and you want to help him?" Natsu growled, baffled by Rogue's choice.

"It would be for the best, yes. If you are willing to do that, there is a chance that your curse will be broken." Lucy said. "And we'd never be able to rest with the Dawn Order after us."

"How? Can it really be broken?" Rogue asked hopefully.

"I don't know how, I just know that it can. Sorry I can't be more of more help."

"That's alright. Do you know where we can find the Heart of the Norhtern Skies?" Rogue asked, trying to hide his disappointment. Lucy shut her eyes, trying to find at least something.

"I see you two finding it, but I can't see how. As far as I can see, no one will tell you. -Wait! No. It's strange. Like you suddenly knew. I'm sorry, I don't know." Lucy apologized. Rogue froze, looking at his shadow.

"Thank you. I think I know who to ask." He wasn't looking forward to it. What he looked forward to even less was whatever the king had planned. "One more question: You called me Ryos of Anemone. Is that really my name?"

"Ryos was the name your parents gave you, yes. Anemone is your hometown."

"Right. Are my parents alive?" Rogue queried.

"A moment, please." Lucy said, her eyes flashing gold. She reached a hand out to Rogue. "May I?" Rogue nodded. She touched his forehead lightly, the gold color in her eyes fully taking over the brown for several seconds. "They don't appear to be. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Thank you for telling me." Rogue thanked her. "I thank all of you for letting me in, and for the food."

He said his goodbyes to the other three and walked out to Sting, who hadn't moved from the door. "Did she tell you where we'll find the heart?" The knight asked once the house was out of sight.

"She said we'd find it, but she was vague on the how. I think we need to keep going until we figure it out." Rogue would be damned if he told Sting about the talking shadow that kept telling him to seek revenge, preferably through murder. Sting sighed irritably.

"Well isn't that helpful? Fate could not possibly have spared me this, could it?" The knight complained. "Could she have lied to you?"

"No. No, I believe she was telling the truth." But Rogue was the same person who had fallen for the same trap a hundred times, so what did he know? That very thought seemed to be on the knight's mind. However, he let it go.

Since they had no leads, aside from the vague prophecy, Sir Eucliffe decided to start searching in a more enjoyable place. The coast was nearby and was said to be wonderful this time of year, and it was as good a place as any to start their search. Though it was not far, Sir Eucliffe felt that they would be traveling a lot, and as such decided that a wagon would be a wise purchase.

The trouble was, he lacked the funds to purchase one. Thus, followed by a confused yet resigned Rogue, he started to look for something to do.

"Would you care to tell me why you seek an audience with the count?" Rogue hissed into Sir Eucliffe ear, wrapping the knight's coat around himself uncomfortably.

"We need money for a wagon and horse and supplies, and we need it soon. Might that the count has some monsters that require slaying." Sting told him. As long as the 'monsters' he spoke of weren't witches, Rogue didn't mind. Not that he would have a choice in the matter. As such, he nodded in understanding, warily following the knight's lead as they were announced.

It was but a short conversation, as Sting left out much of their story in his explanations. The count might have found it suspicious, had he not been desperate for help. But as luck would have it, he was, for a town south of the one they just left had recently become the hunting grounds of a griffon. Considering just how well Sting's previous griffon battle had gone, there was no way this could go wrong.

Still, the knight accepted at once, for what Rogue assumed was a high price. As Sting turned to leave, the count spoke again: "And your companion? What of him? He hardly seems to be a fighter." Sting turned around, briefly glancing at Rogue as he did. It was a fair question. With the cuffs on his wrists, he couldn't transform.

"You think me incapable of slaying a griffon alone?" Sir Eucliffe growled disdainfully. The count started to rescind his impertinent question. "He is traveling with me. He isn't here to fight." Sir Eucliffe didn't know why he was angered by the idea of Rogue having to fight, but he didn't have to.

"Of course, of course! My apologies, I shouldn't have pried." The count said shakily, hurriedly trying to get back into Sir Eucliffe's good graces. Magnanimously, Sir Eucliffe decided to forgive the man, brushing off his prying. On the edge of his vision, he could see Rogue rolling his eyes. He turned around to shoot him a brief glare, but Rogue didn't flinch, looking unimpressed.

On one hand, Sir Eucliffe was worried that this would make the count rethink his fear of him. On the other, Rogue didn't seem to be scared of him anymore, which could only be a good thing. Fortunately, the count didn't seem notice. Thanking his lucky stars, Sir Eucliffe left the building, Rogue right behind him.

They set off right away, back to the mountains to slay the beast. While Rogue wouldn't be helping him fight, he couldn't stay in the village alone, and thus he had to go with Sir Eucliffe. He didn't seem to mind, at least.

Rogue wished Sting good luck when they separated at the foot of the mountains. Due to the magic of the cuffs, he'd still have to follow him, but at a distance, hopefully far enough to stay out of the fight.

He watched Sting make his way to the griffon's nest, sword drawn. As such, he noticed the griffon before the knight did, seeing it circle back when it saw him. He could just stay put, do nothing. The knight would likely win, but the sneak attack would injure him. Rogue would be able to easily overpower him.

No. Rogue gripped his arm, his nails cutting into flesh. The shadow's voice was becoming ever harder to distinguish from his own. "Sting!" He called out to the knight. Sting didn't turn, not until the griffon swooped him. Then, as fluidly as a river, he spun around, his sword finding the beast's heart. It's momentum carried it forward, Sting's sharp blade almost tearing it in two. As the bloodstained blade caught the light of the sun, it cast small speckles of red and white light onto the mountainside, dancing among the spatters of blood that covered it as Sting moved.

The spell broke as the knight lowered his blade, walking over to the griffon's corpse to sever its head as proof of his triumph. Unfazed, he made his way back to Rogue. "Let's go get our reward." He said simply. Rogue nodded wordlessly, following him back down the mountain.

It had taken all Sir Eucliffe had not to turn around the moment Rogue had called his name. He had expected the griffon to move the way it had, as that was their typical hunting strategy, and had planned accordingly. He had neglected to tell Rogue as much, but even then, he was surprised that he had chosen to warn him.

Now, his main struggle was not to bring it up. Rogue had always helped people when he could. He wasn't special. "I apologize if I distracted you."

Sir Eucliffe froze at the unnecessary apology, but responded swiftly: "Nothing to apologize for. I should have told you about the plan." They walked in silence for a moment before he spoke again: "When we get our reward, we're going to go to the seaside to start searching. I don't expect we'll find anything, but we should go regardless." Rogue nodded.

