#rocky hill castle

[ghostlytales]

A Ghost in the Room: The Haunted History of Rocky Hill Castle

Multiple spirits were said to have wandered this eerie Alabama estate, including one spectral figure who may have been caught on camera.

Though sadly no longer standing, Rocky Hill Castle was once one of the strangest and grandest pieces of architecture in Alabama. It was also known as one of the state’s most haunted locations.

Built between 1858 and 1861, Rocky Hill Castle was a plantation house built for James Edmonds Saunders to replace his previous home that had stood on the grounds since the 1820s. It is said that Saunders demolished his old dwelling and oversaw the construction of Rocky Hill Castle because he wanted a “grander dwelling.” Clearly, he accomplished his goal.

Built using a combination of Greek Revival and Italianate architecture, the interior of Rocky Hill boasted some of the most elaborate wood and plaster work in the state. Perhaps the most striking feature of the entire mansion, however, was the five-story Gothic Revival tower—complete with battlements—that connected to the house through a high stone wall with a dramatic Tudor arch. The octagonal tower reportedly housed Saunders’ slaves, and it is said that he stood on its top floor to shout out orders and survey his lands.

The architect or architects of Rocky Hill are unknown, but one of the best-known ghost stories surrounding the plantation—as told in Thirteen Alabama Ghosts and Jeffrey—claims that the house was built by a Frenchman, and Saunders had refused to pay his bill. Shortly thereafter, the architect died. His ghost then returned to haunt the estate, chipping away at the foundation in the cellar. As the story goes, the sounds of this ghostly hammering echoed from the lower levels of Rocky Hill for as long as the house stood.

After James Saunders died, ownership of Rocky Hill was passed through the family before ending in the hands of Dr. Dudley Saunders, James Edmonds Saunders’ grandson. The doctor did not stay long. According to local lore, he and his family abandoned the house in the 1920s, due to the ghostly activity that took place within its walls. One account tells of a frustrated Mrs. Saunders who demanded that if any spectral entities were present they should speak up or hold their peace. A phantom voice bellowed in her ear: “Madam, I’m right here!” The family is said to have packed up and fled within hours.

Rocky Hill slipped into a state of disrepair after the departure of the doctor and his family. Its final owner demolished the structure in 1961. Before the destruction, Alex Bush photographed Rocky Hill Castle in 1935, as part of the Historic American Buildings Survey. According to some observers, Bush’s photographs captured evidence of ghostly phenomena, including a fairly clear image of a man’s face and collared shirt.

Indeed, Rocky Hill had accumulated a wealth of spectral rumors long before the eerie photographs were taken. Stories circulated of a Lady in Blue who had come searching for her lost lover and was seen on the stairwell and in the wine cellar. Others reported the clanking of chains and the ghosts of Civil War soldiers. The house did serve as a hospital during the Civil War, and several Confederate soldiers were buried in the nearby Saunders family cemetery. A man who lived in a cabin near the house claimed to hear the mansion’s piano playing by itself, while other tales spoke of illicit slave trading and a secret tunnel that ran from the cellar of Rocky Hill Castle to the Tennessee River.

Whatever the truth of Rocky Hill’s ghostly past, today nothing remains. Visitors searching for the once-striking building will find only the packed earth of an empty field just a few miles from the tiny town of Courtland.

[mothmiso]

French Normandy (2) (3) (4) (5) by Eddy Sawaya

[asoiafreadthru]

A Game of Thrones, Tyrion III

Then he was above the towers, still inching his way upward.

Castle Black lay below him, etched in moonlight. You could see how stark and empty it was from up here; windowless keeps, crumbling walls, courtyards choked with broken stone.

Farther off, he could see the lights of Mole’s Town, the little village half a league south along the kingsroad, and here and there the bright glitter of moonlight on water where icy streams descended from the mountain heights to cut across the plains.

The rest of the world was a bleak emptiness of windswept hills and rocky fields spotted with snow.

[kaynanarie]

Eyes of Gold (Part 4)

(A WukongxReader story inspired by Beauty and the Beast and Lutung Kasarung.) (First) (Prev) (Next)

            Two days later, the rash was finally gone. The baths and medicine had cleansed it away, leaving healthy, itchless skin in its wake. You couldn’t be more relieved. Shihou endured your smothering hugs and endless thanks with grace and a smidge of pride.

            With you now poison ivy free, the monkey was ready to show you the way up the mountain. You didn’t realize how literally he meant it until you were three hours into a grueling hike.

            “How much further?” you whined, climbing up yet another set of stone steps. Shihou snickered where he sat waiting for you to catch up.

            “Just a few more. Would you had preferred scaling the side of the mountain?”

            You huffed, pausing to catch your breath. “No, but I wasn’t expecting a maze of staircases and secret tunnels. Did Monkey King find all these?”

            “Actually, he made most of them,” Shihou said, leading the way down a side passage. “Fruit and Flower Mountain has seen plenty of battles and having a backdoor comes in handy.”

            Glowing moss along the walls offered some light but you still kept close to Shihou. With so many twists and turns, getting lost would be all too easy. After another flight of stairs and a few more tight tunnels, Shihou finally stopped by an unassuming patch of stone.

            “Here we are!”

            You glanced at the rocky surface then back at him. “Where exactly is here?”

            With a smirk, Shihou pushed the wall aside. Instead of stone like you first assumed, a cloth was brushed away, revealing a brightly lit hallway on the other side. You stepped out into the light, letting your eyes adjust while also enjoying the fresh air. Behind you, a woven tapestry fell back into place, covering the secret doorway without a trace.

            Once you could properly see, you found yourself in a corridor, one side dotted with large windows streaming in sunlight. Lining the opposite wall were statues, murals, and hanging weapons interspaced between ornate doors. Despite being carved from the mountain itself, the stone palace was just as regal and intricate as any human-made castle.

            “Your room is over here, peach friend! Come take a look!” Shihou called from down the hall. He was nearly hopping from excitement by the time you joined him in front of the open door. “What do you think?”

            The room was huge, a carefully carved cavern with artistic details etched into the very walls. Rosewood furniture adorned the space, expertly crafted and polished to a mirror shine. The wardrobe tucked in the corner revealed silk robes similar to your first gifted set. A bowl of fruit and bouquet of colorful flowers decorated a small side table. You were most excited to see a real bed, plush with a downy mattress and covered in embroidered blankets and furs. The whole space glowed by the light of the bay window leading out to an overlooking balcony.

            Of all the things you expected from a mountain palace full of demons, such royal accommodations were beyond your wildest dreams. “It’s beautiful! Look at this view!”

            Being so high up was breathtaking and dizzying all at once. The whole of Fruit and Flower Mountain stretched before you all the way down to the edge of the forest. Cascading green hills plummeted alongside the thunderous waterfall. Above the canopy of trees, white clouds drifted through the endless blue sky. You were so enthralled by the sight, Shihou had to tug you back by your robes before you could tumble over the balcony railing.

            “Careful! Wouldn’t want an accident before the King announces your arrival.”

            “He’s announcing my arrival?” you repeated in disbelief.

            “Of course!” Shihou chirped, leading you back into the room. With your weary body weighted down by the sudden news, the bed looked more inviting than ever. You all but flopped down on the mattress, sighing into the cloud-like comfort. The weight on the blankets shifted as Shihou hopped up to sit next to you. “The King wants to formally welcome you while also making the others aware of your presence. Best way to avoid any mishaps.”

            “If you say so,” you hummed, glancing over to him. “Any other surprises I should know?”

            “Well actually, there was something I’ve been meaning to tell you…” Shihou suddenly looked quite contrite, avoiding your gaze as he scratched at the back of his head. “But you have to promise not to panic or get angry. Okay?”

            You raised a brow. “Is it that bad?”

            “Probably not,” he said though his frown wasn’t very convincing. “Just…try not to hate me?”

            Before you could respond, Shihou jumped off the bed and scurried to the center of the room. You sat up to watch him, suddenly worried by whatever was about to happen. He took a slow breath, so focused even his tail was still. In a quick nod, a cloud of smoke enveloped him with a startling pop. You jumped to your feet, coughing and waving the haze from your face. As fast as it appeared, the cloud settled, leaving you blinking as a shrouded figure came into view.

            “Ta-dah!”

            Where Shihou had once been was now stood a demon. He was slightly taller than you, wearing simple pants and robes tied with a belt. The overall appearance was nearly human but his fur, tail, and bare feet were monkey-like. A nervous smile played across his simian face while he waited for your reaction. Only the familiar golden gaze kept full blown panic at bay.

            “Shihou?” you asked after a tense moment.

            “Yep! It’s me! Just a little taller now. And with clothes,” he smirked but there was still a cautious edge to it. “You’re not going to freak out, right?”

            Your arms flailed in bewilderment, grasping for understanding. “First you can talk, and now this? I thought you were just a regular monkey!” Your hands covered your face, mind whirling with every awkward conversation you had with him. “How? Why?”

            Shihou looked a bit sheepish at your confusion. “I didn’t mean to lie. When I found you, I disguised myself so I wouldn’t scare you and I wasn’t sure how to bring it up afterwards. Now that you’re here, you’ll be seeing a lot more demons around so I might as well be the first.”

            A deafening silence filled the room as you processed the monkey’s confession. The longer you stared, the more nervous he became, tail twitching as he fidgeted in place.

            “Are you mad at me, peach friend?” he asked, gold eyes wide and pleading. Despite the larger demon form, he managed to look quite pitiful in his remorse.

            You sighed and shook your head. “You’re lucky you’re still cute.”

            “Aww,” he cooed, his smile sharpening to a cheeky grin. “You think I’m cute?”

            His teasing turned to full blown laughter at your unamused glare. “Don’t push it. I’m already embarrassed I carried you around for three days.”

            “How about I carry you next time to make it up to you?” Shihou chuckled at your mortified blush. “Anyways, now that you know, it’ll be easier to show you around. For now, you should rest while I let the King know you’ve arrived. Will you be okay while I’m gone?”

            The idea of being left by yourself in an unfamiliar demon palace was unnerving but you nodded anyways. Shihou sensed your hesitation and placed his now much larger hand on your shoulder. “I won’t be long. Once everyone’s gathered, I’ll come get you for the announcement.”

            With a final wave and a quick wink, Shihou whisked out of the room. Alone with your reeling thoughts, you laid back on the bed to study the carved ceiling. Soon enough, you felt the fatigue of the day pull you into dreams filled with underground labyrinths, demons in disguise, and the looming presence of the infamous mountain king.

[zaldritzosrose]

Like Real People Do (Jacaerys x Noble!Reader)

We are back with a milestone request from my darling @legitalicat, and I also gifting this to her as a birthday treat! See the request ask here!

Song - Like Real People Do by Hozier

Summary: You were like a beacon of comfort and normality for Jacaerys. His title didn't seem to weigh as heavy when he was with you. You made him feel 'normal', whatever that word meant. You made him feel like he was not a prince, not heir to the throne, but a real person.

TW: She/Her pronouns, afab reader, noble reader, no specific descriptions of reader, all fluff, this is sickeningly sweet and we may need a dentist after, Jacaerys being a gentleman.

Words: 3121

I had a thought, dear, however scary, about that night, the bugs and the dirt…

You hadn’t noticed it immediately. But Jacaerys had begun to spend a lot of time simply watching you. Even doing the most mundane of things.

The daughter of a noble house sworn to his mother, you now spent a lot of time on Dragonstone. Following your father as he swore his sword to Rhaenyra’s cause. You would accompany your father whenever he would venture to the island.

At first, you had stuck to his side as much as possible. Rhaenyra being made heir had prompted your father to begin to school you in more of a political light as the eldest daughter, so travelling to Dragonstone to watch your new Queen had become a source of fascination for you.

And the more time you spent on Dragonstone, the more time you began to spend in the prince’s company. Jacaerys was usually at his mother’s side, so for the most part the encounters were more formal.

But soon your father’s visits became more frequent which meant you made more effort to find more comfort and familiarity with the island.

Spending time on the beaches over in the castle. Simply walking and taking in the scenery around you.

This is what Jacaerys noticed first. And it fascinated him to no end.

Why were you digging? What did you bury, before those hands pulled me from the earth?

As the war for the throne began to pick up traction, your father was occupied more and more. And he encouraged you to spend just a little more time exploring the island.

Today was one of those trips, wandering through the rocky hills as the sea air whipped at your hair.

But you weren’t alone this time. Too lost in the fresh, salty air, you didn’t notice the figure following a few paces behind you.

You descended to the beach, taking your shawl and setting it down to protect your gown from the sand. You absentmindedly drew patterns in the sand, letting the sound of the wind and waves wash over you.

But as the weather calmed, you heard another set of feet crunching in the sand. You moved to stand, immediately on edge.

Before you could say a word, Jacaerys spoke.

“Apologies, my lady, if I startled you?” he said gently, and you could see the genuine concern in his eyes.

You took a breath, brushing down your skirt before smiling.

“Oh, not to worry, my prince,” you tried smooth down your hair as you spoke, immediately regretting not braiding it for your walk.

The two of you stood in silence for a moment. This was the first time you had been truly alone with Jacaerys. Every other encounter had been somewhere within the walls of the castle, surrounded by any number of other people.

“I, uh, I apologise for my appearance, I was not expecting to be accompanied…” you mumbled, simply wanting to fill the silence somehow.

Jacaerys only chuckled. Maybe he should have made his presence known sooner? But he had found the way you took in your surroundings so interesting to simply observe. How relaxed you seemed, as if you’d shed the mask of your noble title. Something he wished he could do himself.

“Nothing to apologise for, I am the one that disturbed your solitude.”

You were surprised by how relaxed you felt, now that the initial surprise had dissipated. Maybe it was being out of the castle, out in the fresh air with no expectations for how you acted.

“You are welcome to join me, my prince?” you asked, silently hoping he would agree.

The prince smiled, there were no duties calling him back to the castle, though he likely should have been doing something. Maybe a bit of respite from the castle walls was what he needed?

“I would love that, my lady.”

You leaned down, spreading your shawl out as wide as you could so there was space enough for both of you. You settled yourself back down, returning your gaze to the sea before you. Jacaerys removed his cloak, doing as you had with your shawl. A little sand wasn’t going to do any harm.

As he sat, he took the chance to look at you, as he did whenever you entered a room. He took in just how lovely the sun was as it shone through your hair, how it began to illuminate your profile like a halo.

But what he enjoyed most, was how normal it felt to just sit beside you. He didn’t feel like a prince in this very moment, and it was thanks to you.

Of course, it helped that he truly did find you beautiful.

I will not ask you where you came from, I will not ask and neither should you…

How many hours passed, neither of you knew. But the weather soon took a turn, the sea air growing cold and the wind now more than a tolerable breeze.

Jacaerys noticed the way you tried to hide your shivers and took it upon himself to suggest you both return indoors.

“Shall we return? Dragonstone’s beaches can get quite cold in the evenings.” Jacaerys said softly, standing up and holding a hand for you to take.

And you took it gladly, letting him pull you to standing. Before you could even bend down to grab your own shawl, Jacaerys lifted his cloak to drape over your shoulders.

You kept your head down, trying desperately to hide the blush you knew had begun to bloom on your cheeks.

“Thank you, my prince. We should be quick then, so you do not freeze?” you teased, pulling his heavy cloak a little higher up on your shoulders.

Jacaerys nodded, grabbing your shawl from the ground and holding out his arm for you to take, his own cheeks growing pink as you took it.

“Please, would you call me Jacaerys?”

He didn’t miss the surprise on your face. You may have spent a lot of time in his presence, but using his name still felt extremely intimate. But the almost pleading look in his eyes was hard to ignore.

“I can try, I think. Though it will take some getting used to, so forgive me if I forget to,” you answered, hoping that was enough for now.

It earned you a soft smile, his appreciation clear.

He knew your upbringing would have been as ingrained in your psyche as his own. Calling a royal by their name would likely seem incomprehensible. Just as if he were to use your name, it would have felt quiet unusual.

But names were personal, intimate. Names had no status, no titles. And you made him forget his title with just your presence.

You both began to walk, your arm safely nestled through the crook of his elbow. You were halfway back to the castle when a thought crossed your mind.

“And mayhaps you should call me by my name then? Instead of my lady?” you asked, feeling a little disappointed as you saw the castle come into view in the distance.

Jacaerys smiled. He had heard your name whenever you were announced, a name as beautiful as the woman who owned it. It was only fair for him to use yours if he’d asked you to use his.

“That sounds fair. It can be something we allow for moments much like we shared today?”

He let his question linger. Silently asking for there to be more days like today, without having to embarrass himself asking.

“Our little secret…Jacaerys.”

Jacaerys felt his chest tighten at the sound of his name on your lips. The way you said it so gently as though you were still unsure about using it.

The rest of the walk to the castle continued in silence, but Jacaerys couldn’t take his eyes off you for most of it. There was something about you that kept drawing him in, something that made him desperate to keep you at his side.

You gave him a sense of normality, yes. But there was something else. Something that made his heart beat a little faster whenever you entered a room.

Honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips, we should just kiss like real people do…

In the days that followed, Jacaerys’ mind kept returning to you. To sitting beside you on the beach, to the sound of his name on your lips, to the feel of your hand on his arm.

He tried to ignore the fluttered feeling in his stomach whenever he thought of you, but it was more than a challenge. His cloak still held the faintest scent of your perfume, which he had begun accustomed to being able to smell whenever he wore it.

You had returned home with your father the night before, but he knew it wouldn’t be long before you were back. The trips your father made were frequent, which he was now eternally grateful for.

He had stood at the castle walls as your ship left, still remembering the kiss to his cheek that you had snuck in when your respective parents were otherwise engaged.

A kiss that was still in his mind now as he tried to read the pile of parchments in front of him. Not a single word he read seemed to hold in his mind.

Every thought he had would somehow return to you.

I knew that look, dear, eyes always seeking, was there in someone that dug long ago…

You waited in anticipation for your father to tell you when his next trip to Dragonstone would be. There was no use in hiding it, you wanted to see Jacaerys again.

There was a sense of safety with him, you weren’t afraid to relax around. As he was with you. Whether it was only friendship, or something soon to be more, you didn’t know. But the mere thought of him gave you butterflies every time.

Each time you would see your father handed a letter, you hoped it would be a summons to Dragonstone again. But a couple of weeks went by and there was nothing.

You would go to sleep each night, silently wishing that the next morning would bring a letter.

Until one morning, your wishes were answered. Your father came down to breakfast, parchment in hand and looked immediately to you.

“Ready for another journey to our Queen, sweet daughter?” he asked, already chuckling at the fervent nod you gave him.

What you did not know, was that your father was more than aware of your affection for the prince, and he was more than supportive of it. To be in the prince’s good graces, was to be in the Queen’s and your father had long cemented himself as a pillar of loyalty for Rhaenyra.

The journey was planned for that evening, so you had no hesitation in hurriedly finishing your breakfast and leaving to pack your things. All your father’s journeys to Dragonstone were a week or two at best, so preparation was key.

So I will not ask you why you were creeping, in some sad way, I already know…

The ship arrived late into the night, the servants helping you, your father and the other members of your household collect your belongings and move them inside.

The castle was quiet, late enough that you were sure most of the royal family was already asleep. The sailings were not all that long, but there was little about them that you enjoyed. Yet, despite how tired you felt, you rarely found rest after one of those journeys.

You were all shown to your rooms, but you made no move to settle down. Even when exhaustion began to settle in your bones, you were a restless soul.

And Dragonstone at night? Well, that was something you had yet to experience to its fullest advantage.

The large castle seemed even grander in the darkness. The only light were the sconces on the walls and the chamberstick in your hand. You wandered the halls, paying mind to the rooms you knew were off limits no matter the time of day.

Your aimless wandering brought you to the library. Aside from the beach, it was one of your favourite places to visit. The tall bookcases that seemed to go on endlessly, the smell of old books. There was something so comforting about it all, despite it being far grander than the library in your own home.

But just like the beach all those weeks ago, you were not alone.

You couldn’t see him, tucked into a corner and hidden by the crammed bookcases. But Jacaerys had been in the library for most of the evening. The longer the war between his mother and uncle dragged on, the heavier the title of heir to the Iron Throne had begun to weigh on him.

And Jacaerys had never been more conscious of what others thought of him.

It was only when you heard the soft scrape of a chair did you realise you weren’t the only one hidden in the rows of dusty tomes.

“Is someone there?” you called, clutching your shawl around your shoulders.

When no one answered, you began to believe your mind was playing tricks on you. Until you heard some very familiar footsteps.

“It is just me,” Jacaerys responded, appearing from his corner with a soft smile.

You breathed a sigh of relief, walking closer to him.

“Jacaerys, I thought my mind was playing me for a fool, hearing things!” you laughed, setting the chamberstick down on the table beside him.

You took the chance to look him over. Maybe it was the candlelight, but he looked far more tired than usual.

“Are you well?” you asked, trying to keep your concern polite still.

Jacaerys sighed, his shoulders visibly sagging. Your presence was a comfort, a safe space where he could let his mask slip.

He sat down in a nearby chair. He was no longer a prince; he was simply a young man with the weight of seven kingdoms on his shoulders. As if by instinct, you moved closer to him.

Aside from the goodbye kiss to his cheek and the occasional soft touch of your hands, there hadn’t been much physical contact between you.

But you could immediately sense that he simply needed…something.

So I will not ask you where you came from, I would not ask and neither would you…

Your hand went to his shoulder first, standing between the chair in which he sat and the table. The touch was gentle, giving him the chance to pull away if he wished.