"Is it far?" He asked.

"Not very. But as we will be traveling for a while, we may as well buy a wagon." Sir Eucliffe explained. "It's quite nice there, I'm sure you'll like it."

"Will there be many people?" Rogue asked, twisting the cuff on his scaled arm.

"Some, I'm sure. We shan't stay in one place for too long. The weather will be nice, or so I'm told, so we should be able to stay in the wagon some nights." Sir Eucliffe offered. They had reached the foot of the mountains at that point, not to far from their destination. When Rogue nodded, the knight continued: "It may be pretty warm, so we'll need to get new clothes. Something light. I'm sure we'll find something to cover your arm."

They returned to the count, with the griffon's head as proof of their victory. He was a little surprised at how quickly they had returned, but compensated them as promised. Within the week, Sir Eucliffe had managed to get his hands on a wagon, alongside the necessary modifications. Rogue stayed beside him as he did so, working on his potions. They went out for more herbs when Sir Eucliffe wasn't negotiating, Rogue finding those he needed with practiced ease. Still, he checked them every time, just in case he was wrong.

Their last job before they set out was to pick up their clothes from the tailor. Sir Eucliffe dressed quickly, not bothering to put his armor back on. When he came out, Rogue was already waiting for him. For a moment, Sir Eucliffe felt that he had forgotten how to breathe. Rogue had decided to cut his hair that morning, and had put it up in small ponytail, exposing a small sliver of his neck above the high-necked collar of his shirt. That might not have been an issue were it not for the fact that the shirt only had one sleeve, loosely covering his scaled hand in contrast to how the shirt clung to his upper body. The bottom of the shirt was tucked haphazardly into his light trousers, as though he'd done so in a hurry. Sir Eucliffe barely spared the clothes a glance, his eyes drawn to the exposed arm. He could barely make out the muscles, but they were definitely there, moving as Rogue shifted awkwardly. Sir Eucliffe tried to snap out of it. He'd seen Rogue without a shirt before. Unfortunately, as he snapped his head up to face Rogue, he met his gaze. Those enchanting eyes were no longer surrounded by dark circles, and as such appeared a far deeper red, small specks of violet and a lighter red catching his eye.

Rogue shifted as he noticed Sting watching him, worried he had been caught staring. His shadow berated him, telling him that he was being distracted. It could shut up.

Without his armor, Sting looked far more approachable, gentle even. He was wearing a sleeveless blue shirt, which he hadn't bothered to tuck in, as well as white trousers and brown leather gloves. His sword hung at his hip, swinging with every step he took. When the knight met his gaze, Rogue froze, trying to place the look Sting was giving him. His deep blue eyes had widened slightly, following Rogue's eyes every time they moved. His mouth hung slightly open, revealing perfect white teeth. They were straight, unlike Rogue's sharp fangs.

"Shall we go?" Rogue asked, attempting to cover his face with his hair before realizing he had put it up. Quickly, he ran his fingers through some of the strands, loosening them from the ponytail to frame his face. Sting jumped, hurriedly agreeing. Rogue decided not to question whatever that was about, instead waiting for the knight to lead the way.

Embarrassed, Sir Eucliffe walked to the wagon, his face burning with the might of a thousand suns. Rogue, walking beside him, suddenly sped up to stop in front of him, rummaging in his bag. "I can feel you burning up from here. Just a moment, I should have something for a fever. Is anything else wrong? Headache, sore throat?" Sir Eucliffe hadn't thought he could have been more embarrassed, but it appeared he was mistaken. He hadn't thought that Rogue's heightened senses would pick up on something like this. Was it really that bad? "Do you need to sit down?"

"No- No, Rogue, I'm fine. I'm not sick."

"You don't look fine. You look sick." Rogue argued, still sifting through the clay vials for some medicine.

"Rogue. I'm not discussing this with you. I'm not sick. Trust me." Really convincing. Rogue didn't look like he believed Sir Eucliffe, but he closed his bag. "It's not serious." He tried to reassure Rogue more softly. He hoped he was right. That this wasn't serious. It would become a huge problem if it was. Rogue wasn't paying full attention.

"That's weird. Your fever is going down."

"It's not a fever, Rogue."

"Alright. If you say so."

The rest of the walk to the wagon was quiet, with Rogue occasionally throwing concerned looks at him. Once Sir Eucliffe moved past his initially embarrassment and annoyance, he found it somewhat endearing.

Whatever was wrong with Sting wasn't among the ailments that his shadow had taught him about. That meant that it was either extremely trivial or extremely rare. Rogue wasn't on speaking terms with the shadow right now, but he might have to change that once the knight was out of earshot.

The first hour of the trip was largely uneventful, but Rogue found himself feeling sicker as the road grew rockier. When he couldn't stand it anymore, he opened his bag, running the possibilities through his mind. Food poisoning? Some other disease? He had a concoction that could make him throw up if it was the former, but he wasn't sure.

"Rogue, I told you I'm not sick." Sting reminded him. He turned to look at Rogue as he spoke and his face fell. Within moments, he stopped the wagon. "What's wrong? You look like death warmed up." Was it really that bad? He did feel faint. Before he could respond Rogue felt the bile rising in his throat and leaned over the side of the wagon, gracelessly emptying the contents of his stomach onto the road. He felt Sting pull away the hair that covered his face, waiting until Rogue was done to speak again: "Easy now. It's alright. Are you travelsick? Or is it something else?" He pulled out a handkerchief, gently wiping Rogue's face. When he regained his bearings, Rogue took it from him.

"Travelsick?" Rogue croaked miserably.

"Some people get sick on wagons and boats. When it's just boats, we say seasick. Do you think that's it?"

"I don't know. I've never been on a wagon before." He did feel better now that they had stopped moving. Slowly, he leaned back into the bench, staring at the wagon cover. The sunlight filtered through it, not too bright, but still warm. Rogue closed his eyes, enjoying it.

Sir Eucliffe watched Rogue relax, catching himself smiling as he did. He decided to give him a few minutes to recover. Meanwhile, he would rest as well. Sir Eucliffe didn't remember the last time he had allowed himself to laze around like this. Not in at least a decade and a half, he supposed. It felt wonderful.

Far later than Sir Eucliffe had intended, they set out again, going more slowly than before. In the middle of the afternoon, they reached the seaside. Sir Eucliffe decided to set up camp on close to a small town.

For a few days, they stayed there, questioning the locals for a couple of hours a day before returning to camp. After that, they moved to the next town, going at a leisurely pace, in part to spare Rogue from his travelsickness, in part because they were in no hurry. It was quite enjoyable, but Rogue dreaded the day they would find the Heart.

One night, when Sting had fallen asleep, Rogue got up and walked as far as he could from the knight. "Shadow?" Asking aloud was unnecessary, but it made Rogue feel slightly less insane. It made it easier to tell his thoughts and the shadow's apart. It was listening, Rogue knew. "Are we close? To the Heart?" Further than they'd ever been, his shadow told him. He didn't know how, but he was sure it was telling the truth. Rogue leaned against a rock, letting himself slide down to a sitting position. He was ashamed to find himself trembling in relief, but he couldn't tell why.

The weather was warm and sunny for the most part, but a few days after they reached the second town, clouds started to build on the horizon. "Smells like a bad storm's coming. Day or two from now, I'd say." Rogue warned Sting one morning, pointing to the clouds. The knight frowned, looking into the distance.

"I don't see anything. But it can't hurt to be cautious. We'll leave tomorrow. There's a town further inland, if we make it past the cliff." Sir Eucliffe suggested. Rogue nodded, though he seemed a little disturbed. "What's wrong?"

"I think we should leave today. Just to be safe." Rogue told him. Sir Eucliffe shook his head.

"I want to check the caves. The Heart might be there."

"It isn't. We shouldn't risk it." Rogue knew as soon as the words left his mouth that speaking had been a mistake. In his worry about potentially braving the cliffs during the storm, he'd ruined everything.

"What do you mean?" Since the night he'd overheard Rogue talking to himself, Sir Eucliffe had been sure he knew more than he let on. He'd kept quiet for the time being, for reasons he didn't fully understand. Rogue took a step back, away from him. His face was blank, his eyes darting around frantically, looking anywhere but Sir Eucliffe's face. "I know you know something, Rogue. I heard you, the night before last." Rogue took another step back. "Come back here. I'm not going to hurt you." The knight promised, forcing himself to calm down. After a moment of hesitation, Rogue complied but stayed silent.

For a couple of hours, both stayed silent. Rogue sat on the seat of the wagon, watching Sting make dinner. What could he even say? Should he tell him about his shadow? What would he do when asked why he hadn't said anything? Rogue didn't know. The obvious reason, not wanting to be dragged back to the king, didn't feel good enough for some reason. Not when he had misled the first person to show him compassion! With a jolt, Rogue realized why his original reason felt hollow. It had changed. Well, not changed. He had a second reason: He hadn't wanted to lose the companionship he'd found with Sting. Arguably, that was a far worse reason, and a stupid one at that.

"Sting?" He asked hesitantly. The knight got up from the fire and walked over to him, sitting down beside him.

"Do you know where the Heart is?" Sting asked after a moment.

"No. But I know how to find out." He admitted. "I'm sorry."

Sting flinched at Rogue's quiet apology. "What are you apologizing for? You've been far more helpful than I would have been." Rogue hadn't really done anything to help, but he supposed he could have been more difficult.

"I know how important this is to you. I'll find out. I'll tell you where it is." Sir Eucliffe almost wanted to tell him not to, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Instead, he watched at Rogue spoke to his shadow, trying to ignore the self-loathing that sparked up within him. "Huh... I wasn't expecting it to be there." Rogue noted after a few minutes of intent listening.

Shadow told Rogue, for the first time, the story of his death.

Once upon a time, centuries ago, there had been a king. He had been a strict ruler, but a just one. The common folk loved him, but the nobility grew resentful of him, both due to his insistence on holding them to the law and his refusal to use the Heart of the Northern Skies. His sister, hearing rumors of a coup, joined forces with the plotters to save herself and the rest of the family. With her help, the king was none the wiser. When the plotters struck, the king knew that his final hour was near. To his lover, he entrusted the Heart, the kingdom's most valued treasure. Valiantly, the king fought the enemies back, buying his lover some time to flee. The lover fled into the mountains, mortally wounded, and cursed the mountain range itself with his dying breath. For centuries, none had gotten far enough to find the Heart, and many took their search elsewhere.

Shadow had long since forgotten his name when Rogue had been left in his cave, and his sense of self was fading rapidly. Seeing that the child was his only hope at vengeance, he took him under his wing, trying to keep him alive.

Rogue could tell that Shadow didn't want to tell him. He had refused to speak of himself every other time he had asked. But with their rapidly merging thoughts, he had little choice. Rogue pushed his own concerns regarding that aside. Instead of dwelling on that somewhat horrifying fact, Rogue told Sting where the Heart was.

"How do you know?" Sir Eucliffe asked. After taking a deep breath, Rogue told him of the shadow that had followed him since his abandonment, of its history and most terrifyingly, of how their minds were slowly becoming one. He could tell that Rogue was scared of that, but didn't know what to do about it. "Let's eat." The knight instead suggested. Rogue nodded, leading the way to the fire.

Rogue hardly slept that night, dreading the day they found the Heart. When the sun rose, he got up and started to pack everything up. There wasn't much, and as such he finished quickly. With that done, he returned to Sting, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Sting? Wake up! Everything's packed."

"Huh?" Sir Eucliffe blinked a few times to discover that it was indeed dawn. "Rogue, what in the heavens' name is wrong with you? We're not leaving now. Go back to sleep." He grumbled. Rogue quietly went back to his bedroll, lying completely still, seemingly waiting for Sir Eucliffe to go back to sleep. The knight sighed, getting up. "You're worried." He stated. Rogue rolled over to face him, the look in his eyes confirmation enough. "Don't worry about what will or will not happen when we get back. I'll protect you." Sir Eucliffe promised.

"How? You'd barely have regained your honor. What power would you have?" Rogue questioned. He flinched, surprised at how bitter his voice sounded. Sting looked downcast, stung by his words. It only lasted a moment, however, before his eyes hardened, determination written on his face.

"I know what to do. On my life, I swear you'll be safe." Sir Eucliffe knew that that didn't answer Rogue's perfectly reasonable question, but his plan was truly a last resort, and he didn't want to bet on it. To his surprise, Rogue shrugged.