But Jacaerys didn’t want to. With you, he wasn’t a Targaryen prince, he wasn’t his mother’s heir.

He was just Jacaerys.

His hand raised to hold on to yours. Lacing his fingers and simply holding on to you.

How could he tell you how he was feeling? Would you think less of him? Would you think him weak?

But you were perceptive, and you could see the maelstrom of emotions behind his eyes.

“Jace…you can talk to me, you know that?” you asked softly, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

You only called him Jace when emotions were high. The last time had been when you had both said goodbye.

He sighed again. Why wouldn’t the words just come out?

“I…sometimes I wish I wasn’t the heir,”

Jacaerys hurried through the words, his voice barely a whisper but enough to hear.

Your face softened, though concern lingered in your gaze.

“And why is that?”

Your head tilted down to look at him as you spoke. Your hand moving from his shoulder to his cheek. The reasons weren’t something you were unaware of, but you knew he needed to talk it through.

“There are times I wish I could simply…be. To be able to live without the shadow of the throne at my back…”

His eyes closed as he leaned into your palm. With you, he felt like that could be possible. Since that day on the beach, you had respected his wish to not be seen as a prince. For his title to mean nothing whenever you were alone.

To let him be just a real person.

His eyes met yours and a soft smile tugged at his lips.

“I feel like that with you.”

Your heart stuttered in your chest, butterflies tingling in your stomach. Gentle waves of affection washing over you.

You made him feel safe. You made him feel comfortable. You made him happy.

“Jace…”

No more words left your lips as he pulled you closer. Wrapping his arms around your waist and tucking his under your chin. You hesitated for only a moment before you returned his embrace. Resting your cheek on the crown of his head.

“You make me feel real,” he whispered, his voice muffled against your neck.

You were sure he could have felt the rapid thump of your heartbeat now. But his was beating just the same.

The words hung heavy between you. The feelings between you both had been unspoken since the beach. Though it was only a few weeks, the tension had only grown more with separation.

You didn’t know what to say, but you realised you didn’t need to say anything. Your lips pressed to his curls, tightening your arms around his shoulders.

Honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips. We should just kiss like real people do…

The warmth of your lips on his skin was like a wave of calm. A balm to his tortured mind. Your mere presence seemed to hold the ability to fix his problems.

One of the hands on your waist moved to hold your hand, bringing it to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss to your palm.

But when his eyes met yours this time, there was only one thing he wished to do.

The kiss was gentle, tentative. But every ounce of love and affection that he held for you into it. The arm around your waist pulling you ever tighter into his hold.

And when the kiss broke, your leaned down to rest your forehead against his. Everything felt different, in the best way.

He was yours and you were his. For just a moment, Jacaerys could pretend he was just a normal person. He was happy and loved for who he was.

And you silently vowed to make it so he would feel that way forever.

I could not ask you where you came from. I could not ask and neither could you…

Honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips. We could just kiss like real people do.

Jace Taglist:

@legitalicat @thenameswinter99 @sylasthegrim

@blissfulphilospher @elaratyrell @multyfangirl

(if you want to be added/deleted, let me know)

[sol-icide]

‘Lunar didn’t know what to expect when Monty activated the portal to Sun’s dimension. Magic was so rarely used in their world now, so he had done little exploring of other realities—that was more the gator’s domain. He took one last glance around before Monty could usher him and Earth through the portal.

The wooden cottage he called home rested in the center of a floating island, bordered by a deciduous forest and streams of water that cascaded into the vast nothingness below. Several other islands floated nearby, some small and slowly unraveling, others much larger than the one that homed the cottage. This reality still held some semblance of life; the day and night cycle was not completely disrupted, so the wildlife around them continued to survive. That’s how most dimensions looked now—the better off ones, at least.

So when Lunar saw the swirls of violet and mauve pooling in the portal, he knew Sun’s dimension was far worse than his own. Upon stepping into the new reality, his senses were overwhelmed by the scent of water-soaked pine and conifer, but it was the excess of negative energy in the air that made him nauseous. It stuck to him like a wet blanket he couldn’t shake off.

To steady himself, Lunar seized Earth’s hand, who assured him with a firm squeeze. He couldn’t tell whether a storm had passed or was just beginning, judging by the darkened clouds circling overhead. The sky itself was split in two: one half held a burning sun, its flames so vividly tinged with reactive magic that even the creatures below could feel their intensity; the other half hosted a violet ocean speckled with stars. Tendrils of purple energy whipped through the sky, coiling around rocky islands—similar to those in Lunar’s dimension—suffocating any life they might have held. A heavy fog stalked beneath Lunar’s ankles, coating the hilly terrain ahead. If not for the lantern Earth was holding, he would have easily missed the gravel path that snaked up the tallest hill, leading to an almost castle-like mansion.

“I don’t think I have to say this, but I will.” Monty lowered his eyes at Lunar. There was a tenderness behind them despite his solemn gaze. “The magic here is too unstable for us to add anything else to the mix. So keep that lightning of yours under wraps, kid.”

“Monty,” Earth softly interjected. “He knows.”

Lunar returned Monty’s steady look. “I thought we were past treating me like a ticking time bomb.”

“Hey, come on now. You know that’s not what I said–”

“Can we just go?” Lunar looked away from the gator animatronic. “Please.”

The walk up the hill was silent save for the scraping of shoes on gravel. The path grew narrower as the mansion loomed closer, giving way to moss covered stones. Lunar tightened his grip on Earth’s hand as his stride faltered. The negative magic clinging to him made his body feel sluggish and heavy. He tried to focus on the soft clinking of Earth’s lantern beside him, but the farther they ascended the more oppressive the atmosphere became. The tension between the three animatronics lingered in the air.

“Do you guys feel that?” Lunar shivered involuntarily. “It’s like the whole place is alive...”

“And watching us,” Monty added, his broad shoulders tensing. “Yeah. I feel it.”

The air grew thicker, the fog denser, until even the light from Earth’s lantern struggled to cut through the gloom. The dark silhouette of the mansion was sharp against the dual-colored sky, its windows like hollow eyes that followed their every step. Despite the blazing sun to their left, the world seemed to darken as they reached the base of the mansion’s towering doors. Lunar paused, taking in the sheer size of the structure. It felt ancient, as if it had stood there for centuries, watching as dimensions rose and fell around it. Monty stepped forward, thumping the brass door knocker against the hard wood. Lunar’s eyes followed the gator’s motions with bated breath. He braced himself for the person he was about to face.’

A little excerpt from the first chapter! 👀 what do y’all think?

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Magician Lance Burton's 2006 castle house in Henderson, NV is for sale. (I wonder if his Vegas residency is over.) The 6bd, 7ba, 14,756 sq ft home is for sale for $10m. It's way over the top, too.

I don't know why there are all of these outbuildings down here, but the main house is on top of a hill like a typical villain's castle. It looks like a manmade hill. 10.05 acre property.

Life size horse statue is probably included. The gray house and vast paved area is depressing. I remember this house, so it hasn't sold since I last posted it.

The living room offers a view of the desert, plus doors to the patio.

Above the living room there's a mezzanine. And, there's also a bar.

Narrow hallways lead to other rooms.

It has a very ornate 2 tier library.

Looks like there's another bar in this room.

Gee, this hall looks narrow.

There's an open sitting area above the dining room. This looks awfully tight for serving.

A large 2 story gourmet kitchen.

Lots of counter seating in the kitchen.

Oh, look. There's Lance's magic hat. It has its own little cubby.

Looks like there are halls all around the perimeter of the home.

And, the theater ropes indicate that we are near the home theater.

Nice vintage looking theater. It seats 8.

Very fancy home office. I wonder if that's an Area 51 sign in the next room.

Look at this rocky waterfall.

We've all seen large chess sets before, but these pieces light up.

This looks like a lounge where people can watch the chess game.

This is fun, you can patrol the castle and insult your approaching friends like Monty Python in "The Search for the Holy Grail."

Look at the canons below.

This white part of the house looks like an addition.

Indian maiden and eagle statue pointing at giraffe statues. This is weird.

A fence surrounds the property and this is a guard office at the gate. I can't tell if that's a real person or a mannequin inside the window.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/1280-Scooter-St-Henderson-NV-89002/70055558_zpid/?

[corrodedcoffins-blog]

Drawing Her

Regulus Black x Potter! Reader

word count: ~550

warnings: none

note: ... i've been gone awhile, without warning i'm sorry. it was really just a lot of personal stuff, then my sister had another baby so i was helping with her toddler and just been busy but i'm hopefully back (??)

The air was calm, which wasn’t usual around the black lake. The couple were on the rocky shore, Y/n had brought a blanket for the two since they were planning to spend their day together there. It was the weekend and most of the students were at Hogsmeade, including the marauders so they decided that staying back at the castle was the best way to get some alone time together. 

Y/n was standing feet half in the water. It was an optical spot for skipping rocks, or that's what she told Regulus when he asked why she was taking off her shoes and tossing them to him. Unlike his girlfriend Regulus wasn’t interested in what he called a ‘physical activity’.

“Did ya see that one, Reg?! I reckon that was what? 4? 5? Skips!” She turned on her heels, feet digging further down in the sand, and saw that Regulus was more focused on his sketchbook than her. “Love!” 

Her yelling broke the boy from his focused stare, “Yes?” He said, wiping his head up to face her. He instead didn’t only got his beautiful girlfriend running up and falling down on the ground next to him, in turn he subconsciously blocked his page from her view, an action she noticed instantly.

“What were you drawing?” “N-nothing, it was just the uh- view, the water and mountains.. And the castle.” “The view? Me? Were you drawing me? I’ve never had a boyfriend who drew, a boy has never drawn me! That is such a movie moment!” She rambled, not even conscious of what she’s saying, now she’s worried that maybe that wasn’t something he wanted her to know, or worse he wasn't even drawing her at all. 

“You can look.” He mumbled while handing the book over to her.

“I don’t have too.” “It’s fine.” “Okay.” She smiled, making grabby hands and moved to lean her head back on her boyfriend’s lap.

The book settled on her chest to be comfortable in front of her face, and with Regulus’ hands running through her hair. Her eyes now landed on the drawing, a landscape of the hills and part of the castle in the background, and in the centre of it all was the young girl skipping her rocks.

“Reggie! This is so good!” She muttered and studied the piece, then flipped the page to the previous, it being a sketch of the male anatomy. “Woah! Warn a girl.” 

She flipped back a few pages and landed on another sketch of a girl that looked just like her. “This is me. You’ve drawn me before.” “Many times.” “‘Many times’!” “Yes, and suppose that may sound creepy or a bit stalker-ish.” “Maybe, but I think it’s cute. How many drawings do you have of me?” “Um.. Well, a few from over the past 5-6 years.” 

Y/n sat up fully, and sat criss-cross while facing him. “Since your first year?!” “Okay, yes, it’s bloody creepy but- I mean I’ve liked you for so long and I just think you're beautiful. I’m sorry if it creeps you out-” “No really, Hun. I think it’s really sweet. I mean it makes me feel great, aren’t I just irresistible?”

Just as always, Regulus rolled his eyes with a smile on his face and mumbled, “Yes, darling you really are.”

~taglist~

[yoonia]

the bedroom hymns ● chapter xxi

⟶ Chapter summary | Mysteries continue to unfold as you carry on with your solo adventures, not realising that every piece of the past that you have uncovered in your journeys traces back in time, aligning themselves with what has been written for you by the will of fate.   

⟶ Title | The Bedroom Hymns: a Bluebeard’s twist ⟶ Pairings | Min Yoongi x female reader  ⟶ Genre | Fairy Prince!Yoongi, Crown Princess!reader, Fantasy!AU, Fairy Tale retelling ⟶ Word count | 11,872 words ⟶ Ratings | PG-13, +18 / M for Mature for future chapters; include magic terms, classism, depiction of fantasy ritual act, mention of fantasy religion/beliefs, mention of war, violence, weapons, sword fighting, blood, injuries. ⟶ Story Masterlist: The Bedroom Hymns | ⤎ previous chapter | next chapter ⇢ ⟶ Main Masterlist | Mailbox | Taglist | Feedback | Music Playlist | Ko-fi

⟶ Author’s note | After a long wait, we finally have a new chapter out. I’m sorry for keeping you from this update for so long. It was a hard journey to get this one done, since some personal stuff kept getting in the way. The chapter ‘ Serendipity’ has grown significantly during the writing process, so I had to split the chapter into three separate parts, and then even smaller parts on Wattpad for better reading experience. I hope you’ll enjoy reading this chapter!

chapter xxi. serendipity-1

A temple. 

The relief you felt for not finding yourself plunging into the rough sea or crashing down onto the sharp rocks on the shoreline was quickly replaced by bafflement when you saw where you had ended up in instead. 

Once your shock subsides, unease settles in. You aren’t quite sure why. This place doesn’t even look like the disintegrating temple you saw in your dream the previous night. 

This place reminds you more of E’l Alora; the mountains where giant dragons were flying around the human town built against the cliff’s wall, with its massive ravine and the castle on the rocks. 

Realisation dawns on you once you get to look at the little details of the temple a bit closer. Not a grand structure standing atop a hill, but a structure built within a mountain. As if a part of a mountain or a hill had sunken into the earth, forming a cave hidden within, surrounded by what was left of the mountain, and the temple was carved out of the rocky materials that had once been the core of the alp. 

Looking up, your eyes are met with the streaks of sunlight penetrating through the opening above your head. The sunlight here is quite murky—dull and grey as if the sun is hiding somewhere else instead of hanging up high in the sky, causing the colours around you to seem muted and washed out—yet it is still enough to illuminate the dark temple, giving you a clear sight of everything that is present right before your eyes. 

The door that you had just emerged from lies at the back of the room, facing directly towards the temple’s center where you can have a clear view of the dais spread along the length of the temple walls. A platform at the center rises slightly higher, made up of dark grey stone slabs that seem to have emerged from the ground rather than been carved by human hands. 

Meanwhile, a part of the ground at the center of the temple sinks deeper, creating a small crater in the middle of the main praying hall which is now filled with water. The nave area for the worshippers, filled with rows of benches made out of stone, was built around the pond instead of going around the dais, making it seem like the pool itself is the main focus point of the temple. 

The humming magic coming out of the portal feels like cold breeze brushing against your back. Looking over your shoulder, you see a line of small alcoves covered in draperies in place of doors—banners filled with symbols of a chalice and crescent moon drawn on dark blue backgrounds, with two arches of ivy drawn on the top and bottom as frames. One of the draperies is flicking gently behind you as if a breeze is flowing from within, only that magic hums from it and sparks light up as it brushes against your skin. 

The door. This will be my exit. 

Suppressing a shiver running down your spine, you turn away from it and carefully walk across the vacant temple, following the ray of lights from above to find your exit while taking everything in. 

Standing right at the heart of the main hall, the old, seemingly abandoned temple feels grand and noble at the same time, yet solemn in its stillness. The way the temple itself seems to have been crafted by nature makes it even more otherworldly. 

It makes you feel small. Insignificant among the nature that has formed this place a long time ago. 

The rocky walls around you stand three stories high, each level marked by small open corridors framed with stone bannisters. Rows and rows of small alcoves were carved into the rocky surface the same way the doors behind you are made, only without any banners hanging as covers. The sight reminds you of the hundreds of doors lining up the floors of Stargrave Castle, and also of E’l Alora—how its human town was built against the rocky walls of the ravine. Only that these alcoves appear dark and lifeless, housing nothing more but shadows. 

You wonder if these alcoves had once served significant purposes for the ceremonies that were held in this place. 

If only you had a way to get higher, would you be able to see marks of chairs between the alcoves for the royals who came to join or witness the rites? Perhaps there would be small altars up there where they put the statues of the Ancients that they were praying to in this place and they were set up as private praying chambers instead? 

Turning away from the walls, you look up to the dais on the ground floor and make your way towards it. Eyes on the platform standing at the center, you try to imagine this place coming alive with a rite—you picture the leaders of ceremonies taking their places atop the platform, the nave filling up with their devotees and disciples. 

If only you know the significance of the pool of water that is glimmering under the dim sunlight in front of you. From up close, you notice that the pool is glowing in the shade of jade—as if jade stones were laid at the bottom of the pond—but the surface of the water is clear like crystals, and you can see your face reflected perfectly on it when you look down. 

Curious, wondering if you can find any clue, you take a closer look at the raised dais.

There is no such altar just like what you’ve seen at the temples you visited back in Smotia, nor there are seats or couches like what you had seen in the royal churches. But mantles are built against the walls, lined up with burnt candles. You can also see those candles lined up perfectly on the low platform in front of the dais. Some of them are burnt halfway, others are burnt completely to the bottom. You reach out, waving your palm above the burnt wicks and are caught by surprise when you still feel some warmth there. Showing you that at least a couple of them were recently burned. 

So not completely abandoned, then. 

You pull your hand away with a flinch once you look a bit closer, seeing a couple of silver goblets which have been placed between the burnt candles. At one glance, they seem to be empty. Yet as you bend down over the one closest to you, you can see a drop of liquid pooling at the bottom. 

Wine. Still partially wet, as if it had just only been used recently. 

So this place is still used. But where are the people now? 

You strain your ears, eyes, and your other senses, trying to feel out any presence of a person, any figure that might be lurking in the dark temple, and feel nothing. Turning away from the abandoned offerings and burnt candles, you look past the pool of water, across the main hall, to see another source of light. An open stone archway stands at the other side of the hall, where lights are filtering through into the main hall.

The main entrance door. 

From this distance, you cannot see too clearly what is waiting on the other side of the opening. But then a draft comes flowing through the temple, followed by a low, resonant whistling noise that almost sounds like a soft howl of an animal echoing through the open archway. At the same time, the light that you see coming from the opening begins to flicker, shifting between the dim golden light of burning torches or candles and the grey of sunlight that appears far duller than the sky above. 

A tunnel, you realise with a grim smile. There is a tunnel beyond the archway leading you towards the exit, and you can only hope that no other surprises are waiting there. 

Slowly, you make your way across the dark temple. You try to be careful with your steps, doing your best to keep away from the slippery part of the stone floor around the pool. And yet your soft footsteps cannot stop the sound of your boots from echoing through the temple. The sound keeps bouncing against the walls as you walk on, sounding far too loud against the silence, making you feel even more hyperaware of your surroundings. 

Wrapping your palm around the hilt of your short sword, you walk through the stone archway, finding yourself in a short span of a tunnel. The stream of sunlight coming through the tunnel keeps the darkness at bay, in addition to the flickering torches that are hung along the length of the cavern, causing shadows to dance around you on the cold stone walls. 

You continue walking, your grip remaining firm on the hilt of your sheathed sword and your eyes ready, and then you carefully step into the light—or, in this case, lack thereof. 

Out here, beyond the grim darkness of the temple, the world is looking just as ghastly. From the threshold of the temple lies a spread of grove half the size of the temple’s main hall. Filled with thin trees, the grove expands toward the descending plain and ends at what seems to be the edge of a city. 

Carrying the same caution, you tread through the grove, still with your hand ready on the hilt of your sword. Walking under the sparse line of trees in the grove doesn’t leave you feeling much of being under their protection. 

The trees here remind you an awful lot of the trees you saw in E’l Alora. With barks and branches that glimmer in similar shades of pale and rotten grey yet darker to almost black at the bottom half to the roots below, only thinner and longer, twisted in odd angles as if they were frozen in the middle of dancing with the cold wind or in their fight to avoid whatever terror came into this land. The leaves are also painted in similar shades of teal and dark grey, only that they appear sharper and thinner, so much so that they look like needles pointing up to the sky and do nothing to shield you from the sky. 

The ground beneath the grove appears dark, as if covered in a thick layer of soot with not a sight of grass or undergrowth. As if the earth itself has been drained dry by the withering trees. In some parts, the dark soot is blanketed by a thin layer of dust and ash, as if the grove had once caught on fire leaving trails of its destruction undisturbed even as the trees began growing once more. 

You walk a bit deeper into the grove, taking a few steps further until you reach the part where the ground begins to descend. Until you can have a better glimpse of what lies on the other side of these trees, and you finally come to a halt. 

Because what you see on the other side only puts cold shivers down your spine. 

Beyond the last line of trees, there is nothing but the ruins of an old city. 

Crumbling structures stand before you, remnants of forgotten temples and a ghost of a majestic city that had once been vibrant and full of life. A grand skeleton of stone structures stands at the far end of the city, nearly floating above the river that seems darker than the jade-coloured pool you saw in the temple. The broken-down gates spreading around it become the only indication that you are looking at what used to be a palace—one that had once stood strong above the city, overlooking the land, the forest, and the mountain behind you. Beyond the remains of the fallen palace lies a vast terrain of rocky peaks, rising high like towers made of nature. 

The vast plain of the city and the fractured roads have been overgrown with weeds, their insidious tendrils creeping over the withering foundations of the city to grasp whatever life remains. Tendrils of ivy and layers of moss cover most of the structures that are left standing, coating all the pale and bright-coloured stones with various shades of green. Any visible part of the ground not covered by weeds and broken stones has mostly formed into puddles of muddy water, leaving you to wonder if this place has truly been deserted, left behind and abandoned in its demise. 

What happened here? 

What happened to the people? 

And what about the temple, the traces left behind to show that life still exists here? 

Under the dim grey sunlight, the fallen city before you seems as if engulfed in a permanent shadow, leaving all the tone of colours to appear washed out—just as lifeless as the city itself. 

You are suddenly reminded of your dream. The eerie sight of a kingdom dissolving into ruins that has been haunting your nights seems to have been manifested right before your eyes. Had it been a sign, a premonition of a once-existing place that you needed to find? 