"Shall I trust you then?" Rogue asked, knowing he would regardless. There was nothing else he could do about his situation, and at least trusting Sting would give him some peace of mind.

"Yes. I'll burn the kingdom to the ground if that's what it took to keep my oath." The knight told him earnestly. Rogue felt his heart race.

"I- You need not do that." Rogue told him, trying to slow his breathing.

"Don't I?" Sir Eucliffe asked, smiling as he noticed the blush dusting Rogue's face. He recalled the incident a dozen days ago and decided to give him a hint. He reached out to touch Rogue's cheek, causing him to turn redder. "You're burning up, Rogue... I think it's the thing that happened to me. You know, when we got the wagon?" It took a moment for his words to register with Rogue, but when they did, they had the intended effect.

Rogue's face went from anxious to confused to slightly embarrassed, before realization dawned on him. "Ah, right. Then I guess I'll try to sleep it off." He suggested quickly, flopping back down onto his bedroll.

"You do that." Sir Eucliffe agreed, getting up. He wasn't getting back to sleep anytime soon, he supposed. He made himself breakfast, watching Rogue pretend to sleep. Not for the first time, Sir Eucliffe had doubts. Even with his backup plan, he would still be endangering Rogue. What if he skipped the original plan, abandoned his tasks and went straight to the backup?

No. He wasn't that strong. His whole life, he'd worked to rise in the ranks of the Dawn Order, even as it took everything from him, from his joy to his heart. He wasn't willing to throw all that away, not if there was the slightest chance that he wouldn't have to.

But he would not let it take Rogue from him. He was the one that had made Sir Eucliffe feel like a person again. The only one that consistently used his name. Sting. Not even he could bring himself to do that. Was it such a surprise that he had come to love Rogue? It hit him like a landslide. He loved Rogue!

Sir Eucliffe watched the sun continue to rise, letting it warm him up as he listened as Rogue's feigned sleep faded into being real. The slow, deep breaths combined with the warmth from the sun and his epithany lulled the weary knight to sleep.

It was nearly noon when Rogue awoke again, the sun, though high in the sky, almost fully covered by clouds. He looked around to find Sting leaning against the wagon, fast asleep. Quietly so as not to wake him again, Rogue got up to find something to eat. He settled on an apple and gave another to the horse. Poor thing might have to carry them up the mountains.

After that, he sat down beside Sting, looking out at the sea. He was going to miss this. After a while, he got up to get his brush, fixing his hair, which had become a mess while he slept. Stroke by stroke, he untangled it, wondering how he'd ever made do with just his fingers. Sting shifted beside him, resting his head on Rogue's shoulder. Since Rogue had already finished brushing that side, he didn't bother moving him, instead continuing to brush his hair. Once he had gotten over his surprise at the touch, he found that it felt nice, comforting even. When he couldn't realistically continue brushing his hair, he put down the brush and after a moment of hesitation, rested his head against Sting's.

Sir Eucliffe slowly awoke, the scent of wood-smoke and honey filling his nose. He opened his eyes to realize he was still outside the wagon, his head resting comfortably on something warm, a soft, heavy weight covering it. He could stay like this forever, and likely would have, were it not for the fact that he suddenly realized that he was sleeping on Rogue, who had sat down beside him at some point.

Sir Eucliffe jolted, causing Rogue to move immediately. "Are you alright?" Rogue asked him. Sir Eucliffe acquiesced, not sure if he was embarrassed at laying on Rogue or at his cowardly reaction to discovering that fact.

"My apologies for leaning on you. Must have been uncomfortable." Sir Eucliffe apologized. Rogue shrugged.

"Was it for you?" He asked.

"Come again? -No, it wasn't! I meant, it must have been for you!" Sir Eucliffe clarified, fearing Rogue would misunderstand.

"It wasn't. I would have moved if it were." Rogue assured him, watching relief flood the knight's face before he could mask it.

They made their way back to the mountains, leaving the brewing storm behind them. Driving slowly, they reached the foot of the mountains. Sir Eucliffe made the decision to sell the wagon, to Rogue's chagrin. He seemed to have grown fond of it despite his travelsickness. They kept the horse however. She would be helpful when it came to crossing the mountains. When Rogue remarked that hey had forgotten to name her, Sir Eucliffe spent the whole day coming up with a name. It had to be good. If it was bad, Rogue would think he was an idiot, and he'd made enough bad impressions to last a lifetime. Fortunately, Rogue found the name Solence to be wonderful. He failed to mention that he had been debating between Solace and Silence when Rogue had asked him, and that that been what had come out of his mouth.

Now they rode into the mountains on Solence's back, Rogue sitting behind Sir Eucliffe, both due to being taller and not knowing how to ride. Several a monster came their way, but the knight had ample experience with slaying them, so they were promptly defeated. Every time, Sir Eucliffe felt Rogue's eyes on him, and every time, his heart swelled with pride. It was different from the admiration of the people that he had long lost. It was quieter, warmer. Safer, and yet so much more fascinating.

Eventually, they made their way back to the cave where they had stayed when they first met. The night was close, and Rogue's cave a few hours away, so they decided to make camp. Sting decided that they should make stew, given that they had a few hours to spare. Rogue brushed out Solence's coat while Sting cut up the meat, and then went to sit down beside him, stirring the pot while the knight cut up the vegetables.

"What are you going to do once you're redeemed?" Rogue asked, continuing to stir lazily. Sting thought for a moment, his face slowly twisting into a haunted look.

"I don't know..." Sir Eucliffe realized in horror. He didn't want to go back to the way things were. The other knights had always hated him. The common folk had turned their backs on him the moment he was less than perfect. The king had only made a show of sparing him. Sir Eucliffe suddenly realized he had never been meant to succeed, much less in under two months.

He wanted to be safe! He wanted to be loved! He wanted to be able to look in the mirror every day and be proud of the person he saw looking back at him! He wanted to be Sting Eucliffe. But he'd come too far to turn back now, hadn't he?

Sir Eucliffe sighed, trying to shut away the incoming existential crisis. The concerned look Rogue shot him almost broke his resolve, but he stayed strong. "I'll have the king release you. After that, I'd like to continue traveling with you, if you'll come with me. Or at least stay in touch." It was more than he deserved ask for, or so he thought. Until he saw Rogue's face light up, his eyes wide and hopeful.

"I would love that!" Not like. Love. Was he overthinking this? The knight looked into Rogue's eyes. There was no doubt in Sir Eucliffe's ability to get him released, only the desire to go with him. Rogue was smiling at him, as happy as Sir Eucliffe had ever seen him.

"That's good to hear."

They left the next morning, reaching Rogue's cave by noon. It was high up in the crags, likely dangerously windy even on the loveliest of days, let alone now, with another storm a day away. "They left you here?" Sir Eucliffe asked, looking at the gaping entrance. Earthen spikes jutted from the floor and ceiling, a small brook chattering in a corner, leading outside of the cave. At the far wall, Sir Eucliffe could identify a crude shelf and a tightly woven nest. Some threadbare clothes hung from the shelf, along with some clay bottles.

"The bed and shelf weren't there yet." Rogue pointed out lightheartedly. Sir Eucliffe resolved to make sure Rogue got to experience a real bed soon. A nice one. With soft blankets. Maybe with some furs. Winter Wolf furs were really soft! He could get some of those if he went up north. They were pretty difficult to hunt, but Sir Eucliffe was a hardened warrior. He could handle a few Winter Wolves.

Suddenly, he realized that Rogue had started searching. Hurriedly, he joined him in his search. After an hour or two of digging and searching Sir Eucliffe's hands found a small smooth rock. He called Rogue over and unearthed it in full, washing it in the brook, revealing a black, heart shaped stone, hanging from an undamaged silver chain. Blue and green and purple speckled and swirled within it, like the polar lights Sir Eucliffe had seen on one of his missions. "It's pretty." Rogue said, a massive understatement if you asked Sir Eucliffe.

"Yeah..." He agreed breathlessly, struggling to tear his eyes from it as he held it into the sunlight, watching the colors dancing on the cave walls.

Rogue watched Sting, the look of wonder on his face captivating him. He looked so amazed, so innocently happy, the cool colors of the Heart of the Northern Skies reflected in his eyes. After a few minutes, Rogue decided to check on Sol. He left the cave, running his fingers through her mane. "Give it a bit longer, Sol." He told the horse, handing her an apple. For a while, he sat by the cave's entrance, watching Sol crunching up her apple.

Sir Eucliffe had barely registered that Rogue had left the cave. He got up from his seat beside the brook and went out to find Rogue, who was watching Solence. "You should get your things. We're nearly out of the mountains, and I'd like to make it down by nightfall." Rogue nodded, disappearing into the cave.

With a heavy heart, Rogue looked around the cave that had been his home for so long. He folded his clothes quickly and piled them onto the shelf. His hand hovered over the bottles, but thought better of it. He could always make more. Someone else might have use for them. With that in mind, he left all but one change of clothes behind too. And with one last look at the cave, a goodbye on his lips, he turned away, towards Sting. He packed the clothes into one of the saddlebags and looked at Sting, nodding to the horse, as though saying 'shall we go?'

With Solence, the journey was quicker than Sir Eucliffe's way there. More people recognized him as they came closer to the capital, dirty looks and insults becoming more common as they approached the palace. Rogue shifted closer to Sir Eucliffe, anxiously eyeing the rapidly forming crowd. "It's alright Rogue. It's fine. We're almost there, love." He didn't realize just what he'd said until it was too late. Mortified, he kept guiding Solence to the palace.

"Love?" Rogue asked, stunned to the point that he forgot about the crowd. Love? Rogue hadn't considered it. Now that he was forced to think about it, he wasn't sure. He did like Sting, a lot. He wanted to stay with him. But Sting had stabbed him and had been willing to take him here. But Sting had been kind to him since then. He had a plan. Rogue decided that that shouldn't have any bearing on if or not he was in love with Sting. He looked at the back of the knights head, trying to figure out his feelings. He closed his eyes as they kept riding, Sting still not answering his question.

He felt safe with Sting. And he did like him. Romantically? Maybe? He didn't really have a frame of reference. "You love me?" He asked again softly. So quietly that only Rogue's draconic senses allowed him to pick it up, Sting acquiesced. "How do you know?"

Sir Eucliffe jumped at the gentle, curious tone. He wasn't sure what else he had expected, but for some reason, it wasn't this. "I want to be closer to you. And I think about you all the time, even when I can't see you. I want to keep seeing you. I don't mind if you don't feel the same way." He whispered as the gates to the palace opened.

"I- I'm not sure how I feel. But I like you and I want to stay with you. I think I feel the same way you do." Rogue admitted. He did feel all of those things. He clutched Sting more tightly, knowing that soon, he would have to let go.

Sir Eucliffe was announced soon after. He made his way to the throne room with a large escort, Rogue in tow. As they entered, he briefly brushed against Rogue's hand with his own, an encouraging smile on his face.

The king sat on his throne, disdainfully looking down at them. His face twisted to feign kindness as they approached. "Sir Eucliffe! I see you completed your first task. You've acted faster than I had expected. Congratulations on capturing the witch. The guards will take him off your hands." Helplessly, Sir Eucliffe watched as a guard roughly grabbed Rogue by his arm as the King continued to speak, waiting for the king to finish talking. Interrupting him was a punishable offense. "I expect that you'll be leaving soon?" Though Rogue was perfectly cooperative despite the rough treatment, one of the guards grabbed his hair, twisting it to bring Rogue to his knees.

"One moment please." Sir Eucliffe requested. The king nodded his assent. With that, Sir Eucliffe strode over to where the guards were manhandling Rogue. "Let him go. I need him for this." He ordered coldly. The guards turned to the king, who once again nodded. Immediately, they released their grip on Rogue. Sir Eucliffe helped him to his feet, taking his scaled wrist in his hand. "I request permission to approach, your Majesty."

"Denied. Why?"

"Rogue has been cursed. It forces him to transform into a dragon. The cuff you provided me with have halted the curse indefinitely." He pulled Rogue's sleeve back, giving his wrist an apologetic squeeze. "I show you those scales as proof, your Majesty." He explained, holding Rogue's arm out towards the king.

"You may approach."

The two of them slowly approached the throne, showing Rogue's arm to the king. The king ran his fingers across the scales, to Rogue's visible discomfort. "Since the cuffs seal the curse, I would like him to be released." Sir Eucliffe requested. The king stared at him with cold, baleful eyes.