Captivated and enthralled by the sight of the fallen city before you, you lose focus on your own safety, on the ground you are standing on. And the next step you take ends with a misstep. Sending you straight into a puddle. 

“Oh, fates,” you murmur to yourself as you lift your soaked boots out of the puddle of muddy water. 

You whisper another curse under your breath as you shake off the mud from your booths, but having your attention drawn away from the daunting sight only draws your focus back to the dark grove around you. 

It brings back your sense of awareness, enough to help you notice that the air around you has shifted. You are no longer alone. 

A rustling sound reaches you from somewhere between the eerie-looking trees. A movement that is felt but left unseen. Spine stiffens, your hand returns to the hilt of your sword, and with a soft, indiscernible exhale of breath, you let silence fall so you can have a better listen to any changes happening all around you. 

You briefly close your eyes, just in time for the noise to return. It is subtle, but you can sense the sound coming from your right. Yet when you rise and turn towards it, a loud shrill of a hawk echoes through the trees on your left. A flurry of movement catches your eyes when you swiftly turn towards the other side, before a shiny sword glares at you as it swings down towards you in a sudden attack. 

“Fates,” you curse out as you pull out your sword to protect yourself, swiping it upwards to fend off the attack. 

The force of the swords clashing on each other takes away the breath that you barely managed to take. You can feel your arms trembling as you take the brunt of the attack, but you keep your grip firm, steadying your weapon while you regain enough strength to return the blow. Your sword clinks against the unidentified assailant’s sword as you push him back, throwing him off of you before you step away. 

With a swift, yet slightly clumsy motion—your boots nearly slipping, again, on the muddy ground—and your grip tightening on your sword, you adjust your stance to face your assailant. 

The shrill of the hawk echoes through the air once again. This time, the animal appears at the corner of your eyes instead of hiding away, diving from the sky at a rapid speed to strike the face of a second assailant that you failed to notice and was just about to land a surprise strike at you with his sword. His attack fails, and now he is busy fending himself against the beast—a black-winged hawk twice, almost three times, the size of a normal adult man’s head. 

The hawk is ferocious. The animal’s shrill continues to echo through the woods as it fights against the man in the tattered uniform and rusted armour, attacking his head, face, hands, and any part of his body that is not shielded by armour or the rapid swing of his sword. 

Distracted by the other fight, you almost miss it when your first opponent regains his composure and makes his move. He lunges, taking the opportunity that was presented to him in your distraction, his sword slicing through the air with deadly precision, aiming straight to your left shoulder—or your throat, coming from the left, you cannot be too sure. 

Yet you manage to deflect with just a small struggle, your blade clashing against his with a resounding clang. You twist your wrist as you rush forward, pressing on him and redirecting the force of the impact with a swift swipe aimed at his exposed side. He staggers back as your sword hits right beneath his armour, at the soft spot of his waist that is unprotected with nothing more but the belt holding up his sheath. 

Pointing your sword at his face, you snap at him, “Who are you?” 

A grunt escapes his lips as he finds his balance, while you use this chance to get a good look at him. His long and straggly raven hair is pulled to the back, leaving only a few loose and messy strands framing his sharp and defined face. There is a scar crossing his left eye, starting from right above the eyebrow to an inch below his bottom lashes. The shadows from the grove give him the perfect veil over his tanned skin and dark armour, yet you can still see the scars lining up his exposed arm, indicating that he isn’t one to be messed with.  

His narrowed eyes flicker towards his companion who has failed to join the fight, the black-winged hawk keeps getting in the way of him trying to get closer. “We’re the ones who are supposed to be asking,” the scarred swordsman snaps at you. “You’re trespassing on private property. This place is forbidden to enter.” 

You bite the insides of your cheeks to try and rein in your emotions and think of how to respond. You doubt that he will be so understanding if you try to tell him how you managed to arrive at this place. 

“Then you must forgive me. I suppose I must’ve missed the sign,” you choose to say, realising that any form of logic would never work to defend yourself. “That still didn’t give you the right to swing your sword at people without a warning.” 

Your opponent raises his sword back up and adjusts his stance to ready himself for another strike. “The only one who hasn’t got the right to be here is you.” 

Scowling, while stealing a glance towards the other fight that is slowly dying down—the hawk already lessening its attacks when your second assailant is growing weak and tired—you try to calm yourself down and reason with him. “Listen, I’m just passing through. I mean no harm, and I have no means to cause any trouble.” Lifting your free hand up, you show him your open palm to support your claim. “Please, just let me pass.” 

The scarred swordsman refuses to back down and sneers at you. “I find that hard to believe. Not many can find this place, much less to pass the borders, especially by mere coincidence.”

Pressing your lips together, you try to push down the shivers running through you at his words. You have no idea why you keep ending up in these places ever since you began travelling through the portals again. 

Forbidden lands. Closed-off borders. Places where your protection spell suddenly becomes null. 

A sacred land. 

You have been keeping your eyes on your opponent while you are trying to process this, only to fail to notice that the other man has somehow found his bearings. The second assailant, now freed from the ominous hawk, seizes the opportunity and advances towards you with a flurry of rapid strikes. As if he is trying to express his anger over his wounds and his defeat against the wild animal by inflicting the same harm on you. 

Yet he isn’t aware of how high your adrenaline is at the moment—both from the sparring you did with the royal guard earlier and the fight you just had with his companion. Your body may be spent, your mind is still reeling over what the first armoured man said to you about this place, yet your senses are still on high alert.

Your reflex is quick, and you weave and dodge his attack with barely seconds to spare. Your sword meets his blade in a series of sparks. In his anger, his movements are out of order and reckless, which will be dangerous for you to continue engaging as they are too unpredictable. Unable to read and to deflect easily. 

Heart pounding, you spin to evade his final attack and snap the hilt of your sword against his bruising temple before delivering a sharp kick to his chest. The attack sends him stumbling backwards just as your first opponent returns to strike you from the other side. You sidestep from his swinging sword and retaliate, striking him from his right. Your sword finds its mark, cutting through his armour and drawing blood. 

A pained cry leaves his lips as he falls back, giving a chance for his partner who has somehow recovered quickly to take over the fight. 

The continuous assaults are beginning to drain you. Your body not only trembles as your second attacker returns with a strike, but you can almost feel sure you are seeing stars the moment your swords collide with each other. Your breath is heavy and ragged, your heart is pounding so hard it becomes the only thing you can hear, and both your muscles and bones are aching. As you stagger back, you realise that these men are trying to push you deeper into the grove, away from the temple and the city altogether. 

Keeping your eyes on them as they prowl closer, you wonder if there is something hidden in the grove. But your mind is too preoccupied with focusing on how to survive this fight to even try and figure out what is hidden in the shadows. 

Your upward swipe draws blood from your second attacker as your blade scraps his unprotected hips and your side kick brings him to his knee. You duck under a high swing and thrust your sword upward once again when his companion returns, catching him off guard when his surprise attack fails. He falters, clearly just as exhausted and spent as you are while bleeding profusely from the side of his waist. So you take the chance to disarm him with one strike, sending his sword skittering across the muddy ground. 

Enraged, he makes a sound from deep inside his throat—which sounds like a growl—and pulls out a dagger from his back to retaliate. Cursing under your breath, you press down your shaking legs to the soot-covered ground beneath you and ready yourself to counter his attack when a voice sharply bellows from behind you, echoing through the grove. 

“That’s enough!” 

At the ominous voice, everything stills. The men that you have been fighting with, the wind, and even the will for you to move. Keeping your sword pointed at your opponent, you turn to look over your shoulder to see the intruder. 

Pressure clamps down in your chest as the figure slips out of the shadow, worrying that you are about to face yet another threat. One should have been enough, two were already too many. And if you are going to have to deal with three—

Turning sideways to get a better look at your intruder without losing sight of your assailants, you bring the short sword forward to prepare yourself for an attack. The sound of their footsteps grows nearer, and you prepare to swing your hand down at them, only to immediately stop once the cloaked figure steps out into the limited streaks of sunlight filtering into the grove. 

“You can put that thing away, child. I mean no harm,” the figure speaks in a gentle, yet firm tone of voice. 

Thin, veiny hands are raised, gently lowering the hood of her cloak to reveal the sight of an old woman. The ageing lines on her face are visible even without any adequate light, and they soften when she smiles. Her hazel-brown eyes glint brightly under the dim lights falling on her as she takes you in. So bright, it looks almost golden. Her silver grey hair is pulled back to a thick braid, a striking difference to her rich golden-brown skin. 

She stands there in silence after revealing herself to you, clasping her hands together over her torso as she waits until you put the weapon away, sheathing it back to the left side of your hip. But your grip remains on the hilt of your sheathed sword, holding steady, even if it’s only for the sake of finding any semblance of strength while preparing yourself in case the situation suddenly changes again. 

The woman’s gaze follows your hand, taking account of the way your grip is tightening on your weapon. She makes no remark on it, however, as she looks up with a smile to regard the three of you, including the poor man still kneeling on the dirt, who—now that everything has calmed down—you are finally getting a good look on for the first time. 

Unlike his companion, the wounded swordsman looks a bit younger, with dirty blond hair and a mesh of curls on top of a boyish round face that is now marred with streaks of blood—the work of the massive hawk earlier. His bright blue eyes are wide, which seems as if they are perpetually filled with fear. His hands have fallen to his sides, slightly trembling, seen through the sword that he is still carrying, and it pleases you to know that you weren’t the one having a tough time during the fight. 

“Now, there really is no need for all this violence, is there?” the woman says, which only draws a scowl to your face upon hearing it. 

“They attacked me first,” you point out with a scoff.

A rueful smile comes to her face. “I apologise for their rudeness, my dear. They’re not exactly used to welcoming surprise guests coming to our home,” she says, tilting her head down with more respect than an elder would normally give to a younger stranger. “But it is nice to see someone visiting our homeland again after so long. It might be too late to say this, but you are welcome here.” 

The scarred man, who is clearly unhappy with this situation, snaps out of it and shouts, “High Priestess Gaia! What are you saying? She came in here without permission.” 

He is soon joined by his wounded companion who suddenly finds his missing bravado to reason, “This place has been abandoned and forgotten for a long time. For someone to be able to come here means—” 

“It means that they might have gotten their hands on a special key, or that fate has led her way here, just in time for the Full Moon Rite,” the woman—High Priestess Gaia—cuts off their rambling calmly, almost sounding like a mother chastising her rude boys. She gives them a pointed look as she adds, “Or the poor soul could have been lost. I’ve lived much longer in this realm than you have been, child. I don’t need you to lecture me about how things work in this place.” 

Sensing no danger coming from her, you loosen your guard a little—shoulders sagging in quick relief and your hands falling away from your sheathed sword. 

“So tell me. Are you lost, child?” 

Feeling unsure, you glance back and forth between the Priestess and the swordsmen before answering. “I, uh—” You take a deep breath, suddenly finding it hard to think of the right words to say. “I was just passing by,” you finally manage to speak. Sighing, you try to shake off the tension still rolling in your body and tilt your head down, greeting the Priestess as formally as you can. “Forgive me for trespassing. I had no idea if this place was forbidden to enter.” 

“It’s not,” High Priestess Gaia says without missing a beat—before any of the swordsmen can get a word in. “Just like the boy said. This place has been lost in time with no one coming to visit for a long time. Be it out of fear, or because this place has been written off from the maps of the realm.” 

You can sense the movement from one of the swordsmen as he shifts on his feet, as if trying to dispute the high priestess’ words. Gaia, noticing the same thing, releases a deep sigh and looks over at them. 

“Go back to the Keep. It’s almost time for the rite. I’m sure you will be more useful for the priests there,” she firmly says, and then turns to the wounded man still sitting on the ground to add, “And you’ll want to look at those wounds and have them tended.” 

The scarred swordsman—the one still standing—grits his teeth, as if he is about to deny the order given to him. But then his companion lets out a deep grunt in his effort to rise to his feet, and he finally gives in. Nodding his head, the scarred swordsman swallows his displeasure and bends down to retrieve his sword. He glares at you as he sheaths his sword, before turning to help his friend to his feet. 

“I’ll take him to the healer,” he says, bowing slightly at the priestess. Facing you again, his glare returns, as sharp as the tip of his sword as he swears, “Fates be damned, but if you even think about leaving a scratch on Gaia’s skin or posing a threat to her, I will come back here and end you myself.”

You return his glare with a stubborn tilt of your chin. “And as I have repeatedly said, I never meant any harm. I can promise you that there will be no harm committed to your priestess.” 

Keeping your gaze locked on the scarred guard, you can see it when he finally backs down, the defiant look in his eyes wavering before he acknowledges you with a short nod. Wrapping the younger one’s arm around his shoulder so he can support him, he says nothing else and simply bows to the high priestess before finally walking away.

You watch them go, wobbling through the trees before they disappear in the shadows as they search for a healer. 

“Go back to the Keep.” 

So you were right, after all. There is something beyond this grove. You wonder if there are other swordsmen like them stationed in the Keep—guards who are responsible of watching over the temple and the ruined city—and were planning to hold you hostage there. Shaking your head, you choose not to dwell in the thought and turn to face the high priestess again.

She still has her eyes following the swordsmen, watching over them like a mother would to her sons. 

Glancing over her shoulder, you realise that she is standing on the path which leads you back to the temple. It makes you wonder if that was where she had come from. 

Has she been in the temple all along? 

“I wasn’t aware that there was someone in the temple when I was in there.” 

The wise, old woman turns her gaze towards you and smiles. “Strictly speaking, I was not. I was praying in my chamber. I only came down here because I felt something calling for me at the temple. Thought it was her, but I guess I was wrong,” she says with a deep, almost bitter chuckle. Her words and the look in her eyes are hollow when she mutters almost to herself, “I should’ve known better. It’s been too long since she came to visit this place.” 

‘Her’? 

The way she is speaking in riddles while looking as if she is lost in her own thoughts—memories—draws an icy, uneasy chill through your body. Her eyes appear haunted, as if lost somewhere in the past. That look lasts merely a moment longer before it fades, warmth fills her almost-golden eyes when she regards you again. But then the uneasiness returns when you are made to feel as if she is looking straight into your soul, unravelling your secrets without so much of a spell. 

“Do you know where you are?” 

“Not really,” you reluctantly admit. Unlike E’l Alora, which you were able to identify before ever stepping foot into their human town, this place doesn’t remind you at all of anything that you have ever read in your book of Ancients and Magic. “In a way, you were right, I got lost and stranded here for some reason.” 

A light sound of laughter leaves you, only that it comes out a bit shaky with nerves. 

“Forgive me if I sound rude, but,” you glance around the grove, shuddering under the shadows that have grown thicker now that the sun has lowered from the sky. “May I know what exactly is this place?” 

The old woman looks at you with a knowing smile. “Come. It would be better if we find someplace more comfortable for us to talk,” she says to you as she turns, ready to head back to the direction where she came from. She might have sensed your hesitation, because she glances down at your forearm and gently points out, “Maybe we can also do something about that wound.”

You follow her gaze and look down, surprised to see a tear on your sleeve. From the torn fabric, you can see a long slash on the skin of your forearm, fresh blood still leaking out. A wound that came from the fight without you realising it. 

“Oh, I didn’t realise,” you murmur with a flinch. You recall feeling a sting on your forearm at one point during the fight, yet you ignored it, focusing more on deflecting their swords and pushing back. Now that you finally notice the wound, your brain begins to register the pain. 

Pressing your palm against the wound, you look at the high priestess with narrowed eyes. “You could’ve sent me off with your men to have this looked at.” 

Gaia merely scoffs, as if the thought of allowing you to join the guards would have been unfathomable. “And risk them disobeying me once I’m not looking?” she asks, “I hope you’ll excuse those boys. They have taken their duty to guard this place to heart—perhaps a bit too much. Though I can’t excuse them for their rash behaviour. They should’ve reported to me first or any of the high priests before taking actions.” 

You quickly shake your head. “I should be the one apologising for causing trouble.” 

“There is no need,” she says. You can almost hear her smile when she turns away from you. “Now, come, before that wound gets worse. And you also fought quite hard, so who knows if there’s any other we’re not seeing.” 

Lowering your arms to your side, you begin to follow the high priestess. But just as you are about to leave the fighting ground, Gaia lifts her hood and looks up to the trees. 

“You might want to alert your friend and tell him that you’re doing fine with me. That might stop him from worrying too much,” she suddenly says, pointing up towards the black-winged hawk that had joined the fight earlier, now perched on one of the thin, twisted branches hanging above your head. 

At the height of the fight, you have forgotten about it. 

When you first saw it, you had simply thought that the hawk only appeared because you had intruded on its home. But Gaia’s comment only puts a confused frown on your face. 

“What? But I thought the hawk is with you,” you question her, thinking that the animal is a part of the land, therefore, related to Gaia and the temple. But your question only draws another soft chuckle coming from her.

“Oh, no, dear. That handsome hawk came in together with you,” she says as she looks over her shoulder with a knowing smile, leaving you to wonder where the beast had come from, and why it had involved itself in your fight. 

You were quite right for assuming that the high priestess had come from the mountain temple.

Well, you were partially right. 

After your quick chat at the grove, Gaia led you back towards the mountain temple. But the moment you entered the entrance tunnel leading back into the main temple, she made a sharp turn and entered through an aperture in the stone wall that you had missed on your way out. It was dark, yet the moment she walked past the wall, torches lit up with flames that burned without any heat, illuminating the corridor and the set of stone steps leading upwards. 

You followed her until she entered a simple stone room above the tunnel. The chamber was narrow and high-ceilinged, with candlelights flickering on the stone walls and the small wooden altar set on the end of the chamber. You saw no sight of a statue or drawings of any known Ancients around the altar, yet the wooden top was filled with scriptures, rolled and drawn open, with an opened book laid on the center. 

Aside from the altar, the chamber was limitedly furnished. Nothing but one dark rug made up of animal skin covering the front of the altar, a shelf in the corner of the room which was filled with herbs and mixing bowls and even more books, and a single divan covered in silk—that was where you settled down soon after you entered the chamber.  

And now the chamber is filled with the scent of herbs, a concoction that she made to help heal your wound. It feels cold on your skin, and it leaves an obvious stain which requires you to roll up your sleeve to avoid it getting soiled—even though you still worried about explaining the tear and the blood stain once you would have to hand it over to the palace maid. 

“Seeing the way you are looking at this place, it seems that you’ve been to another sacred land before,” Gaia says, stating a fact rather than questioning, as she gently wraps a bandage around your wounded forearm, sealing the medicinal herbs while stopping your bleeding. 

Nodding, you choose to explain it the best you can without giving too many details about your ‘trips,’ and without revealing that it had been merely a day before when you first encountered another sacred land. “I’ve travelled to different places, oftentimes finding myself stranded in strange places,” you share with a chuckle, “Such as this one.” 

Gaia smiles and finishes her work. “Our homeland, this city of mountains, is called Arselon,” she says as she gathers the bowl of mixed herbs and bandages and starts putting them away. “The mountain temple has always been known as the temple of Arselon, even though it used to have its own name. Many used to travel far to come to our rites, specifically the nights of the full moon. Just like what’s happening tonight.” 

You have so many questions. Much about this place, and more about the people that had once resided here. Gaia, as if she can read your mind, turns to light up fresh candles to replace the ones that have burned out while she was gone, and continues to tell you more about this place. “Back then, the Ancients—our ancestors—built these temples to worship their Gods and Goddesses, to pray for the sanctity of the realm and to pass down their wisdom. Unlike the humans in the mortal realm, the residents of the Far Far Away Land today no longer hold the same rites, and only a small few still worship the sources of their powers, while only using these temples to pray and wish for blessings from their ancestors. It has been that way since the Ancients who built this realm were long gone.”

Gaia returns to your side with a glass of wine—for healing, she had explained earlier when she first pointed out the decanter resting on the wooden shelf. “This place used to be where the Priests and Priestess would hold lectures and sermons to the people, spreading the knowledge about our Ancients and magic, and the history behind the creation of the realm.” 

Gaia’s eyes turn towards the flickering candles, and then the small altar. “We still keep most of the scriptures that recounted the story of the Ancients, the history behind the realm, and the secrets of magic. Yet we no longer have as many as we used to. All that we have left are preserved in small chambers such as this one, hidden libraries and storages in various parts of this mountain temple.” 

Your eyes follow her gaze to the scriptures on the altar, the chests lying beneath, and the shelf which is lined up with old books. You refuse to believe that this is all that was left of all the documented history that this place has to preserve, but before you can say anything, Gaia confirms it with sadness written in her gaze. 

“Once, this land was seen and regarded as a sacred place, a holy land, yet this is all that was left behind over time.” A resigned sigh escapes her lips before she smiles grimly. “Now you understand why our young guards were uncompromising when it came to protecting this place.” 

The smile that you give her feels just as grim. Your mouth feels bitter from her grievance, from the dark history shadowing this place, so you raise your glass to wash it all down. Your chest aches to think about what was lost. Recalling what you have learned after your visit to E’l Alora, you take a deep breath and question her, “Was it the war, that came to this land?” 

Gaia grimly nods. “The Great Siege.”

Once the sun has set, and nightfall comes, Gaia invites you to witness the rite. 

It is an offer that you cannot possibly refuse. 

You follow Gaia through a different corridor—one that was yet again hidden in the stone wall—on the other side of her private chamber, emerging on one of the alcoves on the upper tier which you saw earlier. From here, you have the perfect view of the rite from above, the entire part of the temple is visible for you to experience the ceremony while remaining hidden from sight. 