"Guards. Remove the witch. This impertinent fool and I have a lot to discuss." At once, they were surrounded, Rogue again being grabbed by the hair and dragged away. "Let me make two things very clear, Eucliffe: Firstly, you have no right to ask anything of me. I am giving you a second chance. Secondly, I don't care about the witch's circumstances. The people are going to see that I have captured the witch they have feared for years, and when they have all seen him and sung my praises, I'm sure many will pay to see a freak like him once again. Now go back out there and retrieve the Heart for me or die here in disgrace."

Panic shot through Rogue's veins as he heard the king's words, causing him to freeze up. His body wanted to flee, but his mind knew, rationally, that he would only make things worse for himself. Unfortunately, the guards kept pulling on his hair, and before he knew it, he found himself on the floor. Hastily, he tried to find his feet, but the guards continued to drag him, and his feet couldn't find enough purchase on the ground to get him up. Until suddenly, the guards could no longer move him, as the cuffs worked their magic.

"You want the Heart, your Majesty? Well I'll show you the heart." Sir Eucliffe said, regretful and yet not surprised that it had come to that. He pulled the Heart of the Northern Skies out from under his shirt, revealing the dazzling jewel. With every ounce of his body, he felt its power respond to his determination, surging through him as it waited to bend the world to his whims. Right now, he was invincible! Lost for words, the king stared at him, mouth agape. He knew it too.

Four wishes. That's how many the Heart of the Northern Skies could grant. One for every 77 years that passed. He knew it instinctively, as though that knowledge had always been there.

He had made his plans quite carefully, at least well enough to know his first two wishes. He knew to word them carefully, having read tales of being that could twist wishes to the maker's undoing. He didn't know if the Heart was one of them, but the fewer chances he took, the better.

"I wish for the ability to control the land and the waters in their entirety, as much or as little as I please." No sooner than the words were spoken, Sir Eucliffe felt the power within him take form. Suddenly, he could feel the world around him, his own to command. He reached out to the earth below the city and willed it to shake, and for a moment it did. Some of the guards fell to their knees, while others started to flee. One, however, had drawn his sword, holding the blade to Rogue's throat.

"Stand down, knave, or I shall tear out the witch's throat and feed him to the crows!" He threatened. Rogue eyed the sharp blade, before turning to look at Sting. The king stood up, livid and more than a little terrified. On stiff legs, he made his way to Rogue and roughly grabbed his arm, or more precisely the cuff. On instinct, Rogue tried to pull his arm away, but the guard tightened his grip on his hair. "Stay still!" He barked tensely. Rogue complied, given that the lunatic was holding a blade to his throat. Sting was clearly seething, trying to find a way around this.

The cuff fell away, and the guard tightened his grip furthermore, dashing any hopes of escape. The king did something to the cuff, muttering angrily, before ordering the guard to draw blood from Rogue. At once, the blade sliced the skin of his neck. The smell of blood filled the air, the warm blood dripping down his neck, soaking his shirt. He stifled a cry as the king dug a finger into the wound, before smearing the blood onto the cuff and clasping it onto Rogue's wrist once more. Or at least he tried.

For the guard had moved the blade to allow the king to gather blood, and thus gave Rogue the space he needed. He yanked his arm away at the last moment and spun around, grasping the guard's sword arm with one hand and kicking the king in the gut, sending him scrambling. Squeezing the guard's wrist, Rogue forced him to drop his sword, before kicking him away and fleeing towards Sting. Separated from the first cuff, the second too fell away, freeing Rogue at long last.

Once Rogue was by his side, Sir Eucliffe -No! Sting- didn't waste a second. The ground rumbled beneath his feet as he growled: "Enough!" Everyone left in the audience chamber froze, watching the former knight, hanging on to his every word. "Rogue and I will leave. You will not pursue us. If you see either of us in this kingdom again, I suggest that you mind your business, under pain of death. Am I making myself clear?" Frightened nods and mutters of agreement rippled throughout the room, but the king stayed silent. "Your Majesty?" Venom dripped from Sting's words like the blood from Rogue's throat, making the king quake in his boots.

"Yes. You are." The king spat out.

With but a look, Sting asked Rogue to fly them out of the city. Obsidian colored wings sprouted from Rogue's back, followed by a soft smile. "Where to?"

After looping back to pick up Solence, they made their way to the mountains. In a small wood on the way, Sting decided to make his second wish. "Do you want your whole curse to go, or just the parts you can't control?" He asked Rogue. Without hesitation Rogue picked the latter. It was what he was used to. It was part of who he was.

Sting made his wish, transferring most of Rogue's curse to Solence.

In but a moment, Solence transformed, becoming more reptilian in nature, her eyes becoming more intelligent by the second, until a dragon stood in her place. Meanwhile, Rogue could feel his curse weaken, like a weight off his shoulders.

"Good evening. Pleased to finally make your acquaintance. Solence, at your service!" The dragon chattered, beaming at them.

"Sol? How are you feeling?" Rogue asked.

"Better than ever!" Solence chirped loudly. Sting smiled.

"Good to hear! Quick question. Do you want to stay with us, go your separate way or decide later?" He asked bluntly.

"Ooh! I want to stay. You're both fun."

Sting's third wish was for Shadow to pass on, to let go of vengeance and to go reunite with the one he loved.

And the fourth? That one was for emergencies. Sting hoped from the bottom of his heart that he would never have to use it.

The three of them continued their journey, Solence flying them into the mountains. Deep within them, they came to a halt.

"This place would be perfect!" Sting exclaimed. Rogue couldn't see how. The slopes were steep and the wind howled constantly. But as Sting called upon his powers, the place started to change around them. One of the mountains started to sprout walls and pathways and windows, becoming something between a mountain and a fortress. Springs spewed from the sides, forming waterfalls and streams. Trees and grass and wildflowers grew on the mountains. Moss and vines and other flowers grew throughout the fortress. Trees sprouted, bearing fruit. Rogue thought he could see vegetable gardens. Sting grabbed his hand, running towards their new home, Sol flying along behind them. Inside, there were many rooms, large and small. Some were open and flat, whilst others were made up entirely of shelves and corners. Fluorescent moss grew all over the place, in green and yellow and blue for the most part, though other colors popped up on occasion. "Wow! It turned out way better than I thought!"

"It's beautiful, Sting." Rogue praised him as they looked around.

"Yeah! It's so shiny! Solence agreed, the multicolored moss turning her midnight scales as stunning as the Heart of the Northern Skies itself as she flew around one of the larger rooms.

Even inside the fortress, streams flowed, one even leading to a small lake, while others passed through small pools.

Rogue dipped his hand into the water, finding it pleasantly cool. "Is it too cold?" Sting asked. "I can make it warmer."

"No, I think it's nice." Rogue said. With a splash, Sol dived in, soaking the other two.

"I agree!" She chirped joyfully.

The next few days were spent traveling to get supplies Sting couldn't make. Solence and Sting went to get the larger things, while Rogue got the smaller ones, using the money they had left over from selling the wagon.

He flew from town to town, landing out of sight so as not to scare the villagers. In the end, he found the town where he'd met the other witches. He already had most of what they needed. He just wanted to pick up some flour and recipes. Sting had talked about trying to make some treats. He wandered the market, looking at the stalls.

"Rogue?" A faintly familiar voice called out. He turned around, to find himself face to face with Lisanna. "How have you been? You look far better." She said.

"I am. I'm living in the mountains again, with Sting and Sol. Lucy was right, the curse stopped spreading! Speaking of which, how are you guys?" He asked, happy to see a familiar face.

"We've been doing well. Natsu's employer found out about his powers, but he agreed to keep it a secret. He even got a raise, because fire magic is really useful when blacksmithing!" Lisanna told him proudly.

"That's wonderful!"

"Right? And Lucy's writing another book. She won't let me read it yet, but I know it will be good! And I'm working at the Violet Road Bakery now! It's been fun. We've been doing pretty well for ourselves."

"Really? Then you wouldn't happen to have any recipes to share with me?" They chatted for a short while, Lisanna writing down some recipes as they did. He bought his flour and bade her goodbye, promising to visit again.

He flew home, to find that Sting and Sol had already returned, animatedly talking about a hunting expedition up north. Rogue dropped his purchases off in the designated kitchen area and joined them, sitting down beside Sting and listening to him talk about his plan. "We should only be gone for a few days. Rogue, since it's a surprise for you, you should probably stay here. Do you mind?"

"A surprise?" Rogue asked. "What is it?"

"It's-" "Solence we talked about this." Sting interrupted her before she could reveal his master plan. Take down five Winter Wolves. They were a menace up north, and they were enormous. He would be paid handsomely and he would get to keep the furs. Besides, rumor had it that they tasted good. They would need five furs, he and Solence had decided. Three for her nest and two for his and Rogue's shared bed.

While not officially courting, they had gotten used to sleeping side by side, they had continued to do so. On many a night, one or the other would wake up to find himself fully entangled with the other.

A month later, the night before Sting and Sol's hunting expedition, Rogue decided to broach the subject of a romantic relationship.

"Sting? Can we talk?" He asked gently.

"We are, aren't we?" Sting quipped. Rogue rolled his eyes. "Sorry. Not the time?"

"Not really. I wanted to talk about us. What you said about love." Rogue admitted bashfully. Sting smiled.

"Alright. Well, my feelings haven't changed. I love you." He said sincerely, smiling as Rogue's face flushed red again.

Rogue took a steadying breath. "I love you too. I've been thinking about what you said. I've started making other friends, and I don't feel the same way about them." Sting's eyes brimmed with tears, taking Rogue by surprise. Not as much as the hug that followed.

"I love you. I love you. I love you." The words were like music to Rogue's ears, and he returned Sting's hug.

"I love you too. You don't need to cry." Rogue whispered softly, his breath brushing past Sting's ear. Sting shuddered, causing Rogue to hold him more tightly. After a few moments, Sting pulled back to look at Rogue again. Warm red eyes looked back at him.

"I want to kiss you." Sting stated, trying not to get lost in Rogue's eyes.

"Do it then." Rogue invited him, a small smile on his face. Sting didn't need further invitation, leaning in to capture his lips.

It felt like coming home, or seeing the sun rise for the first time, or stepping into the shade after hours in the sun, and so many other things, both comforting and exciting.

When they finally broke apart, after what felt like an eternity (probably a few seconds), Sting grinned at the large smile on Rogue's face.

"You're pretty." Rogue told him earnestly.

Sting struggled to come up with a response. Honestly, it was unfair of Rogue to throw that at him when he had just kissed him. "Takes one to know one." Really? That was what he had settled on? Rogue chuckled, and good grief he looked like an angel. His laugh was contagious, and soon Sting was laughing right along with him.

Sting's laugh was beautiful. That was simply a fact. One that Rogue was quickly rediscovering.

Neither expected to sleep that night, too giddy at finally having said told the other how they felt. But they did, and quite quickly, curled up together on their bed. The next morning, Sting and Sol bade Rogue farewell, to embark on their next adventure. Once they had left, Rogue made his way to his friends' town. He'd visited them several times in the past month, and had even introduced them to Sol. They had adored her, Lisanna especially. Even more so when Sol, upon discovering Lisanna's shapeshifting ability, had challenged her to several races. None of them were fond of Sting, and had no interest in meeting him again, and Rogue hadn't pushed the subject. Today, he was going to visit the library. Lucy had promised to show it to him.

The king's soldiers had come after them about a week after their escape to attempt to wrest the heart from Sting, but without success. Rogue could only hope that they had given up.

That would be all it took for them to have their happily ever after.

[truthwatcher-vez]

ask game: 9 with rlainarin? ♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️

For ash-sokia, for the write a kiss ask game #9: a kiss in public. 

Author's Note: This fic started out light-hearted and then took a more serious turn during the writing process.  Many, many thanks to cosmere-play, rysn and Priscellie for beta-reading!

Content warnings for classism, speciesism, prejudice

Renarin fidgeted nervously as he and Rlain neared their destination for the evening, a classy new winehouse that had just opened up in an upscale part of the Breakaway market.  It was similar to the establishment on the Shattered Plains where Adolin and Shallan had first gone out together.  When Renarin had heard about the winehouse, it had seemed like a good choice for their first public date.  …Well, a first date somewhere outside of the usual haunts frequented by the members of Bridge Four.  Renarin had heard that this winehouse was supposed to have a relaxing atmosphere and a truly impressive list of wines.

Rlain had initially seemed hesitant about the idea, but ultimately he had given in to Renarin’s enthusiasm, and had agreed they should give it a try.