The temple has already fascinated you before, regardless of its vacancy and forlorn facade that you witnessed when you first entered the place. 

Seeing the temple coming alive with the rite fascinates you even more; with worshippers and believers making use of this dark place. They arrive soon after dusk in various shades of cloaks and robes, candlelights flickering to eliminate the shadows and melodic chants of prayers bouncing against the dark stone walls.

Standing at the center of the raised dais is a priest in a white robe, with a few others standing on either side of him, all carrying candles in their hands while leading the prayers. The guards, including the two that you met earlier in the grove, are wearing dark robes over their armours as they line up below the dais, watching over the rite and helping out those who have arrived with offerings to place around the dais. 

You watch with keen eyes as the rite continues. The people move like a steady current, in motion with the rhythm of the chanting prayers echoing through the temple. You watch in awe as they move in a practised gesture—the way they walk up in line to light up the candles around the dais before moving back to the nave, where they follow the motion by passing and exchanging candles between each other. 

The way the flickering flames seem to be weaving through the people becomes such a captivating sight. The lights and flames spread across the temple until the entire hall comes alight—a symbol of life surviving in the dark, of the people who survived the darkness, and the story that has been written of their past, present, and future. 

“Once, in the past, this holy land burned with life. Candles were lit up to celebrate life, to honour our blessings, and to pray for the Ancients that were watching over us from above,” Gaia speaks from beside you, her voice gentle and soft, almost as melodic as the prayers echoing down below. But then her voice turns grim as she speaks of the past, “And then they came, bringing in their deathly flames, and this city burned into ashes.” 

You turn to look at Gaia as she suddenly laughs. A pained and bitter laugh that pierces through your chest.  

“Well, most of them,” she adds with a wry smile, “This temple and the ruins you saw outside are what was left of this place. Decades, centuries worth of a civilization reduced to nothing more but skeletons of our homes, schools, temples, and everything that our elders had built for the sake of preserving the treasure of knowledge and faith left behind by the Ancients. The only thing that those flames failed to diminish was the spirit of our people.” 

As she continues to speak, Gaia’s eyes light up. Her grief is soon replaced by hope. “These people,” she says, as she watches the people below, ”They may have lost their homes, the lands that they had spent generations cultivating for the benefit of our homeland, yet they continue to thrive through the pain of our dark past, surviving the best they can with all that we have left, even if it means that we all have to remain hidden in the shadows.”

“But where do these people live?” you ask, as you have been wondering ever since the first time you stepped foot in this place, “Where do you all live, when the city is no longer safe?” 

“In places that our own homeland provides for us, just like how this temple came to be,” Gaia explains. “There are people who live within and in the heart of the mountains, in homes that were built in the stone walls, and even under the dry, rocky peaks spread across the land. It may not be much, compared to what we used to have just decades ago, yet we have found our solitude in enclosed spaces such as this temple that protects us all.” 

Down below, the rite continues. The movement of the candles has gone slower, and so are the chants recited by the priests and priestesses leading the ceremony. There are only a small amount of offerings laid on the dais, but there are so many candles to make up for what is lacking. 

“After the war, the only times that our candles were lit were to hold vigils and prayers for the Ancients to liberate us from our suffering,” Gaia continues as you watch the priests and priestesses leaving the raised dais, slowly making their way to the center of the temple where the pool of water is present. “Now, we light our candles to reflect, to pay homage to those who sacrificed their lives to protect what now remains of our home, and to remember our dark history so we can replace our pain with new hope.” 

The movements within the temple shift. This time, the guards in their dark robes are the ones to make their move, weaving through the believers with the silver chalices filled with wine in their hands. Carefully, the guards pass the chalices to the people, who then each take a drink from them before passing them over to the next in line. 

Gaia gently explains that the drinking of wine symbolises living for the future, to drink for the dead and the forgotten ancestors while celebrating the old life that they have lost. 

Your eyes move to the pool of water, realising only now that the full moon—which appears through the opening above the temple—is reflected perfectly on the surface of the water. 

The leaders of the ceremony move to stand around the pool to sing their prayers, joined in by their followers who are lining behind them in the nave. At the end of the rite, the priests and priestesses retreat to the back of the temple, while the worshippers step forward to take their place. 

One by one, the people come down to their knees to pray to the moon’s reflection in the water, before finally releasing the small candles that they have been holding into the pool, allowing them to float around the image of the bright moon. 

“To the sky, we pray for the future. To the land, we pray for the dead. To the water, we pass our wishes to the moon, hoping that it will one day pass down to us its blessings, the same way it once did to the Ancients who walked on this realm.” 

You continue to watch as this ritual continues, allowing every single worshipper to do their part of the ceremony until they dwindle into small groups of people praying beyond the dais. You have become so enthralled by the scene that you barely notice that Gaia has left your side until she returns. 

“Don’t you think it’s time for you to go home?” she asks, snapping you out of your daze. As you turn to her, Gaia hands you a folded cloth—a dark robe—something which she says may help you blend in with the remaining groups of people below so you can safely slip away from the temple. 

You are still in such a daze after witnessing the rite—something that feels so divine and sacred that it gives you a sense of peace and grief at the same time—that it doesn’t register to you the fact that the priestess seems to have knowledge of your time limit until much later. You simply listen to her instructions on how to reach the ground level—back to where your exit is located—as you put on the robe, covering your appearance as much as you can to avoid gaining unwanted attention. 

“Our home is open to travellers like yourself, should you ever decide to return and find some interest to learn more about us,” Gaia adds right before you go. “Regardless of what Gen and Edmund said earlier, this place isn’t as closed off or forbidden as it was made to be. We have closed our borders, but some of us believe that it would only be right to maintain the faith that our elders once had about opening our doors to other believers.” 

In her gaze, the same hope you saw lights up the same way the candlelights below are still burning brightly. “The longer we are hidden from the world, the more we will be forgotten. And the knowledge of the past that we have spent centuries protecting will one day be lost in time, exactly what our enemies had once aimed towards when they brought their flames to our home.”  

Just as Gaia is about to send you off down the stone steps, she reaches out to grab your hands, holding them gently in hers. “Promise me that you’ll return one day. That you’ll never forget about us,” she calmly asks while holding her pleading gaze on yours. Your body stiffens when you feel her passing something into your palm, and you instinctively wrap your palm around it firmly to keep it from falling. 

“I promise. I’ll return one day, hopefully in better circumstances than the present,” you promise her with a smile, not bothering to say something as you accept the small token that she has given you and slip it into your pocket without looking. You keep your gaze steady on hers as you whisper, “Thank you.”

As you slip through the worshippers who are still deep in their prayers, making your way to the back of the dais to find the hidden portal door, you suddenly feel the heat of a gaze following your movement. Cautiously, you turn to look over your shoulder, expecting to see the familiar glare from the guard that you fought previously tracking your escape. 

But what is looking back at you isn’t at all human. 

Perched atop the bannister on the upper floor, you see the magnificent-looking black-winged hawk that had appeared during your fight earlier. With its wings pulled back, its eyes are wide open, glaring at you attentively as if it is keeping watch at your departure. Staring back at it, the animal’s gaze feels menacing and comforting at the same time, yet something deep inside is telling you that the hawk is there without any malicious intent. It is simply there to watch you, to see you go, and it remains in its position when you turn away, slipping under the banner and into the magic portal to return home. 

As the wave of magic taking you away from the sacred land ripples through the space around you, the hawk flaps its wings and rises from its perch, making its own way back home to where it came from.

Emburn Empire has come alive tonight. 

The full moon looks bright in the night sky, casting a divine glow into the land. 

The imperial palace and its Moon Temple look radiant under the night sky, the white walls and pillars made up of Clayntine Stone reflecting the moonlight glow so perfectly that they glimmer like magic crystals. 

Within the walls of the Moon Temple of Aone, candlelights flicker and burn, casting a golden glow across the praying hall. Both inside and on the outer grounds of the moon temple, the people of Emburn have come and gathered to witness the rite. From above, the candlelights appear like an ocean of living inferno—the ocean of hope, as the Royal Priests would call it. 

Ever since he was a young boy, Yoongi has always enjoyed the Runea Luna Eve, the night of the full moon, when the rite is held to celebrate and pay homage to the Ancients who had built the land of Emburn. Tonight, however, he is too restless to enjoy the celebration, feeling too disconnected to even pay attention to the ceremony unfolding right in front of him.  

The Moon Temple of Aone is full tonight; the commoners are taking up the space below, while the nobles and royals claim the seats on the upper tiers and the mezzanine floors. Many carry their own candles in their hands as a symbol of their hope, but all have their eyes set on the front of the raised dais at the head of the temple, where the Royal High Priest is giving his sermon and leading the prayers. 

Two identical thrones sit on the center of the raised dais. The Empress of Emburn, Empress Ariane, sits on one of them, while the one beside her is left empty in the absence of the ailing Emperor. Behind her, two rows of long benches are set to accommodate the members of the Royal Priesthood on one side, while the Royal Aides who are present to show support for the Empress fill the other side. 

The Crown Prince sits on the balcony on the top left of the dais, together with the highest nobles and the royal guests who were invited to witness the ceremony. Including the royal guests that Yoongi is currently—and quite reluctantly—hosting in place of the Empress; Byron Koshar, the new Emperor of the Neo Empire of Kosha, and his second daughter, Princess Celestyna.

“You’ll have to keep the Princess company during the rite tonight. Treat her well, be polite about it, and make her feel welcome,” was the warning that Empress Ariane had given Yoongi earlier today during the preparation for the rite. “You need to build a positive relationship with the Kosha Empire to gain support for your future.” 

“Must I take up the responsibility for your guests, Mother? There are tons of nobles here that would be more suitable and willing to be their hosts.” 

At Yoongi’s complaint, the Empress turned and glared. Obviously displeased that her son is unwilling to do her bidding. “Those nobles aren’t the ones who are going to take the throne now, are they?” she scolded him then with a sharp tone of voice that made him wince. “Do this for the Empire, for the Emperor, and for your position on the throne.” 

Yoongi had chosen not to argue, realising that there was no way he could win against Empress Ariane once she made the decree. 

He isn’t even sure why it would be necessary for him to gain support from Kosha Empire. It’s not like there will be anyone to contest his position for the throne once the time comes. And it’s not like he’s eager to take the crown so prematurely, with the Emperor still living and breathing and capable enough to continue ruling, and while he is still in the process of courting his future Empress. 

Even if there are parties of nobles or royal blood who would dare to challenge his position on the throne, Yoongi cannot possibly see how being ‘good friends’ with the second Princess would give him the advantage to refute the challenge. He feels bitter to think that the Empress may have any intention of arranging some forming of an alliance by matching them together. 

Marriage arrangements made to gain favour from a strong ally are not unheard of, but it isn’t something that Yoongi would be willing to partake in. Not even at the risk of losing his position on the throne. 

And he cannot possibly agree with such an arrangement when he already has someone who was chosen for him since the day he was born. 

Yoongi holds back an exasperated groan and looks up at the exposed dome ceiling above. Through the see-through ceiling made up of Shadow Crystal, the full moon is clearly visible, illuminating the temple’s hall with its glow. 

Keeping his eyes on the moon helps him detach himself from the present. His restless mind is so quick to wander, filled with the thoughts of you. He wonders where you might be spending your evening, and if you are looking up at the moon the way he is doing now. He also wonders if you are safe, wherever you are. 

“…as we send our gratitude to the moon, tonight, we remember our great ancestor, the Fairy King Aone, the Ancient Hunter who had borrowed the magic from the moon to build Emburn from the ashes and has continued to bring prosperity to the people…” 

The Royal High Priest’s voice echoes through the grand hall, pulling Yoongi’s attention back to the ceremony that is slowly coming to an end. 

Back in the past, the sermons and praises for the Ancient Hunter would have been followed by a sacrament which lasted for the entire night, beginning from nightfall to the coming of dawn, filled with chantings of prayers for the ancestors, the Ancients, and the moon. 

In the present time, the ritual will be followed with festivities. A night of celebration where the people will pour into the streets to sing and dance and drink as much wine as their minds and bodies would allow until the dawn comes. 

Once Yoongi has his attention on the raised dais, his eyes flickering towards the altar and the statue of the Ancient Hunter standing in the center, he feels something pulling at him. A pulse. A shot of magic calling for his attention, and it seems to be coming from the ground floor of the temple.

Yoongi looks across the grand hall as a dark figure slips out from behind one of the white pillars, wearing a black robe with its hood raised over his head, hiding his face and features from prying eyes. 

Sensing Yoongi’s eyes on him, the person lifts his head, meeting Yoongi’s gaze with his own from the distance, revealing himself to be none other than Yoongi’s best friend and right-hand man.

Yijeong. 

Upon meeting Yoongi’s gaze, Yijeong nods once. A subtle gesture that the busy worshippers around him will surely miss. But the one gesture is enough for the Crown Prince. The message has been delivered and received.

She’s home safe. 

With a gesture that is just as subtle, Yoongi responds with a slight tilt of his head and then leans back into his seat. The anxiety which has been weighing on him since the moment he felt the ripple of magic—the omen signifying that a portal has been opened—is soon lifted. 

His job done, Yijeong steps back into the shadow, drifting out of the crowd of people and out of the moon temple just as the Royal High Priest ends his sermon. The air immediately shifts as the Royal Priests step away from the altar. One by one, the people begin to disperse—some making time to walk up to the altar and the dais to leave their candles and bow to the Empress, while others walk out towards the nearest stream to release their candles and let them drift along with the flowing water, hoping that they would bring their wishes back to the land that they are worshipping or wherever the stream of Marble Falls and the Armere River will take them. 

In the absence of the Royal Priests’ sermons and prayers, the sound of music begins, carrying on with the evening breeze like a draft, a sign for the festivities celebrating the full moon and the birth of the Ancient Hunter to begin. 

Yoongi looks over to the throne as Empress Ariane rises from her seat, throwing a barely-there glance towards the balcony, straight where the Crown Prince and his guest—his date for the night, if that is what the Empress has in mind—are sitting in. 

The bitterness that he felt earlier returns when he meets the Empress’ gaze. He knows that she isn’t turning to see if the Crown Prince—her son—is having a blast during the ceremony. He knows that the Empress is simply checking to see if he is doing his duty as the perfect host for the people that he wants absolutely nothing to do with. 

Yoongi keeps his eyes on his mother until she steps away, leaving the temple through the rear exit which leads towards the royal drawing room, the priests and priestesses and her royal aides trailing right behind. Yoongi nearly shoves himself out of his seat as he rises, ready—perhaps too eager—to end his night and return to the palace. 

Just as Yoongi is about to turn and bid his farewell to the Emperor of Kosha—who has been busy chatting with a noble from the city called Mosshaven, the city of merchants at the south end of Emburn—and the other nobles who have been there with him, Princess Celestyna speaks first. 

“Leaving so soon, Your Highness? Must you really leave now?” she asks. Her tone is gentle and polite, yet it demands attention, the kind that would have put young men to their knees, bending over backwards to please her. “The festivities are only beginning. Wouldn’t the people look forward to having their Crown Prince be a part of it?” 

Yoongi forces a smile. For the past few days, Yoongi has been confined in the palace under the Empress’ orders to host the royal guests. Primarily, the second princess. And for the past few days, he was forced to ignore the ripples of magic calling for him, beckoning him to see you, all due to the princess always getting in the way, always inquiring for his company at the same exact time he wished to rush to your side instead.

Always with mundane things that Yoongi would have preferred to avoid, to rather deal with important matters instead of wasting it with an afternoon stroll through the royal gardens, or have tea and biscuits by the Emerald Lake, or have him escorting her through the various estates in the Imperial Palace’s territory and help her learn about the arts and culture of Emburn.  

The fact is, he has grown tired of it. He has wasted too much precious time which he could have spent with you.  

Even looking at the Princess makes him feel exhausted and weary. At least, tonight, he can use the festivities as an excuse to find some semblance of freedom. To untangle himself from the responsibility that has been forced on him. 

“I’m sure the people will be able to have fun without me being there,” Yoongi smoothly says, “There are other members of the royal family who will be joining the festivities and would no doubt feel honoured to keep you company. I’m sure they’ll be better party companions than I would.” 

Princess Celestyna’s face pinches with displeasure—a look which reminds Yoongi too much of his mother which, undeniably, the only reminder that the Empress is indeed distantly related to the royal family of Kosha—yet she is quick to conceal it with a thin smile. The same practised smile that she has been wearing each time she was in the company of the Empress, Yoongi took notice. 

“Well, I was expecting that we could perhaps share the first dance during the celebration. This is my first time joining such a grand event, after all, and I heard a member of the royal family has always been the one to start the dancing,” she says with a deliberate tone that is meant to seduce, to allure, while she leans slightly forward to get closer to Yoongi. 

Close enough for Yoongi to smell the scent of the perfume that she had pasted around her collarbone and between her breasts. A strong, sultry scent of orchid with a hint of spiciness to it. Yoongi prefers something sweet, subtle and fresh. Something that reminds him of you. 

There is also something about the gesture and the way she speaks which seems off to him. Unconvincing and completely unfitting to be something that a person of her character would do. It feels too deliberate. Too hollow and viscous. As if she had practised this act one too many times before she was made to face Yoongi.   

A shiver runs through him. The unsettling kind which takes an effort for him to hide.

Pressing his lips, Yoongi tries to reel his annoyance from surfacing. This isn’t the first time that Princess Celestyna has brought up her request to have Yoongi stay by her side for the evening’s events and share a dance with her. The only problem with this offer would be the fact that if Yoongi ever plans on attending the festival, as per tradition, having her as his dance partner and showing her to his people would make everyone think that she is the one he is courting to be the future consort or the next Empress of Emburn.

There is no possible way that he would risk something like this. Not when he already has someone else in mind to introduce to his people. 

“Unfortunately, I do have other business to attend to, and I promise that I wouldn’t be able to act as the perfect company or host for Your Highness the Princess tonight if I am to have my focus wandering towards other matters and not be present,” Yoongi reasons with the Princess, using the same words that he used the previous times Princess Celestyna kept trying to convince Yoongi to spend the evening with her. 

Yoongi is quite sure that his refusal will no doubt reach the Empress, and there might be chances for him to receive the brunt of the Empress’ ire once he comes face to face with his mother again. Princess Celestyna should know this too, judging from the way her gaze sharpens, and how she is quick to make him another offer before Yoongi can slip away. 

“Then you must make it up by sparing your time with me in the afternoon tomorrow,” she urgently asks him with one of her dainty hands placed on Yoongi’s arm, merely inches above his elbow. “Perhaps we can have tea in the Royal Garden once you are done with your duties?” 

Yoongi bites back the words of refusal that nearly slip out the moment she speaks. It is an offer that is not quite an open invitation. More like a challenge, a subtle threat, as Yoongi can sense a finality in her words. He can almost hear the words unspoken from her gaze—give me this, or I’ll go to the Empress and make things harder for you. 

A resigned sigh slips out of him as Yoongi realises that he has no choice but to play along. At least for now. Only until he can find the chance or an excuse to escape from the second Princess. 

His nod is stiff when Yoongi reluctantly accepts her deal. “One of my attendants will come for you in the afternoon once I have tea prepared in the gardens.” 

“Thank you, Your Highness,” Princess Celestyna says with a smile on her face, mirth dancing in her eyes as she finally gets her wish. “I shall be waiting for the good news.” 

Bowing towards the Princess, and then to her silent father, the Emperor of Kosha, Yoongi bids his farewell for the night and quickly turns to walk away before any word can be thrown to trample his escape. The long tail of his black coat flares behind him as he walks out of the balcony seats in rapid footsteps. 

His hand finds its way to his upper arm as he walks down the stairs, making his exit through the vacant service hall in the back of the temple. He keeps rubbing the skin from over the thick sleeve of his coat to brush away the lingering feeling of the Princess’ hand, wishing it to be your touch instead. 

As he makes his way out of the Moon Temple of Aone, Yoongi silently makes up his mind, promising himself that at the next full moon ceremony, he will make sure that he only has you standing by his side. 

For your hand to be the only one he would ask for the first dance the next time he joins the Runea Luna Eve. 

That day will come, he tells himself. A promise. Soon. 

⟶ Author’s note | thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this one, please leave a like/kudo and help reblog the fic to share it with others to enjoy. Any form of feedback is welcome!

— © 2024 Yoonia, all rights reserved. reposting/modifying of any kind is not allowed. unsolicited translations are not allowed.

[mika-no-sekai-blog]

Part II

Word count: 3900+

Warnings: SA (just reminder that Zima is reader's stepbrother and they don't share even single drop of blood - fact that he's disgusting is another story)

Part I | Part III

I woke up early in the morning, soft light poured into my room through open curtains. Snowflakes dance behind the windows on light breeze, new icicles shone in the first rays of winter sun and glaciers in the surrounding mountains cracked loudly.

The urgent knock sounded.

"My lady, are you awake?" Lucy peeked in. "It's time."

I sighed. It was going to be really long day. Fire loudly crackled in the hearth, greeting me and sending waves of heat to the room. I reluctantly got up, shivering at the sudden loss of warmth of the bed. Lucy quickly handed me my cloak and I snuggled up in the thick fur.

Another two maids entered, bringing in voluminous dress and jewellery. I sat down at the vanity and let them do their work. I felt strangely empty, disconnected from my body, zoning in and again out as I had to change position while maids dressed me and did my hair and make up. My mind was completely blank like sheet of paper, the burden of the events awaiting me heavily sitting on my shoulders.