Renarin was so caught up in his own nerves that he almost didn’t notice the odd look that the master-servant at the door gave him as she double-checked his reservation.  As they were being shown to a table, Renarin thought he could feel her staring at his back.  There were whispers at the tables surrounding them, and someone sniggered.  Renarin flushed and tried to ignore it.  He’d grown too comfortable in Adolin’s shadow when he was among other Alethi lighteyes, forgetting how much Adolin’s presence protected him from being targeted as the ‘strange Kholin’.

Renarin took his time reviewing the wine lists, which were written out in Alethi glyphs as well as women’s script.  Rlain professed that he found the number of choices overwhelming, and asked Renarin for advice.  Renarin gladly obliged.  As he began sharing his expertise regarding all of the different wines, something in him began to relax.  Rlain listened attentively, offering questions here or there, and eventually they settled on some specialty wines from northern Azir.  A glass of sapphire for Renarin and a red for Rlain.

The wine really was excellent, and the alcohol took the edge from Renarin’s nervousness.  As the two of them continued to make comfortable small talk, Rlain raised a hand in a tentative gesture to request a refill of his water goblet.  Renarin noticed immediately when the signal was overlooked by the winehouse staff.  He followed up by flagging a servant himself, and the man quickly came over with a pitcher and refilled their glasses.  A little while later, the same thing happened again.  Then Renarin ordered them another round of wine--orange this time in accordance with the Codes.  Another master-servant brought Renarin’s wine over quickly.  Rlain’s… didn’t arrive.

Oh.  What was happening finally began to sink in.  The looks and the whispers hadn’t been about him.  Or they hadn’t entirely been about him.  Rlain had known, or had suspected this would happen.  He’d expressed hesitancy when they’d first discussed the winehouse--pointing out that darkeyes typically wouldn’t be allowed into such a place, and singers had the darkest eyes of all.  Renarin had brushed off the concern at the time, responding that Rlain was a Knight Radiant now, and Radiants belonged to a class all their own.

Apparently, not everyone agreed with that sentiment.

He was suddenly deeply mortified, because he hadn’t really spared a second thought about the situation from Rlain’s perspective.  Renarin had wanted to go out so that they could have a good time together, but he had caused Rlain pain without meaning to. 

“I’m sorry,” Renarin said abruptly, with genuine remorse.  “I didn’t mean for our date to turn out like this.”  He reached across the table and took both of Rlain’s hands in his own.

Apparently, not everyone had heard the new gossip that Dalinar Kholin’s son and the listener from Bridge Four were openly courting, either.  A brightlady at a nearby table gasped and visibly recoiled from them, shockspren forming and breaking in the air around her head.  Behind her, a master-servant on the way to deliver wine to another patron forgot her training and nearly fumbled her tray as she stared.  And at yet another table, an elderly brightlord in Bethab colors muttered something harshly under his breath, his brows drawing downward as he attracted a bevy of aversionspren.

That was the very last straw.  Something in Renarin snapped, filling him with fury.  It didn’t often show itself, but he had his father’s temper.  Having to witness the insults to Rlain, and to the two of them together, was absolutely intolerable.

Renarin slid his chair out from the table with a long scraping sound that made conversations trail off and drew every eye in the winehouse.  Then he rose and walked around the side of the table to stand over Rlain, placing a hand firmly on the back of his chair.  He left a trail of bubbling angerspren in his wake.

The listener eyed him suspiciously.  “What are you…?”

Renarin drew in a deep breath as he scanned the entire room.  Then he attempted to channel his cousin Jasnah as he spoke out loudly, letting the tone of his voice drop to match the temperature of the snow caps outside the tower.

“The wine here is good, and the selection is excellent.  But the service is appalling, and the ambiance is even worse.  A brightlord’s guest is a brightlord’s guest, deserving to be treated with dignity and respect.  No one here is in any position to dare question whom a brightlord of the second dahn chooses to invite out for the evening.  Especially when that guest is a storming war hero and a Knight Radiant.”

Renarin looked down at Rlain’s upturned face, and raised his other hand to cup his cheek.  He spared a moment to hope that he wasn’t being too presumptuous, then he stooped down and firmly kissed him.

The kiss was chaste, determined, defiant.  He meant it to be a deliberate message to everyone else in the room.  You can’t ignore us and we’re not going anywhere.  This is something you’re just going to have to get used to.

Rlain went very still--not drawing away, but not exactly reciprocating either.  It caused a bit of Renarin’s anger to slide sideways.  You’re doing this wrong, he told himself critically.  He’d been attempting to help, but had just wound up messing things up, as always. 

Then the listener’s quiet humming changed subtly, shifting to something calmer.  Rlain leaned in and returned the kiss, and Renarin felt himself relax marginally.

When Renarin drew himself back up to his full height again, he quickly spotted the man whose clothing marked him as the head master-servant of the winehouse.  He glared and gestured pointedly down at Rlain’s wineglass, still sitting empty on the table.  The man got the message, and another master-servant quickly scurried over with the missing goblet of orange wine.    

Renarin returned to his seat, his anger slowly dissipating.  He felt the weight of Rlain’s gaze on him as the listener sipped at his wine, and it caused a flush to rise in his face.  “I’m sorry,” Renarin apologized again, as the ambient noise of the winehouse began to resume.  “I probably should have handled that differently.”

“Probably,” Rlain agreed mildly.  The cadence of the word was unfamiliar, and Renarin wished he understood enough about the rhythms to know which one Rlain was attuning right now.  “Still, you chose to speak up, to a room full of lighteyes.  I…no one’s ever really done that for me before.”  Slowly, he extended a hand across the table.  Renarin reached out and took it, twining their fingers together.

Renarin had acted out of anger in the moment, drawing everyone’s attention to them without even asking Rlain what he wanted.  That had been a mistake.  They were courting now, and situations like this would almost certainly happen again.  Moving forward, he resolved to do better.

As they continued to drink their wine in silence, Rlain spoke again.  “In my experience, people don’t change unless they’re given a reason.  I love Bridge Four, but they never would have let me carry a spear if I hadn’t made a point of asking first.”  He looked up and met Renarin’s eyes.  “So yes, I’m willing to make lighteyes uncomfortable if it causes some of them to confront their own perceptions of the singers.  If there’s a chance that it results in one tiny step towards singers being more accepted at Urithiru.”

Renarin nodded thoughtfully. Then he smiled at Rlain.  “Making lighteyes uncomfortable is kind of my specialty.”

Rlain smiled back at him.  “I appreciate that. Now why don't we take a look at the wine list again.  I’d be interested in trying that vintage from Tu Bayla….”