When I looked around, finally taking note of my surrounding, I was already sitting in the sleigh. My father smiled at me weakly as he sat down next to me and wrapped another layer of warm blankets around my shoulders.

"Are you cold, my little girl?" he murmured and I shook my head.

Morena got on and took a seat opposite us, the skirt of her dress visible through slit in the cloak nothing but a fancy fabric of highest quality. She definitely didn't hold back while preparing for the visit of the capital.

"Why couldn't we just go to the capital ahead? They would surely prepare rooms for us. Better spend there night than this. All this haste so early in the morning isn't good for my skin," her complains went on and on, but nor me nor my father paid her any attention.

Father was sitting with his head down, squeezing my hand so firmly, it almost hurt. I, on the other hand, slowly looked around for the last time, committing every wall, every stone, every shiny piece of ice to memory. After today, I wouldn't be able to return home for sure.

The sleigh started moving with a slight jerk and I watched the castle, where I spent my entire life, getting smaller with every mile until we entered the mountains. As we were riding through the pass between two enormous rocks, the icy cold wind grew stronger, biting into my skin until I had to close eyes, protecting my face with hand in thick glove.

I felt a pull that made me nauseous and wind had died down. When I dared to looked around, we were slowly moving forward along the narrow ascending road with steep rocky hills on one side and a gorge on the other. The gorge was so deep that I couldn't see its bottom. The tentacles of milky white fog were climbing up its walls, curling around the the protruding rocks, and the sound of running water echoed in cold but strangely still air.

After a while I recognized shape of a gate from carved stone in distance with a waterfall next to it. Despite the never melting layer of ice, water rushed under it, its sound deafening as thunder. And above it, narrow white towers dusted with snow rose into the sky, disappearing in heavy grey clouds. Two bridges spanned the gorge, connecting large castle on one side with smaller but breath-taking city on its other side. Whether castle or the buildings in the city, it all perfectly blended with the surrounding landscape to the point it was hard to believe that it was built by faeries.

When we were passing through the first gate, we were greeted by one soldier and two huge white bears in armour. It was my first time seeing these beasts, let alone so close. All air left my lungs and I couldn't as much as move when their inteligent black beady eyes narrowed on me. The unpleasant feeling of being watched by them melted only once we got closer to another gate.

The sleigh passed through another two gates that seemed to be unguarded and at last we got to the city. The first thing I noticed, was the silence. There wasn't a single person on the streets nor in the windows of the houses even though it was almost noon. The freshly fallen snow creaked under reindeer hooves, puffs of their breaths melting in the air. We all were so nervous that we didn't dare to speak, vigilantly searching the shadows between houses and under numerous evergreens.

Everyone relaxed a little once we passed through the entrance arch of the closest bridge made of ice. On its other side waited another soldier and pair of bears. Nobody stopped us, nor spoke to us. This place was so weird.

We entered the castle's grounds and were immediately surprised by crowd of faeries of all shapes and shades of white, blue, grey and black waiting along the road. So this was the place where all the habitants of the city disappeared to. Smiles shone brightly on their faces, children jumped in the place and shouted in excitement. Everyone was waving and handfuls of white petals rained on us as sleigh slowly moved forward.

It took almost an hour to get to the very last gate separating the castle from the quarters of castle staff and lower aristocrats who lived or temporarily resided here. The crowd stayed thankfully behind the gate and reindeer again sped up a bit. The castle was surrounded by garden of shaped evergreens of different highs, ice statues and fountains that sparkled in the sun partly hidden behind clouds, everything dusted with silvery snow. Under different circumstances, I would enjoy the view, but I was too nervous, my eyes set ahead.

Much smaller crowd gathered near the castle's entrance. By their looks they were all High Fae, undoubtedly aristocrats and wedding guests. They just stood there, unimpressed, their assessing expressions making me feel uneasy. On top of the stairs, in front of closed double doors made of massive white oak wood, waited three figures - two males and one female who stood few steps behind them.

The sleigh came to stop, everyone waiting for the bride to get off first. Father helped me untangle from warm furs and blankets while I took off gloves. My wedding white dress with silver embroidery was lined with fluffy fur of polar fox with a special warm layer inside, but even that wasn't enough for me and I shivered. However, I had to endure this much. Soon we would be inside and this torture would be over. I stood up on shaky legs, hoping someone from the gathered ones would come to help me get down. Landing on my ass in front of the most important Faes of this Court the second my foot would touch the ground, wouldn't be exactly the best first impression.

Thankfully, one white head separated from onlookers, heading to the sleigh. As soon as I recognized the face, my stomach churned and cold sweat ran down my spine. It was Zima, the last person I expected to see here. When he left home after the night he attacked me in my own room, I was told he was expected to return after my departure and nobody mentioned he would attend my wedding. But here he was, unpleasant smirk spreading on his face. All the memories of that night, his cold breath and hands on my skin, all the pain and terror washed over me, leaving me unable to move or speak.

"Y/N? Are you well?" father gently touched the tips of my fingers.

I pushed air into my lungs and nodded. At the same moment, Zime came to stop at sleigh's side and offered me hand, his cruel gaze not leaving my face.

"Sister," he muttered — even his voice made my sick. "I'm so glad I could get here on time. I wouldn't miss your wedding no matter what."

He waited for me to take his hand, but I couldn't. I didn't want to. I wanted him as far from me as possible. There was a rustle in the crowd, all eyes at us and someone cleared his throat. I had to move. Touching him as little as possible, I accepted his help, got off and immediately distanced myself from him. Father got off right after me, helped Morena and then taking my hand he led me to the stairs.

"If you want to change your mind and run away, now is the right time," he whispered to me.

"No, I've already decided. I'll do what they want," I replied quietly. He squeezed my hand. I knew he was against this wedding, but if it meant protecting him and my home, and getting away from Zima, I didn't mind.

We stopped in front of the two males and bowed. One of them was older, the other quite young. It was clear they were father and son, sharing very similar features. Both were tall and good looking, with snowy white hair. I couldn't help it as my eyes were drawn to the younger one. I needed to look at the male I was supposed to spend the rest of my life with.

My chest heaved as my gaze roamed over him. He was breathtakingly handsome, but even that couldn't balance out the cold that radiated from him. His blue eyes seemed like chips hewn from a glacier, sharp and piercing and his skin was so pale he looked frozen. He watched me closely as well, his face not giving out any emotions, and I shivered.

While we were gazing at each other, our fathers exchanged the greetings.

"You must be cold after such a long journey," Kallias suddenly said, interrupting his father, his eyes still on me. Despite his look, his voice was warm, deep and smooth like honey. "Come inside and warm up."

"The younglings of today," High Lord chuckled and the crown of ice sparkled as he tilted his head. He didn't seemed to be offended at slightest. Something soft and warm crossed his face, but the emotion disappeared as quickly as it appeared.

Kallias ignored him and offered me his hand with long fingers in white glove. My father pressed lips together, but he released me with a light tap on the back of my hand. I looked at him with question and he only nodded, giving me a tight smile.

While the gates slowly opened for us, Kallias turned around, escorting me to the castle. I didn't miss the fleeting look he gave to the female who bowed her head. She stood there quietly all the time, corners of her full lips slightly curled into small smile, her hand rested on the pommel of silver sword. She didn't seem to be member of the royal family as nobody bothered to introduce her, yet she had to be important nevertheless.

The Mountain Home — as they called this castle — was nothing like my home. It seemed to be built out of ice, marble and light colored wood. Every room we passed, was decorated with crystal ornaments, thick carpets and fluffy furs, fire roared in giant hearths. All polished surfaces twinkled and sparkled in the sunlight penetrating through large windows with long icicles hanging outside. It was magnificent.

"You can rest in here," Kallias stopped in front of one of the doors in the long hallway and turned to me. His tone was reserved, almost careful as if he wasn't sure how to talk with me. "Your family will be in adjoining room. If you need something, anything, call for the servants. When the time comes, someone will come to escort you."

I was so busy looking around that I didn't notice that we were all alone here. He raised a brow.

"Your father is with mine in the High Lord's office. There are some details that need to be discussed. Don't worry, your family will come soon."

"Thank you, my Lord," I was about to bow, but he stopped me.

"Just Kallias, please."

"Kallias," I corrected myself, a bit flustered. "Please, call me Y/N."

He just nodded, his blue eyes searching my face, jaw tight. "I should change," he mumbled and last time looking me over, left.

I watched his back until he disappeared around the corner. His shoulders were broad, spine painfully straight, his movements a bit stiff. He was most likely tense, nervous just like me, even though he was good at masking it. At least, I wasn't the only one here who was forced into this union.

Exhaling heavily through the nose, I entered the room. It was just as beautiful and cozy as the rest of the castle, the soft sofas with pillows and furs calling for one to sink down into them. It was hard to resist, though, my first steps led to the hearth. Flames danced around the logs, playfully licking them, sending waves of heat to the room. I lifted up my hands, warming up my frozen fingers above the fire. I sighed with relief. After few minutes, I called for maid and asked for cup of tea and while I was waiting, I sat down as close to the hearth as possible. Everything was so soft, warm and comfortable that at some point I had to doze off. I was woken up by the sound of closing door. Naively thinking that it was the maid with tea, I didn't hurry to open my eyes thus I didn't see it coming.

Two big hands landed on every side of my head, caging me in, knee pushed between my legs. Before I could make a slightest sound, cold lips shut me up. I was punching into the body above me with all my strength, but the male didn't seem to even feel it.

"Ah, sister," Zima sighed mockingly and his head fell to the crook of my neck. "You look so beautiful today. I almost fell on my knees when I saw you. So pure, so.. lovely and so freezing out there."

Catching on my breath, I pushed against his body, unable to make him move even inch. "Get off me," I whined, tears stinging my eyes.

"I saw the way that bastard was looking at you. I won't let him have what's mine," he mumbled, completely ignoring me as he nuzzled to my neck. I felt sick.

"Let go," I cried, but my voice wasn't more than a whisper.

"Once I get rid of him, you will be mine, only mine." His hand landed on my waist, slowly travelling up the corset.

I was kicking and punching around, eyes firmly closed, sobs escaping through my lips. I didn't hear the knock on the door, but Zima did. At last he let go of me and stood up. I was trembling heavily when maid opened the door, eyeing us. She seemed to be startled finding us at first, until she looked properly at me. Her brows furrowed.

"I brought your tea, my Lady. Excuse my impudence, but you look a bit dishevelled after the long journey. Would you mind if I helped you get ready? There's not much time left before ceremony starts."

"She doesn't need-" Zima growled, eager to get rid of her. I couldn't let that happen though.

"Be so kind, please," I mastered to say it aloud enough, my voice uneven.

She put down the tea with kind smile and stared Zima down with raised eyebrows. His fingers curled into fists, teeth gritted.

"Later, sister," he hissed as marched out.

My heart throbbed in my throat, hands shaking wildly. I tried to hide them in folds of the skirt to no avail. The maid already noticed it.

"Are you okay, my Lady? Should I call for someone?"

"N-no, it will s-stop soon."

She smiled at me compassionately and offered me the tea. "This might help you, my Lady. I figured out you would be nervous before the ceremony, so I prepared a calming tea."

"It's kind of you. W-what's your name?"

"I'm Millie, my Lady," she bowed. She was small lesser faerie with light blue skin, pointy nose and hair sticking from her head like fragments of ice. Her intelligent eyes were the deepest shade of blue I'd ever seen. She was lovely in her own unique way.

I accepted the cup and while I was sipping the hot liquid, she pulled out small bag and tissue from her pocket.

"If you don't mind, I would start with your lipstick. It's a bit smudged."

My hand flew to my mouth, eyes wide. "I-I.."

"It's all right, my Lady," she spoke softly with understanding expression, holding my hand. "Whatever you need, I'm here."

After helping me with make up, she stayed with me until I calmed down and then she excused herself. It didn't took long and another knock sounded on doors.

This time it was that female who stood behind the High Lord when we arrived. She was a real beauty with her long hair, bright blue eyes and snow white skin, her cheeks slightly pink. Since I saw her for the last time, she had put the sword away and changed into beautiful light blue dress with silver embroidery. When she spotted me near the hearth, her perfect lips curled into big smile.

"Hi there," she beamed merrily. "We didn't have a chance to introduce when you arrived. I'm Viviane, Kal's childhood friend and captain of the guard. I'm so happy to meet you."

After my awkward introduction, she stepped closer and looked at my skirt, specifically at its lower half where small diamonds were added to the embroidered snowflakes.

"This is so nice and skilfully made. I've never seen anything like this," she marvelled. "Your dress is absolutely dreamy. Such a beautiful bride! Even Kal was stunned when you got off the sleigh and that's what to say. He won't be swayed so easily by anything."

"Thank you," I wasn't sure what else to say. I nervously fidgeted.

She tilted her head to the side, thinking. "Just one tiny little thing, if you don't mind." She reached for the veil that Millie secured to my hair before she left, and smoothed its hem. Viviane backed a bit and smiled.

"Now everything is perfect! You look like porcelain doll." She was so kind and friendly, that I didn't know what to do with it. I'd never experienced anything like this in my life.

"Oh, dear," she took my hands and gently squeezed them. "I really hope you will be happy here and that we will become friends. Kal looks like a heartless and reserved person, but under the hard shell is soft and kind heart. You can count on him in anything. He can be ass sometimes, but if necessary, I'll gladly beat him down instead of you. No need to worry."

I chuckled, feeling little easier. Maybe this place wouldn't be so bad after all. "I'm counting on you then."

"Sure, dear," she winked and got a bit serious, her voice still so soft. "It's almost time. Are you ready? If you need, I brought a bit of liquid courage with me."

"It won't be necessary," I shook my head and took a deep breath. "I think, I'm ready."

"Okay. Your family should be already with the rest of the guests, waiting. If you have questions about Kallias or something else, I can try to answer them while we get to the cathedral."

As it seemed, the cathedral was a place made of clear ice, basically a greenhouse like building, just more bigger and magnificent. It was built on reef above the gorge, visible from castle as well as from the city on the other side. Usually closed white chiffon curtains were wide open for this special occasion, letting anyone see inside. As I walked with Viviane down the passageway connecting it with the castle, I noticed a crowd on the other side of gorge, watching.

That's when Viviane whispered to me: "Entire city came to celebrate your wedding. Everyone is so excited ever since they heard about it. There will be great feast and music on the main square after the ceremony. You should see how beautifully they decorated it."

I wasn't sure what to think or feel anymore — all emotions mixing together until the only one I could recognize was fear. I was scared of this unknown place, of the wedding itself, of the life with male I didn't know, of all the faeries watching me. Most of those I met with here, were kind and friendly so far, but would they be so nice knowing what I was? I strongly doubted that. Viviane must have sensed my unease and squeezed my hand firmly.

"Everything will be fine. You aren't alone. I'm here for you anytime you need. Kal is here for you, too. He doesn't indulge in harming others and avoids such situations if possible. He will protect you and take good care of you. I'm sure he will. I know him all my life. His father is very similar. If you want, you can see your family as often as you like."

However soothing her words were, it didn't help much. My bottom lip kept trembling as I followed her on unsteady legs. I was so glad to see my father waiting outside of the cathedral for me. I threw myself into his waiting arms.

"My little girl," he breathed out into my hair. We stayed like that for a while, none of us speaking. When father pulled away at last, he wiped away hot tears and cleared his throat. "We should go. The guests are waiting."

I swallowed hard. I wasn't ready yet, but I never would be. All I could do, was to let go and leave it up to the fate to lead my steps. I prayed to the Mother for nothing more but a peaceful life. Father took the lead and I followed him, squeezing his arm.

The inside of cathedral was nicely decorated. Snow was falling from the ceiling, disappearing before it could touch anything. Tall evergreens dusted with white and silver stood in the corners, green garlands with cream colored flowers and gold bows lined the aisle with thick beige carpet in its middle.

There were too many eyes watching me from benches, so I found one spot and concentrate at.. him. My gaze was drawn to Kallias who stood at the altar, his back turned to me. He really changed from the military coat, now wearing pure white clothes embroidered with gold. His shoulders were rising and falling with every his breath.

I was almost at the steps leading to the altar when he finally turned around. His expression was guarded, jaw tight, yet he was handsome. His eyes, however, didn't seek out mine, merely stopping for a second at me. It seemed that nobody else noticed that he gazed somewhere behind me. The change in his emotions was so subtle that it was invisible to the eyes that didn't pay attention too closely, but I noticed it. His expression slightly softened at first and then twisted with longing. My heart skipped few beats, suddenly much heavier as realization hit me.

He was looking at Viviane.

[kakerutori]

Byler biking headcanons because we win and always have and always will win

Will always had legs a little shorter than Mike growing up, and so he biked a little slower. But Will never knew that because Mike always slowed down just a tad to be right next to him

Whenever Mike got super excited about something, he’d bike in circles around Will and go off about how excited he was. Will watched him and turned his head to track him and talk to him with joy

Mike loved being purposefully wobbly on his bike sometimes or lift his feet and hands up to make Will laugh

If ever their bikes broke, they were at Mike’s garage ASAP for a fixing (plus Lucas and Dustin came over too if it was really bad)

In the dark, Mike often reminds Will to turn his bike light on

Meanwhile Will often reminds Mike to turn his bike light off afterwards

Will tried to color their bikes with pens once but it came off almost immediately. Mike mourned Will’s doodles no longer on his bike for weeks

Will colored/decorated the bikes at Castle Byers too btw then when it rained that’s when the designs came off

Will was always pretty cautious going down hills but Mike slowly assured him that it was more fun to go fast and thus Will became the speed demon we see in s1

Both are pretty confident off-roading and Mike loves the rocky terrains but Will prefers a nice smooth path

Will fell off his bike once and Mike almost let his own bike get run over by a car because he left it in the middle of the road to tend to Will

Once Byler get together they try to kiss each other while biking. It does not work but they get a kick out of trying and almost crashing into each other anyway :)

[isnotwhatyourethinking]

The Warrior & The Healer - Chapter 3

Cassian x Winter Court Healer Reader

Summary: Y/n's healing powers are unparalleled, a gift from the Mother that she wields with precision and care. Sent to Velaris under the guise of a diplomatic mission, Y/n is secretly bound by a darker duty—spying for the Winter Court's ruthless war general, Isarn, to protect her imprisoned mother. But as she works to heal the wounds inflicted by Hybern, a chance encounter with a certain Illyrian warrior changes everything.

Word Count: 5.8K

A/N: sorry this took so long, I had to organize an auction T.T though I loved loved loved diving more into the plot and introducing new characters! hope u like this one, angst and all xx

Warnings: girl can't catch a break, angst, mentions of family abuse, blood, violence, waterboarding, language if you squint, some fluff at the end, sorry if I missed anything!

All ACOTAR rights to the genius of Sarah J Maas✨

Upon arriving at the Winter Court, I was greeted by a too-familiar frigid air that clung to my bones, making me long for the warmth of Velaris, and by a structure before me that loomed like a minatory giant, challenging me with its sheer presence. 

The Hailstone Citadel stood majestically atop a rocky hill, its towering spires piercing the frosty air. Constructed around a grand meeting hall where the leaders of the Court gathered for official events, and made from spotless white marble with delicate veins of silver, its walls shimmered like freshly fallen snow under the pale winter sun. The battlements, adorned with intricate carvings of long-forgotten runes, were fashioned from pale blue quartzite, their surfaces glistening as if perpetually coated in a thin layer of frost. 

Inside, the grand halls were lined with smooth alabaster, casting an ethereal glow that mimicked the natural luminescence of ice. Blue calcite pillars rose to support the vaulted ceilings, their icy hue deepening the castle's wintry ambiance. Even the floors, polished to perfection, reflected the cold beauty of the surroundings, with inlaid designs of glacial stone that told tales of ancient winters. 

I stared at the mythical beasts that welcomed me, standing as majestic statues at the base of the blue pillars, symbols of the Winter Court’s strength and ferocity. Great white glacial bears, their fur eternally pristine like the marble walls, were carved to perfection. Snow griffins and frostfang wolves, their watchful gazes following my every move, guarded the halls with silent vigilance. They had always made me feel so small, as if they might jump and shred me to pieces at any second.

The entire structure exuded an icy aura, both in temperature and in its hauntingly beautiful design, perfectly encapsulating the essence of my court. I was caught off guard by the subtle shudder that thought caused.

As I made my way to the tactical wing, I felt a shiver run down my spine, and not just from the cold: a large group of soldiers greeted me with their imposing presence. Isarn might be playing the role of a vigilant warlord, but the overabundance of soldiers spoke volumes about his paranoia. Still, they were a formidable sight, their uniforms a mixture of elegance and intimidation. Each soldier wore a long, icy blue tunic of thick wool embroidered with delicate silver snowflakes. Over this they wore white, fur-lined cloaks, fastened at the shoulder with silver clasps in the shape of direwolves—the well-known beast form of our High Lord. 

Trying to shake off the thought of what Kallias would do to me if he discovered what I was doing, I shifted my attention back to the formation of the soldiers, the details of their armor gleaming in the pale light, silver breastplates intricately engraved with frost patterns and beasts, polished to a mirror-like finish that reflected the icy surroundings. 

I slightly nodded at the formation, heading to Isarn’s office. I raggedly filled my lungs and held my pendant before walking into my cursed fate. No fear. One deep breath. No hesitation. Another deep breath. I knocked once announcing myself, and opened the door.

❄❄❄❄❄❄

Isarn's office bore none of the elegance of the grand halls of the Citadel. The walls were adorned with detailed maps of Prythian, some marked by battle plans. Shelves lined one wall, filled with tomes on warfare, tactics, and the history of the Winter Court. Weapons of all kinds—swords, daggers, and axes—were meticulously displayed, the room was lit by a single obsidian chandelier, its dark crystals casting sharp light across the space. 

In the corner, a fireplace donned with a shiny grease black tile crackled with blue-tinged flames, the firelight casting eerie, flickering shadows across the room. The hearth was decorated with carvings of snarling beasts, and despite the warmth it provided, the fireplace only seemed to add to the cold, merciless atmosphere. A large desk dominated the center of the room, made of dark, polished ebony that looked almost black in the dim light. Behind it sat a high-backed chair, its design as austere and commanding as the man who occupied it. 

Despite his stature, the General's presence was overwhelming, his authority radiating with sheer force. He was a short, chubby male with skin so pale it almost appeared gray, the black ponds of ink he had for eyes missing nothing—a cold, calculating gaze that seemed to see through any facade. His gray hair, balding at the crown, was meticulously combed straight and sleek in a strict military fashion that only added to his stern demeanor. Dressed in the immaculate regalia of a warlord and topped with a prominently displayed black onyx blade, he projected an aura of intimidation and behest. I loathed this visit, though I was looking forward to hearing news of my mother.

"Sit down", he commanded in his screeching voice. 

"I’d rather stand", I spat back. An evil smile crossed his features. 

"Y/N… You’re in no position to negotiate, and I’m not in the mood for insubordination. Sit. the fuck. down". 

Prick.

My back tensed as I reluctantly sat in one of the chairs located in front of his desk, hands still in my pewter cloak’s pockets. 

"I hope, for yours and your mother’s sake, you’re not wasting my time."

I nervously looked at his chubby hands, adorned with rings shaped like bears, tapping rhythmically against his desk. Every other plump finger was wrapped in a band of platinum, a showy attempt to command respect, as if a reminder of his authority had to be displayed at all times, I thought. 

"The Night Court is heavily secured since Hybern’s attack," I began, trying to keep my voice steady. "Thanks to the Ancient One’s powers and the Cursebreaker defending the city, Hybern did not stand a chance." 

Isarn’s expression remained inscrutable as he leaned back in his chair, calculating. "Go on," he pressed, his voice a dangerous murmur.

I took a deep breath, the weight of the pendant around my neck grounding me. "Amren’s powers are… unlike anything I’ve ever heard of. She can seamlessly control mind and body, the Cursebreaker herself was impressed by her skills."

"What about that winged bastard? Did the treacherous High Lord reveal anything useful about their plans against Hybern?" he said in a mocking tone, each word a poisonous blade cutting through the tension in the room. 

I hesitated, the memory of Rhysand mentioning a book to Feyre flashing through my mind. I knew, I knew this was wrong, and I hated the thought of putting the Night Court at risk. But the desperate need to gain leverage gnawed at me. No, I couldn’t reveal this information before negotiating my mother’s release. "Where is my mother?" I asked, trying to shift the conversation.

Isarn’s eyes narrowed, and he stood, moving around his desk with the grace of a predator. "Information first," he said, his voice unyielding.

A power struggle unfolded as he circled me, each step calculated. "Your dear mother is expecting you to fulfill your side of the bargain." He hesitated for a second, carefully measuring his next words to avoid giving anything away. "And the Night Court is not your concern," he added with a tone of casual malice, as if the subject was of little importance to him. 

Interesting.

In a blink, he was beside me, and before I could react, I felt the cold touch of his onyx blade at the nape of my neck. Isarn was faster than I had anticipated, his military training evident in his swift, lethal movement.

I summoned a burst of chilling force to my upper body, just in case, trying to remain grounded. 

"Tell me… what you know," Isarn demanded, slowly pressing the blade harder against my neck.

I felt a warm liquid trickle down my back—he had pierced my skin. The pain was sharp, but the realization of my vulnerability was even more cutting. My wound was healing quickly, though the gash hurt like hell. 

He kept pressing with intent and what felt like... pleasure? I fought back tears until they finally broke. 

"I heard Rhysand and Feyre talking about a book the Ancient One is working on. It could be a weapon, I don't... I don't know anything else." 

Isarn’s smile was victorious as he released the blade from my neck. "A book?" His eyes gleamed with greed. "See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?" he taunted, his voice mocking and triumphant. Then the bastard licked my blood from the tip of the blade, never breaking eye contact. Repulsive, dishonorable, evil shred of a male. 

I forced a gag down my throat and kept an impassive expression on my face to avoid giving him a reaction, but I couldn’t wait to get out of there. I was disgusted, enraged, frustrated and tired. How much longer did we have to put up with this prick? From the moment I was recalled from the Boreal Retreat to the Citadel a few weeks ago, Isarn had made it his personal mission to humiliate me every chance he got. The Commander, Gods only knew how, had managed to convince Kallias to assign me to aid the Night Court, so I hadn't even had time to delegate my duties, and I often wondered how my patients at the Retreat were doing. 

Fortunately, a knock on the door interrupted my torment.

"Sir?" A soldier peeked his head in with hesitation and fear. He had been summoned by the Commander but clearly did not want to disturb him. He knew better than that.

"Alfson. Take the lady here to the lower chambers. Make sure she sees how her mother is being well cared for." Isarn snarled with disdain. Then he pinned me down with his resolute obsidian eyes as he reclined on his desk, their fixed stare anchoring me in place. 

"We are done here. You're to remain in the Night Court until I say otherwise, and you better not try any funny business." He tapped the ebony with his fat fingers, emphasizing the last three words. "I've got eyes and ears everywhere."

"I've got eyes and ears everywhere," I scoffed in my head. Honestly, what was his interest in the Night Court? 

What is your endgame, Commander?

A surge of strength coursed through me, a defiant fire igniting in my chest. While my resilience had always been a silent force, manifesting through actions rather than words, this newfound courage startled me. 

Before I could stop myself, the words tumbled out of my mouth.

"You mean Hybern’s?"

His head suddenly snapped up, a shadow crossing his face. Without warning, his hand lashed out, striking me across the face with a force that sent me reeling. The sting of his platinum rings bit into my skin, and before I could even touch my cheek to ease the pain, his gaze shifted to the soldier. With a slight nod and a silent command in his eyes, he conveyed his next order.

A sudden, searing pain exploded at the side of my head, and my world turned black.

The barren, snow-covered ground crunched beneath our feet as we searched for anything to stave off our gnawing hunger. It had been two weeks since my father had left us to fend for ourselves, his absences a common trial we had learned to endure. The biting wind whipped through my thin clothes, but I barely felt it, my focus solely on survival. 

I ran ahead of her, a small figure stood out a few meters away in the sea of whites and grays around us.

“Mama, look!”

We had stumbled upon a rabbit, its fragile body barely clinging to life. I looked at my mother with young, inexperienced eyes, searching in hers for an answer to the rabbit's pain, though knowing this could be our dinner. 

She knelt beside the animal, examining it with gentle hands despite the harshness of our surroundings. Her eyes, a blend of resolve and sorrow, met mine with a weight that belied her calm exterior. She cupped her hand on my left cheek, a mother's heart breaking at the lesson she was about to teach her little girl. 

"You must choose," she said gently, her voice trembling yet firm as strings of mist came out of her mouth. "Help it get better, or let it go peacefully. The decision is yours, my love."

Her tone carried not just the necessity of our survival, but a plea for understanding. 

I hesitated, the weight of the decision pressing down on my small shoulders. The rabbit's labored breaths filled my ears, and I felt a pang of empathy for the creature. But the growling of my stomach and the desperate look in my mother's eyes forced my hand. With trembling fingers, I reached out, knowing that this choice meant survival.

I closed my eyes for a moment, gathering my strength, then made the call. 

I snapped the flimsy neck, ending the rabbit’s suffering to provide us with a meal. The act felt heavy, its significance settling deep within me.

My mother’s gaze hardened as she stroked my hair and looked into my eyes. 

"You did good. Sometimes we must do not what our hearts desire but what our needs demand, without fear nor hesitation” 

Her words replaced the feeling of guilt and grief, they had etched themselves into my soul, becoming a cornerstone of my resilience and determination.

I bolted upright on the cold stone floor, my mother's voice echoing in my mind. The nightmare, the memory, had faded, but the longing for her warming presence remained.

As my senses returned, I realized I wasn't in my bed but in a dark, dank dungeon. The chains binding me were a deep, otherworldly blue, shimmering faintly in the dim light. Each link felt like liquid metal solidified into an unbreakable structure, wrapped tightly around my wrists and ankles. The subtle chill from their touch seeped into my bones, sapping my strength with powerful magic. 

I groaned as I tried to reach for the back of my head where an intense headache originated, pounding behind my eyes, likely from the blow Alfson had delivered in Isarn’s office. My vision was still blurry, but as I blinked rapidly trying to clear my sight, the full extent of my situation became painfully clear: I wasn't healing.

I struggled against the chains, my movements slow and sluggish. Each effort to free myself only seemed to tighten their grip. Panic began to set in, my breaths coming in quick, shallow gasps. Then, amidst the silence of the dungeon, a familiar whimpering voice reached me over the ringing in my ears.

Across the cell, through the dim light and shadows, I saw her. She was huddled in a corner, her once-vibrant form now frail and broken. 

No. No, no, no–

Tears welled up in my eyes as I realized the horror of her imprisonment. Isarn hadn't been keeping her in some quarters as I had hoped; all this time, she had been held captive in a dungeon cell. 

"My child," she murmured. 

It pained me to hear her voice barely audible carrying the weight of all the suffering she had endured.

"Mama," the call came from the bottom of my heart, out to my lips, hoarse and desperate. The sight of her, more than the chains, more than the cold, more than the headache, shattered my core. I fought against the bonds with renewed desperation, my mind racing to find a way to free us both. A thousand questions swirled in my mind, and I could see the same confusion and urgency reflected in my mother's eyes.

I breathed, trying to keep my voice steady, "I've been out assisting the Night Court."

Her eyes widened, a spark of shock briefly flickering through her weariness. I wanted to tell her everything, about the beautiful city of Starlight, the people I had met, the mission I had undertaken, about my mate, but there was no time. The sound of boots echoed faintly in the background, so I continued.

"Mama, I’ve been well, but I can't talk for long," I said, my words hurried. "They're coming."

She nodded, understanding the urgency. Despite her frail state, she reached out to me as if she could hold my hand from a distance. "Bjorn," she said, her voice dry and raspy, "he's been aiding me."

Bjorn. The mention of his name brought a flood of emotions. My uncle, my mentor, the one who had always been there for us. While my father abandoned us, Bjorn had stepped in, teaching me everything I needed to know to survive in this frozen hell. As the Captain of the border forces with the Autumn Court, he had been a figure of fortitude and tenacity, walking alongside me every step of the way, from treating soldiers in makeshift tents to becoming indispensable to the court. He was more of a father to me than my own ever was. 

"He sneaks in when he can... Isarn still doesn’t know," my mother continued in a whisper, forcing a gulp. "He doesn’t know you’re related. It’s our only advantage."

I nodded, tears welling in my eyes. The thought of seeing Bjorn again gave me a glimmer of hope. I had kept it together up to this point but gods knew I needed a lifeline. 

"Do what Isarn says for now, my love. Find Bjorn. He’s been looking for you, too."

My mother fought a cough, struggling to talk. As her eyes met mine, I silently pleaded with her to stop, to save her strength, but she pressed on, defying my unspoken request. 

"He mentioned tensions at the border are growing, and that he’s been looking for a way to undermine Isarn's influence, to exploit his vulnerabilities."

The sound of boots grew louder, the guards getting closer. Panic surged through me, but I held on to my mother’s words. "We’ll get through this," I promised. "I'll find Bjorn." As soon as Isarn grows bored of this hissy fit and sends me back to Velaris.

The Mother must’ve heard my prayers, as two soldiers finally approached the cell’s gate, each carrying a large bucket filled with what looked like water, and two thick linen cloths. This couldn’t be good.

"Rise and shine, ladies," one of them sneered.

Fuck, how long had it been?

The soldiers walked into the cell with a menacing air. "This is a mercy from the General, a little reminder." one of them said, his words dripping with that characteristic malice of Isarn’s personal guard.

Before I could react, they grabbed us and forced us to the cold stone floor. The first splash of icy water hit my face like a thousand needles, the shock making me gasp for air. The cloth was pressed over my face, and the torture began.

I struggled to breathe as they poured more water on me, each inhalation bringing it into my lungs. Panic and pain overwhelmed me as I heard my mother's muffled cries close by. I fought against the restraints, desperately trying to break free, but the chains held me fast.

Just when I thought I would drown, they stopped. I laid there, coughing and gasping for breath, my body trembling. The soldiers laughed, their eyes savoring their making.

"If you don’t comply with the General’s orders," one of them said, leaning down to whisper in my ear, "or if you dare to question him again, he will personally stab you both with faebane, bathe you in cold water, and leave you out to freeze to death."

The other soldier removed the dark indigo bonds and spat on my face.

“Scum.”

But I ignored it all as I crawled towards my mother, every movement a struggle. "Mama, please," I begged, "stay with me."

Darkness was closing in, my strength fading. The last thing I saw before losing consciousness was my mother’s frail form, her eyes filled with love and desperation. 

I drifted in and out of awareness as rough hands grabbed me, dragging me out of the dungeons. My body felt heavy, my limbs barely responding. Through blurred vision, I saw the dimly lit corridors of the lower levels of the Hailstone Citadel pass by, the cold seeping into my bones.

"Keep moving," one of the soldiers muttered, his grip tightening on my arm.

They hauled me through a hidden exit at the back of the citadel, into the freezing night. The biting wind stung my face, jolting me closer to full consciousness. They dragged me into the bailey, the snow crunching under their boots, until they finally dropped me unceremoniously onto the ground.

I laid there, shivering, hardly breathing. I had to move. Summoning the last of my strength to heal the tightness in my muscles, I pushed myself up, staggering towards the stables I knew were nearby. Each step was a battle as I reached a horse conveniently saddled, its breath visible in the cold air. I had always prided myself on being self-reliant, I’d been taught to never depend on a male for strength or comfort. But now, as my body temperature kept dangerously dropping, I found myself wishing for Cassian’s warmth, his strong arms wrapping around me. I held onto that feeling for solace, while focusing on mounting the animal. 

I urged the horse south, towards the Autumn Court border where I knew Bjorn was positioned. The ride was a blur of icy wind and snow-covered trees. I fought hard to stay awake and to listen to the rhythm of the horse’s gallop—it was the only thing keeping me from slipping back into unconsciousness.

When I finally reached the border at dawn, the outpost where Bjorn was stationed came into view. It was a watchpoint where the soldiers of the Winter Court kept an eye on the shifting lines between territories. Tents erected around a tall brick structure dotted the landscape as far as I could see, blending into the snow-covered ground.

A soldier approached as I dismounted, recognizing me from past encounters at the recovery camps. "Y/N," he greeted, his voice filled with concern as he saw my condition. He helped me unmount, his hands steadying me as I stumbled. 

"I have urgent business with the Captain," I muttered as I could.

The soldier nodded, understanding the urgency. "This way."

He tied the horse to a post and guided me through the site as I made my way to Bjorn's tent. The sounds and faces of the outpost, once familiar and comforting, now felt distant and blurred as if they were fading away. At last, we arrived at Bjorn's tent. The soldier stepped inside first, clearing his throat before speaking, "Captain, someone’s here to see you." I followed, my legs barely holding me up.

Bjorn turned around, shock registering on his face when he saw me. "Y/N," his voice broke, his eyes reflecting a mix of relief and worry. 

I couldn't contain my tears any longer. I ran to him, collapsing into his embrace. He wrapped me around tightly in a fatherly comfort I had longed for since I left for the Night Court.

As we stood there, memories of our time together surged through my mind. I recalled the countless hours we spent in the training grounds, his voice calm and steady as he instructed me on how to hold a blade, how to keep my balance even on treacherous ice. He drilled me in the military structure of the Winter Court, ensuring I understood the hierarchy and strategies that could one day save my life. 

His patience never wavered as he guided me in harnessing my healing powers, teaching me to channel my energy and focus it precisely where it was needed. Every lesson, every word of encouragement had shaped me into who I was today. He had been there for me in my darkest moments, offering his support and wisdom when I needed it most. Our familial tie was forged in those early days of hardship, and it had only grown stronger over the years.

"I thought I'd lost you," Bjorn whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

I pulled back, wiping my tears with the back of my hand. "My mother…" I pleaded, "she needs help."

Bjorn’s face set with resolve. "We’ll take care of her."

He turned and called for the soldier who had brought me to the tent. As the soldier approached, Bjorn drifted to his work table, quickly scribbling something on a piece of paper. He handed it to the soldier. "Take this to Eirik," he instructed. "He’ll know what to do."

The soldier nodded and swiftly left the tent, leaving me sighing with a sense of relief. Bjorn finally faced me, studying me with worry. 

"I look like hell, don't I?" I managed a weak smile.

Bjorn chuckled, a soft, affectionate sound. "You always did have a flair for understatement," he teased, his teal blue eyes scanning me for injuries. He quickly urged me to sit, gently helping me as I sank onto a nearby stool. As he helped me remove my wet cloak, no longer pewter but a light charcoal due to all the dirt, and my boots, he gazed at my wrists where they were still hurt. My powers were almost depleted.

When he took off my boots, he noticed the bargain tattoo. His lips pursed. "Your mother told me about..." He pointed at the tattoo with his chin. "When you left... I couldn't, I haven't forgiven myself. I should've been there for you. I'm sorry." 

I reached out for his arms, like I always did many, many times when I was younger and none of this mattered. 

"You had no way of knowing, and I won't let you carry the guilt of Isarn's doing," I whispered in our embrace.

I took a deep breath and slowly let go, still holding his hands. "I was in the Night Court, sent to work as a healer, but I was spying for Isarn. He..." I looked down at my wrists, cuts from the chains still open, "did not hold back when I returned. The moment I mentioned the King of Hybern, he snapped. I don't get it, why is he so interested in the Night Court?"

Bjorn's face hardened. "Because he’s an ambitious prick. I have spies within Isarn’s close circle. He's working with Hybern. He’s promised him the Winter Court in exchange for his help." 

He saw the blood leaving my face as my heart sank, waves of blame and dread suffocated me. 

Dear Mother. What have I done?

"Is that even possible?"

"The fool is a loyalist. He’d gladly sell his own pathetic life to bring back the days of human enslavement."

Weariness was creeping in. I hadn’t slept all night, though the gravity of the conversation was enough to keep my mind alert. 

"It gets worse," Bjorn continued. "Isarn plans to help Hybern destabilize the Night Court by kidnapping the Cursebreaker. Apparently Hybern wants to use her powers against all humans down the Wall, though we still don’t know how."

"Feyre... But why would Isarn do this?" 

Despite his cruelty, Isarn was a military commander through and through, his loyalty to the Winter Court woven into the very fabric of his being. Betrayal felt out of character.

Bjorn's eyes locked into mine, his demeanor to the brink of desperation. "Isarn has long harbored resentment towards Lady Viviane for commanding the Winter Court armies during Under the Mountain. He felt..." 

The soldier that brought me to the tent interrupted, bringing two steaming bowls of stew, the savory aroma filling the tent. 

"This might not be a feast, but it'll keep you going," he remarked while he offered me a shy smile, approaching me with a bowl.

Ever the overprotective parent, Bjorn grabbed both from his hands, dismissing the soldier with a nod, and continued. 

"He felt small and undermined—no surprises there." He winked at me conspiratorially. I would have laughed at the joke if the guilt within me wasn't drowning me.

"Especially after discovering Lady Viviane's leadership role. His supposed captivity by Hybern was a ruse; he was collaborating with them all along."

I felt a sickening twist in my gut. I lowered my head into my hands, resting them on my legs, overwhelmed by exhaustion and frustration, and unable to process any more information. Telling Isarn about the book had been a mistake. A grave mistake. But I couldn't burden Bjorn with the weight of my call, I'd rather keep him focused on my mother's well-being. Then there's the safety of my mate… I had to fix this. I knew what I had to do. 

"I have to go back to the Night Court." I uttered with a stammer. 

Bjorn's eyes blanked with a resolve that startled me, he’d seen right through me and instantly knew my intentions. He stood up and started pacing around the tent. 

"If you plan to share any information about Isarn and his plans with the Night Court, you need to be prepared, Y/N.”

He was right. If I approached Rhysand and Feyre, laying out everything I knew about Isarn while also proposing a solution, they could not only be warned but might also offer resources and intelligence to our advantage, in a joint effort. A pang of gratitude hit my core when I realized that, in the rush of the moment, Isarn wasn’t too specific with the terms of the bargain. 

A fool, indeed. This might just work. 

I felt a hint of pride in my chest.

"Not bad for an old captain," I winked at him, and replied with a smirk when I shared my conclusion. 

"I'll need to devise a plan that ensures Isarn can't retaliate. If I can present them with a strategy to counter his, they may be able to support us."

Bjorn agreed, his expression serious. 

"Exactly. They have as much at stake as we do."

He slowly leaned towards me, placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder and looked me in the eyes, his gaze full of emotion. I knew this moment would come once more, the moment we part without knowing when we’ll see each other again, but I wasn’t ready to say goodbye. It seemed like all we had now were these fleeting moments, and there was still so much I wanted to share with him.

"You can do this, Y/N. But remember, you must keep up the facade with Isarn until the very end. Any slip, and he will come down on you hard. On both of you.”

"I understand," I said firmly, taking his calloused hands in mine. 

Then he searched my eyes for the tenacity he'd taught me to maintain in these situations, and found another emotion seeping in instead.

A longing for the male I'd been relentlessly pushing away, leaving him behind at the Night Court.

"Alright, spill it, child. What’s going on?" Bjorn pressed, his gaze unwavering.

I hesitated, my thoughts a whirlwind. I wanted to tell him about Cassian, but how could I explain this to Bjorn when Cassian himself didn't know about the mating bond? Not that I was planning to tell him either. 

The risk of exposing such a deeply personal truth made me feel incredibly vulnerable. Still, I wanted him to know. I needed his guidance and support, now more than ever.

"I..." I started, struggling to find the right words. "There’s someone at the Night Court. Someone... important to me."

Bjorn's thick eyebrows burrowed, but he waited patiently for me to continue.

"I think... I think I've found my mate. He's very well known and a person of trust in the Night Court. He doesn't know though, about the bond."

Bjorn's lips drew a line. 

Oh, Gods. 

I hadn't been this nervous since the first time I met Kallias. I forced a swallow down my throat and continued, the words coming out of my mouth in a hurried tirade like a child who had been caught being naughty.

"I cannot, will not risk this mission for a male I barely know, though," I continued, determination hardening my voice despite the pounding in my heart. "There's too much at stake, and I need to focus on what matters now."

Bjorn’s lips twitched, and for a moment, I saw the familiar glint of mischief in his eyes. 

"So, you’re just telling me now that you found your mate?" he said, a teasing lilt in his voice. "And here I thought you were keeping all your secrets from me."

Despite the tension, a small smile crept across my face as I lowered my chin and looked at my bare foot. "It's not like that."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Oh, I know, child. I’m just teasing. But seriously, a mate? And an important one in the Night Court, no less,” his hands reaching his hips. “You sure know how to pick them."

I mentally sighed as all the light-hearted taunting eased some of the anxiety gnawing at my insides. 

"I didn’t exactly choose this, you know." 

Bjorn’s expression turned more serious, though the warmth didn’t leave his eyes. "I admire your determination, Y/N. And I’m happy for you, really. But you need to be cautious. Especially if he’s a significant figure in the Night Court."

He elbowed me with complicit eyes, "Can I know who this significant other, I mean, figure is?"

I rolled my eyes, tempted to fall into more of his tease but instead I hesitated, thinking about the answer. 

"You’ll know, Bjorn. In time. If everything goes well after Isarn is dealt with. For now, we move forward with the plan."

Bjorn nodded, understanding the boundary. "Fair enough. Just promise me you’ll be careful. And be smart. Remember your training."

"I promise," I said, knowing that I would cling to those words when the moment demanded it. I stood there for a moment, trying to hold on to this precious instant with him. His concern for me was evident, and it mirrored the worry I felt for him. 

"Good," he replied with a reassuring smile. Bjorn’s blue eyes softened as he pulled me into a tight embrace. The familiar scent of mist and pine enveloped me, grounding me in the moment. 

“Please be strong, petal,” he murmured, his tone carried a hue of anguish. I nodded against his shoulder, blinking back the tears that threatened to fall upon hearing the affectionate nickname he’d given me since I was a child. “I will.”

We pulled back slightly, our hands still clasped together. His rough palms were a comforting anchor in the storm of emotions swirling inside me. I looked into his eyes again and recognized the unspoken devoted love that had always been there. 

"This isn't goodbye," I said softly, squeezing his hands. "Please keep her safe. Who knows, the next time we meet I may bring some allies, Mother willing."

"I'll hold you to that. Now go," he held my chin up gently, with a caress. "Go back to the Night Court and show them what you're made of," his eyes shone with affection. 

With a final nod, I gathered my now somewhat-dry cloak, and some clean clothes and supplies for the journey he'd packed for me. 

Before I walked out of the tent, he called after me.

"He better be good with a sword."

I hid a grin, knowing the answer. "Something like that."

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dividers by @estrelinha-s

[d1lfenthusi4st]

(introduction post) (update/new)

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Château de Menthon-Saint-Bernard 

The Château de Menthon-Saint-Bernard is a stunning medieval castle located near Lake Annecy in the Haute-Savoie region of France.

Perched on a rocky hill, it overlooks the surrounding countryside and has an air of fairytale beauty, with its picturesque towers, turrets, and gardens. Dating back to the 11th century, the castle has been owned by the same family for over a thousand years, a rare feat in Europe. Legend has it that Saint Bernard of Menthon, the patron saint of mountaineers and a descendant of the castle’s founding family, was born here.

Over the centuries, the castle was expanded and modified, transforming from a defensive fortress into a residence with Renaissance influences. Today, the Château de Menthon-Saint-Bernard is a cultural treasure that offers guided tours to the public, showcasing rooms filled with period furnishings, artwork, and medieval artifacts. Its library, chapel, and richly decorated halls immerse visitors in centuries of history.

With its storybook appearance, it is rumored to have inspired Walt Disney's Sleeping Beauty castle. Beyond its aesthetic charm, the castle is a window into French history, allowing visitors to experience the architecture, legends, and lifestyle of medieval nobility.

[xxlady-lunaxx]

I'm not coming home | {SaneOba}

Theme: Angst

Note: I hate adding trigger warnings simply because it basically spoils the whole thing, but I have to add them so, TW's!!: implications of wanting to die/suicide

Spoilers!! (like in the next sentence)

Will take place after the Infinity Castle thing, Obanai lived, Mitsuri did not. You can choose to think of ObaMitsu as platonic or romantic, it really doesn't matter, they were just close before. Sanemi has been helping Obanai with his mental health (and uhm failing), guess where this is going<33

×××

It had been some time since the final battle and Sanemi was tired. Yes, he had been getting a lot more sleep recently than the past few years, but he was tired. Fuck, it wasn't even because of his sleep—although he was having trouble adjusting to this new sleep schedule. But putting that aside, the reason for his tiredness was Obanai.

Obanai was... putting it nicely, not okay. Mitsuri had died in his arms after Muzan's death, and he was in some sort of daze now, as if it would undo the damage. He ate less than he ever had—which was saying something—and he barely slept, barely moved, really. Sometimes, though, he would wander around, looking lost.

Sanemi had taken to caring for Obanai—the two had started dating, as well. It was rocky, their relationship, or just... their life. It wasn't easy, obviously. How could it be?

Before, at least, they had distractions. Missions, patrol, their own life constantly in peril danger. But there was nothing now. It was a relief, for a lot of the survivors. It was a relief to Sanemi and Obanai, as well. But in a way, it was also worse. Made life just a dull of objects and colors, a blur in the background. It was empty, no action, no... nothing.

Sanemi didn't necessarily mind, however. Obanai, on the other hand, was very affected by it. Horribly. And it was obvious. So obvious to the point that Tanjiro brought up the concern once, while passing by Sanemi at the market.

Sanemi assured him that he'd help as best he could, and that he already was. But it fed his worries about Obanai and he went in search for his boyfriend later, whom he hadn't seen in a bit. He found Obanai, later, sitting absentmindedly on a hill, his katana in his hand. He was staring at it as if it held the answers of the world, his hand running over the handle to the leather sheath.

"Obanai?" Sanemi asked, confused. He quickly made his way up the hill, plopping down next to the smaller man. 

"Hm?" Obanai turned, meeting Sanemi's eyes. The turquoise and golden eyes of Obanai's appeared unfocused, and he looked as tired as ever. 

"What're you doing here?" Sanemi said, frowning. He glanced down at Obanai's lap, where his katana sat. "And why do you have that?"

"Uhm. Just thinking," Obanai mumbled, closing his hand over the katana handle tightly. "Why?"

"You look tired and I haven't seen you all day," Sanemi said, sighing. He wrapped an arm around Obanai, urging him to lean against him. (does that make sense?)

Obanai shrugged. "I wanted some fresh air."

"Ah."

They were silent for a while. Sanemi took this opportunity to look around, finding that he could see a lot of a town below them, stretching far off into the distance. If he wasn't mistaken, that was the town the Hashira would usually wander around in their free time. More specifically, Mitsuri, who would eat a lot in one of the restaurants there.

With that, Sanemi realized Obanai had probably been down there, most likely reminising about Mitsuri. He grumbled internally, wanting to smack himself for his stupidity. Obanai must be feeling miserable because of this.

"So... Why do you have your katana?" Sanemi asked. The past Hashira and Demon Slayers had all kept their katanas and/or uniforms if they were still in tact, given that there wasn't any need to rid of them. But as far as Sanemi knew, most people's katana's were probably gathering dust somewhere in the back of their house as demon slaying hadn't been the best of most people's memories. 

Obanai looked away. "No reason."

The frown on Sanemi's face deepened. There was definitely a reason. It couldn't only be for the purpose of remembering, could it? Although just to feel the weight of the katana was enough to trigger a lot of memories.

"Right." Sanemi stood carefully, making sure he didn't drop Obanai's limp—and very light, he must add—body in the process. "When will you come back home? Tomioka's visiting later, so you probably want to get a bit of rest first."

"I'm not coming home," Obanai mumbled. The words were quiet, almost unaudible. Almost.

"What?" Sanemi turned back, having been half way through heading back down.

Obanai didn't say anything and Sanemi quickly retraced his steps back up, turning Obanai's body to look at him.

"What do you..." His eyes drifted down to Obanai's katana, clutched tightly in his hand. "No."

Obanai blinked quickly, turning his face away. 

"No, Obanai, don't you dare," Sanemi hissed, grabbing the part of the handle protruding from Obanai's fist.

Obanai fought back, tugging at it. "Go away, Sanemi," he said, a sudden harshness entering his voice.

Startled, Sanemi nearly let go, but quickly regained his grip on the katana. Having been taking a lot better care of himself recently—and just generally being stronger than Obanai—he managed to take the katana from his boyfriend, gripping it tightly. 

"Do not. Obanai, you cannot leave now. You're still young enough to have life to you, don't you fucking dare," Sanemi said, a burst of desperation hitting him. "I can't... can't lose you too."

Their eyes met and, for a second, Obanai returned the glare. But then all the fight seemed to seep out of him and he slumped down, his hair slipping over his face. 

"I'm sorry," Obanai whispered. "I have to."

Sanemi shook his head. "No. No, you don't and you won't. Fucking hell, what have you been thinking this whole time?! We're going back home, Obanai. C'mon," he said with a heavy sigh, hoisting Obanai's unhealthily light body onto his back.

Obanai's arms clasped themself loosely onto Sanemi's shoulders as Sanemi made a slow descent down the hill.

"You're going to sleep now, Obanai. I will not let you die," Sanemi said. He wouldn't allow it.

×××

« Word count: 1086 »

×××

there's more floof in this cuz... i feel bad and i love writing floof as much as angst

putting the part one and two in the same post because it's easier<33

×××

Obanai was asleep and Giyuu was at the door and Sanemi was in the kitchen. Sanemi was also panicking.

He heard the knock at the door and opened it, letting Giyuu enter.

Then he promptly went back to panicking.

Giyuu watched him pace around for a couple minutes before speaking up.

"Are you alright, Shinazugawa?" he asked. He had gotten better at talking recently, having had more time to focus on his social life. He was more vocal now and it was helpful, really. 

Sanemi stopped and stared at him. He had run his hand through his hair several times earlier so it looked like a mess, he had been muttering to himself and pacing around for almost an hour now, after putting Obanai to sleep, and he was tired. No, he was not alright.

"Obanai tried killing himself earlier," Sanemi said bluntly, deciding to go straight (gay) to the point.

Giyuu blinked. He had not been expecting that. "What?"

Sanemi groaned, striding forwards and hitting his forehead against the wall several times. "He brought his katana with him. He didn't even deny it."

Giyuu moved forward, pulling Sanemi away from the wall. "When?"

"Over an hour ago. I made him sleep," Sanemi said, gesturing to the hallway that led to Obanai's room.

"Ah. We should ask Aoi for help, she might know therapist or something," Giyuu murmured.

"Why the fuck would we ask a child?!" Sanemi said incredulously.

Giyuu sighed. "Because Kocho wanted to sign us up for therapy but we didn't have time. Aoi or Kanao might be of some help in this matter since they knew Kocho better."

"Bitch, we're adults. We can find a therapist ourself. But I doubt Obanai would speak to one, in the first place. He's... got a lot of personal shit he'd most likely rather not tell anyone," Sanemi pointed out. He crossed his arms, moving away from Giyuu. 

"Right. I don't know, then," Giyuu murmured.

Sanemi frowned, looking down at the ground. "I don't know either. I've been trying to help him, but I don't think it's working."

"Mm. How have you been trying?"

"Uhh..." Sanemi paused, racking his brain. "I've been keeping a close watch on his sleeping and eating schedules—which are somehow still fucked up. I try talking to him sometimes but he doesn't really... want to. He's quieter now, too. It's difficult to deal with, and it's fucking up my head."

Giyuu nodded as he spoke, thinking for a moment. "Try to just spend time with him, maybe? Instead of so obviously focusing on his mental and physical health, just take him out on walks or dates, and so on," he suggested. "Maybe it'll clear his mind."

Sanemi raised an eyebrow. "That's... I'm surprised I'd hear that from you, Tomioka. But I'll try that, sure."

Giyuu pouted. "What does that mean?!"

"You know, you're really childish for a twenty-one year old man," Sanemi deadpanned. 

"...go cheer up Iguro, then," Giyuu said, huffing and turning to the door.

Sanemi laughed. "Will do. Thanks," he called after Giyuu who was already outside.

"No problem... And good luck!" Giyuu said, lifting a hand in a wave before promptly slamming the door shut.

Sanemi rolled his eyes and locked the door before turning as he heard a different door open.

Obanai stumbled into the hallway, rubbing his eyes and fixing his bandages. He quickly spotted Sanemi and sank into his boyfriend's arms, hugging him tightly.

"You alright?" Sanemi asked, patting Obanai. 

He got a muffled "yes" in response. 

"Are you hungry?" he asked, picking up Obanai and hoisting him onto his hip.

Obanai pulled back slightly to make himself comfortable, wrapping his legs around Sanemi's waist. "No' really..." he mumbled, resting his head on Sanemi's shoulder. He seemed tired, still, and probably had forgotten about earlier. 

"Okay. Sleepy? Want to cuddle?" Sanemi offered, kissing his cheek.

"Mmmhm," Obanai hummed, nuzzling against him.

Sanemi smiled. "Whatever you want. You're awfully clingy today, you know..."

"Is'at bad?" Obanai asked, lifting his head up to look at Sanemi.

"Not at all. It's adorable."

"I'm not adorable."

Sanemi scoffed. "Keep telling yourself that."

Obanai grumbled but went back to hugging him as Sanemi made his way back to the bedroom, closing the door and laying down with Obanai wrapped around him.

The room was silent, only the sound of their breathing, bringing a comforting feeling to them, lulling them into sleep.

Sanemi awoke, he didn't know how long later, and glanced down at Obanai who stayed asleep in his arms. The blanket previously pulled over them had at one point gotten tangled up between their limbs and Sanemi struggled for a moment to pull it back onto them.

He glanced at the window which had curtains drawn over them. A dim light filtered through the fabric, however, telling him it was around late evening or night. He moved his hand up to run through the dark, tangled locks of Obanai's hair, wrapping his other arm back around his boyfriend.

A while later—about twenty or so minutes—Obanai stirred awake, blinking wearily at Sanemi. His hair was messy, despite Sanemi having been finger-combing it for nearly half an hour before, but he looked considerably less tired then he had before.

"S'nemi...?" he mumbled, moving forward and re-attaching himself to his boyfriend.

"Yes?"

"Goo' mornin'..." Obanai said, his voice muffled by his bandages and sleep.

"It's... night," Sanemi said, laughing gently. 

"Oh." Obanai sat up slowly, glancing at the window. "Is it bad that we're used to waking up at dusk and going to sleep at dawn?"

"...Probably." Sanemi sighed. "How do you feel, though?"

"I'm fine."

"Tired, still, or not?"

"I feel better," Obanai admitted, running a hand through his hair. 

"I'm glad to hear it," Sanemi said, sitting up and kissing the smaller man's forehead. "Hungry?"

"Not really." 

Sanemi frowned. "When have you last eaten?"

Obanai pouted, crossing his arms. "That's none of your concern!"

"It is! If I want to care for you, I need to know!" Sanemi said.

"I don't need caring for! I'm twenty-one! I can care for myself!" Obanai protested.

Sanemi raised an eyebrow. "What, and this morning wasn't some sort of indication that you can't?" He immediately regretted the words afterwards when Obanai seemed to cower away, remembering. "Sorry, Obanai, I didn't mean..."

Obanai shook his head, silencing him. "It's fine." He slumped back down onto the futon, burying himself in the blankets.

Sanemi sighed. "I'll make us some food."

"Alright..."

×××

Sanemi decided to take Giyuu's advice into action and, the next day, took Obanai out on a walk after lunch.

Obanai was clueless and just walked around, one hand clasped around Sanemi's, the other clutching a pebble he'd picked up earlier. They walked in silence, enjoying the outside for once. It was a nice day and the weather was mild, not cold nor hot. It was peaceful; spring could be like that. (Fun fact: it was spring after the war!! Because the sakura tree in the Butterfly Estate had been blooming) There was a heavy scent of flowers in the air, given the trees were blooming and, with the occasional burst of wind, flower petals would float down around them.

Sanemi was watching Obanai carefully and had been caught staring at him several times, leading to more awkward silence.

Eventually, irritated, Obanai asked, "What?" upon catching Sanemi looking at him again.

Sanemi bit his lip, turning his gaze back in front of them. Obanai stopped, though, holding Sanemi back by his hand. 

"What?" he repeated, more forcefully.

Sanemi shook his head. "It's nothing, just thinking."

Obanai huffed. "If you keep thinking about yesterday, I'm going to rip your head off."

"Be my guest," Sanemi murmured. "And it's not that"—which was partially true—"so don't worry about it. I was thinking about when we were Hashira. Days like today just went by unnoticed since we were usually resting or training."

Obanai rolled his eyes. "Oh, are you reminising now? Are you going to go on about a speech to appreciate what we have now?"

Sanemi laughed. "Do you want me to?"

"Fuck no."

"Good, because I wasn't. But... you really should," Sanemi added, as an afterthought.

"What? I'm not reciting an essay for shit," Obanai said, scrunching up his nose. 

"That's not what I meant. i meant, like, to 'appreciate what you have now,' as you'd put it."

"Oh, so it is about yesterday." He sighed, letting go of Sanemi's hand to fidget with the rock. "Please stop thinking about it."

"Like I could." Sanemi crossed his arms, moving to stand in front of Obanai. "You do realize I care about you way more than anyone else right now?"

"Well you shouldn't. You should care about yourself." Obanai looked up, his eyes meeting the lavender eyes of Sanemi's, those of which he'd fallen in love with over and over again. God, he would do almost anything for him. Almost anything.

"Like you could talk! You're the one ignoring your own health," Sanemi shot back. "Obanai, seriously, just... I'll stop thinking about it when you can prove to me that you'll try to get better. If not for yourself, then... for..." He hesitated, unsure if he should continue the sentence. "For someone else."

Obanai frowned. "For you?" he asked. "Just say it. It's not selfish, if that's what you're thinking."

Sanemi shook his head again, running a hand through his hair and sighing. "It's... not that."

"Then?" Obanai asked impatiently. 

"That's not what we're talking about!" Sanemi said, trying to pull him off the course of the conversation.

"Yeah, well now it is. So, tell me." He crossed his arms for emphasis, glaring up at Sanemi.

Sanemi grumbled. "If I tell you, will you try to care for your health?"

"I walked into that, didn't I," Obanai said, sighing. 

"Yes."

"Fine. I'll try. But I won't promise any success."

"Good enough," Sanemi decided. 

"So?" Obanai asked, quirking an eyebrow when he didn't continue. "Tell me!"

"It's stupid," he insisted.

"So am I, and look who you're dating! Get on with it, idiot."

Sanemi rolled his eyes. "One, you're not stupid. And... fine. Fine," he repeated, as if telling himself more than Obanai. His gaze dropped to the ground, avoiding the prying eyes of his boyfriend. "It's about Kanroji."

Obanai tensed. "What about her?"

"I don't know. Just, you're doing this all for her, right? I know what you were looking at when I found you yesterday. I know you care about her a lot." Sanemi paused. "Basically—and fuck, I sound like a selfish brat, but—I didn't know if you cared about me enough to want to stay... for me," he concluded. "Which is why... yeah."

Obanai frowned, taking in this information. "Are you jealous or insecure?"

Sanemi winced. "Don't say it like that."

"Just answer."

"Both, really," he admitted, wishing he could crawl in a hole and die.

There was a beat of silence.

And then Obanai stepped forward, tiptoeing and wrapping his arms around Sanemi's neck, hugging him tightly. He glanced around, making sure nobody was there, then undid his bandages, kissing Sanemi gently. Sanemi embraced him, leaning against the hug. 

"God, you're like a big baby," Obanai murmured, placing another kiss on Sanemi's cheek.

"Says you," Sanemi said, although he smiled at the kiss. 

"Mm, sure." 

They stayed like this for a while, completely ignoring the fact that they stood in the middle of a road in public, their attention completely on each other.

Then Sanemi back away, embarrassed and almost guilty. "Sorry for turning this about me."

"Don't worry about it, it's nice to not be the one worried about for once," Obanai said, quickly fixing his mask and taking Sanemi's hand.

Sanemi nodded. "And it's nice to be the one worried about, honestly," he said. 

"Guess you haven't experienced it much?"

"Nah." 

They continued on their walk in silence for a while, consumed in their own thoughts. Obanai spoke up, after a few minutes, glancing up at Sanemi.

"Hey, and for the record? I do care about you. Fuck, I'm sorry for seeming so laser-focused on Mitsuri lately, but... I mean, don't take this the wrong way, but she's all the reasons why I want to die. You're all the reasons I want to stay," he said, his voice gentle. 

Sanemi stared at him. 

"What?"

"N... Nothing," Sanemi mumbled, his hand tightening around Obanai's. "Thanks."

Obanai nodded, confused. He double-stepped forward to see Sanemi's face—who had turned away—and stopped. "Oh my god, are you going to cry?!" 

Sanemi shook his head, his hand reaching up to rub his eyes. "Fuck no, what the hell are you talking about?..."

Obanai sighed, letting go of his hand to wipe the tear that slipped down Sanemi's cheek. "Crying isn't bad."

"Well, good for you. Because I'm not crying!" Sanemi insisted, a whine entering his voice.

"And you said I was the baby," Obanai grumbled, rolling his eyes. But he hugged Sanemi again, holding him tightly in his arms. 

Sanemi buried his face in the mess of Obanai's hair, practically strangling him with a hug. "'m not crying," he repeated, with less insistency.

"Whatever you say."

After Sanemi got himself back together, the two walked down the road again, more awkwardly as neither knew what to say anymore. 

"Uhm... So, back to you?" Sanemi suggested.

"Fuck no."

"Fuck yes."

"You want to fuck?" Obanai asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Maybe?" Sanemi said, mimicking Obanai.

"Idiot," Obanai said, laughing.

Sanemi smiled. "You're laughing."

Obanai immediately stopped. "Okay, no, that's stupid. Don't be stupid."

Sanemi rolled his eyes. "You're stupid."

"I know."

"God."

They exchanged a smile before Obanai decidedly broke into a run, making Sanemi do a double take before chasing after him.

"What the hell?!" he shouted, catching up quickly.

Obanai grinned at him, quickening his pace. "How much strength from being do you think we have left?"

"I bet I have more than you do," Sanemi replied, running ahead of Obanai.

"Fuck you!!" Obanai whined, attempting to get back in line with Sanemi.

They laughed as they ran, and probably wouldn't have stopped if it weren't for the fact that they nearly crashed into someone. Both of them skidded to a stop, almost toppling over themselves in an attempt to not hit the other person.

"Fuck..." Sanemi groaned, helping Obanai steady himself.

"Okay, what the hell is wrong with you two?" the person asked, his voice familiar.

They looked up.

"Great," Obanai said, crossing his arms.

"The fuck is that supposed to mean?!" Tengen whined. 

"Nothing. What're you doing here?" Sanemi asked.

"Uh, walking. Why?" Tengen said, cocking an eyebrow. "And you two?"

"Same as you," Obanai said. 

"Right. You look better," Tengen noted, looking Obanai up and down.

"What do you mean?"

"Well rested." 

Sanemi nodded. "He slept a lot yesterday and the day before."

"I was tired," Obanai said defensively. "And what do you mean, 'better'?!"

"It wasn't an insult," Tengen said, laughing. "And of course you were tired."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?!" Obanai threw the pebble at Tengen who dodged it, grinning at him.

Sanemi rolled his eyes. "He means you were being insomniac and unhealthy and that you're already making improvement, dumbass."

Obanai huffed. "You too?!"

"Hey, don't blame me! You were the only one who fell into some sort of neglection of yourself after Muzan!" Sanemi pointed out.

"Anyways, I don't want to hear you two bickering, so... bye!" Tengen said, saluting them before promptly turning and practically disappearing.

Sanemi and Obanai stared after to where Tengen had run off to, watching his figure fade into the distance.

"Why is everyone concerned about my health," Obanai asked, after a minute. 

"Because you're easy to be concerned about. You look happier though," Sanemi said, turning back to Obanai. "Right now."

"That's cuz we were running and it was exhilarating. I haven't done that in a bit."

"Yeah, I know. That's why I took you out on the walk," he said, taking Obanai's hand into his own.

"Hmm, I knew you had ulterior motives," Obanai said. "'I need fresh air' my ass." 

"That wasn't a lie."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Hey, you lied about that, too!" Sanemi said, walking again.

"Fair enough."

×××

Giyuu's tactic seemed to work. It was distracting Obanai a lot more and he looked a lot lighter now, although he occasionally lapsed into fits of depressing—if you could call it that—and Sanemi was always there for him when they happened. But he was progressing and his katana ended up in the corner of the entrance hall, dust slowly collecting on the hand guard. He was doing better, and it was all Sanemi could really ask for.

×××

« Word count: 2731 »

y'all i know I ended this randomly but I was losing ideas for this and it ended up so much different than i'd intended AND HOW THE FUCK DID I GET NEARLY 3000 WORDS?! I THOUGHT IT WOULD ONLY BE 600-1000 BUT NAH...

Also i js remembered how much I love fluff 🤩

so many scenes in this oneshot i'm in love w/ how it turned out (also a bit eh but YAYY)

[thewickedspinster]

The Protector & the Prince (Aedion Ashryver x Reader)

a/n: this character and plotline has been in my head ever since i read throne of glass, so i'm lowkey thinking of making this a series? to explore the character and also her relationship with aedion? because there is a criminally low amount of aedion love out here (i'm happy to provide). lmk your thoughts in the comments!

content: aedion x fem!reader, aelin x reader platonic, rowan whitethorn ofc, spoilers for empire of storms & kingdom of ash, slight au where reader is taken by maeve instead of aelin

requested by anon

The Protector & the Prince

The dawn was chill and damp against your cheeks. Dew rose from the meadow below, kissing your hair and skin. Welcoming you home.

In the rocky hollow behind you, the Bane packed up camp. They were battle-weary, exhausted to the bone after years of fighting in the mountains. Last night at dusk, when the company had stopped, you had just been able to make out the spires of Orynth across the next hill. It had been a trial in will to halt, to take stock, to rest before making the final push across the Staghorns.

Today, you would return to the home you had been forced to abandon, to the people you called your own. To your queen. To your friends. The war had been won, they said. Word had come over the mountains in the form of a white-tailed hawk; the king himself had come to find you and call you home. He had said his queen commanded it.

Against your will and better judgement, the memories of the past decade flowed freely as you and your company hiked down into the vale, then up the other side, crossing the last line of mountains. The loss of Aelin, the fall of Orynth, the Assassin's Guild, the land of Erilea, the return of magic, and the nightmares of war. Yet by midday, Terrasen unfolded before you, green and golden as ever. Your heart strained against its cage, and the Bane's pace hastened to the city's gates.

When you had last seen this city, it had been white and glistening, a kingdom in its prime. You were but nine years old, a nameless child with no family, no wealth, who had been taken in by King Orlon, of all people, to guard his young niece and heir, Aelin Galathynius. Since, your fae lineage had been revealed, and his choice in you had become clearer; only you could have followed Aelin to the ends of the earth as you did. Only you could have kept her safe.

Now, Orynth was rebuilding. The people had begun to return, but their wariness was palpable as they turned from their work to observe the Bane walking down the main thoroughfare. Some bowed, but there was no fanfare. There was little room for celebration as the dust of war settled, and the work began.

Your mind was a muted whirlwind of thoughts. You had little idea what to expect upon seeing Aelin. You hadn't seen her since the day on the beach, when you had been taken by Maeve in her place. The war done, you no longer knew your place.

Besides all this, your heart pounded for entirely different, unwelcome reasons.

Aedion would be here.

Aedion, Aelin's cousin, the Wolf of the North, fearsome general and protector of a fallen kingdom, had always been your best friend. Your first friend in Orynth, the lifeline you held onto while training with Arobynn. Your closest confidant. The only person you needed. And gods, did you need him now, with the uncertainties rising and the past creeping in... As you approached the towering doors to the castle, you actually considered whether you could do this.

The walk up the sweeping marble steps took a millennium. Untouched, no one had been able to steal their grandeur, though the great doors were still missing. One step over the mighty threshold, two steps, and you had yet to collapse. Three steps, and you were blindsided, barreled into with such force you stumbled.

"Y/N," came Aelin's shaky breath in your ear. She clutched you close, her fingers digging into your leathers. You clung to her in turn, holding her as tightly as you could, breathing in the smell of her, free of blood and iron. "You made it."

"Hi," you laughed breathlessly. "Gods, Aelin. Hi."

And suddenly, everything was entirely right in the world. You were home. You were with your best friend. You had made it.

Reluctantly, Aelin let you go and addressed your company. The Bane, ever having been Aedion's to command, had been given to you in the wake of your return to the continent. You had earned their respect, earned your place as their general. But they were, of course, Aelin's to command. Her arm still around you, she thanked them and dismissed them.

Before you knew it, you'd been swept up to a grand chamber, Aelin with you, to wash and eat. Your head swirled with the welcome, with the shock of being back in this place you'd once called home. She spoke softly, bringing news of Rowan, Chaol, Dorian, Elide, and Manon. She skirted talk of fighting, of that day on the beach, and for that, you were grateful.

"How is Lysandra?" You asked, pulling a comb through your wet hair. The sun was setting, but you would luxuriate in this time with Aelin for as long as she'd allow. "I heard she became a sea dragon."

"She did. That, and more." Aelin laid out a tunic on the bed for you, and it all felt too much like evenings at the Guild, preparing for grand soirées (and murders). "Her and Aedion have finally made up. Thank the gods for that - the tension was borderline unbearable."

Your eyes flicked to hers in the mirror, but only just. You blamed the exhaustion for the way your heart stuttered. "I'm glad to hear it. One big happy family, right?"

She snorted. "Yeah, a right happy home we've got."

A knock came on the door, and a servant entered, summoning Aelin to her council chamber. The young queen groaned, but you saw how she straightened - how the mantle settled on her shoulders in a way that no longer looked entirely unbearable. She turned to you, saying, "You should rest, Y/N. Eat up here, and we'll talk more tomorrow."

You turned to look at her in full, smiling faintly, strained. "Tomorrow."

Your queen disappeared. In the sudden dimness of twilight, you were alone.

But, you supposed, there was a tomorrow. That alone was enough to help you breathe.

~~~

Dawn came too early. Despite your fatigue, you'd hardly slept. First, it was the dreams. Then, it was the contemplation. Would Aelin send you away? What would she have you do in service of her court? Would you even have a place? As a demi-fae of no noble birth and little standing, all you had was your training. Your violence.

You supposed that was worth something.

It was what drove you down to the training yard in the gray light before the sun, moving through the familiar dance of swordwork. Before long, sweat poured down your spine. As the sun rose over the yard, more soldiers came to train, though they hardly had a swordmaster to tutor them. Quietly, you placed your weapons back on the racks and slipped away, unnoticed.

It was down the second stone corridor you turned, then, that you first heard the soft laughter, the hushed tones.

"Isn't it too early for this?" A gasp, a giggle. "Surely there's a better place."

"No one will come down here. Besides, it's never too early for this."

You stopped dead. You knew that voice. You'd know that voice anywhere. You'd heard it in your dreams. You'd followed it in your darkest moments, guiding you home.

You turned on your heel and stalked in the opposite direction, chest aching, as the sounds of Aedion and Lysandra's tryst faded behind you.

~~~

Aelin had called a meeting for midmorning, and you were notified last moment. You were still straightening your fancy new attire - silver, threaded with dark vines - as you entered the privy chamber. It was nearly exactly as you remembered. Eerily exact, as it was. You kept thinking you'd see King Orlon leap out from behind the curtains to say it had all been a cruel jest.

Luckily, you'd had plenty of time to right yourself, as Aedion was embarrassingly late. Though you knew the likely reason why, you kept your mouth firmly shut, instead braiding your hair and reporting to Rowan Whitethorn on the state of the Bane. When that was through, and only then, did the doors open once more, and Prince Aedion swept in, not a hair out of place.

"Forgive the delay, Aelin," he said softly when his cousin gave him an arch look. "There were... urgent matters to attend to in the yard."

Rowan grunted, "Those soldiers need a proper swordmaster."

"Which is why we're all here," Aelin said, as if it were obvious. She was clearly bored with the court business, but she looked between you and Aedion as though she were expecting something... more. After an awfully long pause, she continued. "Now that we're all together again, I figured some rearranging of duties is in order. Aedion, the Bane are yours, should you want them. And Y/N, my Queensguard is yours."

Aedion looked satisfied, but you were rooted to the spot with shock. "Aelin, your Queensguard? Why not have Chaol do it, or something?"

"Because Chaol has his own wife, child, and parcel to handle."

"You're more capable," Rowan chimed. "Wouldn't have anyone else protecting my wife."

"I'd also like you to be my envoy to Rifthold, for the time being." You actually had to take a seat. The closest one was a large armchair adjacent to Orlon's massive, ancient desk. "You know the city - and the affairs of Adarlan - better than any of us. And Dorian asked for you. You're a far better diplomat than I ever was."

"You were simply never a diplomat," Aedion said flatly, but his attention was fixed on you. Had been since he entered the room.

"Thanks, I know." Aelin flipped her hair over her shoulder, perching on the edge of her uncle's desk. "Much more of a decisive type, don't you think? Anyways, Y/N, would you accept both positions?"

You truly had to think a moment. You were reeling, your breath coming shortly. You had feared that Aelin wouldn't have work for you, and now, you were to captain her Queensguard and act as envoy to Adarlan? The responsibility almost seemed too much to take on.

Without thought, you glanced over to Aedion, who was still watching you. You caught his scent as you did so, and the desire to launch yourself into his arms after so long apart, after such hardship, after thinking you'd both die, took your breath away. But he was steady as he watched you, and as he nodded once.

You returned it. Rose, squared your shoulders, and bowed to your queen. "I'd be honored to accept both charges."

Aelin and Rowan shared a glance this time, before Aelin said, "Don't answer right now, Y/N, but there was something else I wanted to ask." You quirked a brow. "If you'd join me, I'd have you as one of my bloodsworn. You've followed me through everything, given up everything for me, and there is no one I can count more loyal than you. I would have you by my side, in all things."

The blood drained from your head, but you felt uncommonly steady. You couldn't give her an answer, but you could reassure her that you weren't going anywhere.

You stepped forward and wrapped your arms around her, and she returned the embrace fiercely, burying her face in your shoulder. "My path has always been beside yours. Past and future. Not going anywhere."

Aelin lifted her head, eyes teary and brilliant. "Never again."

Flashes of the smell of iron, the taste of iron, the smothering of iron. Of a cell, of shattered realities, of a white wolf. They haunted your sleeping and waking moments. Had consumed you for so long.

The meeting was, for all intents and purposes, over. After parting, you gave barely a fleeting glance at Aedion, unable to deal with that emotional disaster at present, and strode from the room, already calling for all soldiers to report immediately to the yard.

You had work to do.

~~~

A month had passed, and your life was consumed with dust, sweat, the grunting of fighters, and the clash of steel on steel. You had selected a Queensguard from the soldiers who'd been in the city, but training them was something else entirely. They'd all seen combat in the war, of course, but that didn't mean they even knew how to swing a sword without tearing a muscle. It had been nigh on ten years since Orynth had had an organized militia of any kind. You were starting from scratch.

The men and women you'd selected were, of course, learning quickly. You wouldn't have chosen them if you didn't think them trainable. But they were reaching a plateau, and their progress was slowing. You were spending long hours training under the blistering sun, and even longer hours planning rotations and the coverage of major events in the castle. Aelin needed two guards with her at all times, and given the state of the Queensguard at present, you hardly trusted any of the new additions to protect her without you present.

Aelin's queendom was in its infancy, making it particularly fragile. Anyone could come for her - or the king - in an effort to change the political balance. It was something you couldn't chance, even if both king and queen could protect themselves admirably on their own.

All that being said, it was well into the evening, and you couldn't recall the last time you'd slept more than three hours. Or eaten a meal, actually. You sat back and threw down your quill, rubbing at your eyes. They'd grown weak and scratchy as you wrote by candlelight. The moon hardly helped, casting a silvery glow across the floor of your chambers.

A knock came at the door, and you didn't bother to sit up before calling, "Come!"

"Prince Aedion, Commander Y/L/N," the servant said. A second later, Aedion stepped in, shutting the door behind him in the servant's face.

You were still, watching him from under your brows as he approached your desk.

He stopped before you. "You look like hell."

"Thanks."

"That's a compliment."

"An absolute charmer, you are."

"I only mean to say you've been working hard. Aelin appreciates it."

"I know she does."

He suddenly looked like he was at a loss for words, something he hadn't been around you for... ever.

"Have you slept?" He finally managed.

"Do I look like it?" You gestured to your desk. "Lots to do. And I'm due in Rifthold next week."

"Are you going to take the blood oath?"

You sighed. "Don't you have something more useful to do than interrogate me?"

"I don't, actually," he snapped back, anger sparking. "Nothing more important than making sure you're alright."

"Funny, I thought you had a kingdom to defend. My mistake."

"The Bane are getting well-deserved rest. And thank to you, they're in top shape." He crossed his arms. "You led them well."

"I'd assume you'd know that, considering it was you who wanted me to lead them."

"Only because you needed something to do that would keep you safe."

Silence swallowed you whole as you stared at him. Fury turned your chest cold, your fingers numb. "Keep me safe?"

"You had no business being near the final battle for Terrasen," he snapped back. "Considering what you went through at Maeve's hands, you couldn't have been ready."

"So you sent me to babysit your troops?" You hissed, rising to your feet abruptly. "Are you serious, Aedion?"

Aedion sighed, exasperated. He held out placating hands. "This is going all wrong, Y/N. I'm not trying to upset you. I'm trying to make sure you're okay."

"What, because I was tortured? I can assure you, I'm a big girl. I can handle a few nightmares."

"Because I can hardly believe that you've healed," he nearly shouted. You leaned back. He said, quieter, "Because I know you haven't. You're throwing yourself into work to distract yourself. But it won't work forever."

He couldn't know just how right he was. It hurt, like a raw blister, the way he saw right through you. The way you wished you could bare your soul to him, let him comfort you, let him take care of you. You'd never had that, but you'd only ever wanted it from him. Your jaw was tight with hurt, and with fury.

"I gave you command of the Bane because I needed someone I could trust in the Staghorns. No one else could have earned their respect as you did." Aedion's gaze softened. "And selfishly, I wanted to keep you safe."

"I can take care of myself," you said, rather childishly.

"I know that."

"I don't need you to look after me. Not when you have other people to worry about."

The last had slipped out, unbidden, and you immediately cursed yourself for even saying it. Straight away, Aedion knew. His eyes sharpened, and you were glad to have the desk between you as his eyebrows rose.

"Lysandra," he said simply.

You stared back at him. "It's only natural."

"What? That I... frolicked with her, or that you're jealous of it?"

You scoffed. "'Frolicked?'" Seriously, Aedion? Are we twelve again?"

"We may as well be, for how well I feel I know you right now."

"You've known how I've felt about you for ages, Aedion. I know you have. You're blind, but you're not that stupid."

"Well thank you for that," he said, anger entirely abated. The snark of his remark missed its target. "Honestly, I only knew because Aelin told me."

"She told you back in Rifthold. I know. Before Arobynn was dead. Before I was free of him. Right in the midst of a shadow war." You gave a one-shouldered shrug. "But you always knew me best, Aedion. You had to have known before. But whether you did simply doesn't matter."

"How could it not?"

You straightened under his piercing stare, under the question in his eyes. "Because I have a job to do, and so do you. Aelin will always come before me, and I would never let anything, even you, come before her."

Aedion's mouth curved into a sad smile. "I know that."

Put off by the starkness of his honesty, you added, "And to be clear, I wouldn't be jealous of Lysandra. Her and I have been through enough. She's beautiful, and more than that, she's good. You deserve her."

"Lysandra has gone to Wendlyn."

"What?"

"We... I thought we'd gotten over the deception leading up to you being taken by Maeve, but we hadn't. She requested to leave, and Aelin gave her a job across the sea."

You were dumbfounded. So much so that you had to sit down. Lysandra, Aelin, and yourself had been the only ones to know of your plan to glamour yourself before arriving on the beach that day to greet Maeve's forces. As demi-fae, you had few powers, but one of the strongest was casting glamours. It was part of why you'd been so successful as an assassin at the Guild. Glamoured as Aelin, you'd been the one to be taken that day to Doranelle.

Anything for Aelin. Anything. Always.

Your voice shook as you said, "I will not be your second choice, Aedion."

"I'm not asking you to be," he murmured. "I'm asking you if you're alright."

Nearly. You nearly bent and broke, straight into him. Your mouth wobbled, but you managed to stand straight as you whispered, "I don't know who I am, now the bloodshed has stopped." When he said nothing, you drew a deep breath and continued. "Which means I'll keep fighting until I can sleep through the night."

"That's not how this works," he said evenly, and finally, he reached out, stopping himself just as his fingers grazed your sleeve. "You don't get to do this on your own, Y/N. We've always done this together - let me help you."

"You couldn't understand, Aedion."

And it was true. The things you'd gone through at Maeve's hands, at Arobynn's before her, no one could understand, least of all this prince. But as he touched you, for the first time in years, you felt your will against him falter.

You could have him, you thought. He's right there.

"Let me try," he breathed. His gold-rimmed eyes were desperate, soulful. Full of something you'd hardly dared admit to seeing before. Before Lysandra, when it was just you and him against the world. Desire. Admiration. Love? "Let me take care of you, Y/N. You've spent your whole life caring for us. Let me shoulder the burden, just for a little while."

The space stretched between you and Aedion, infinite. A breath. There was the truth, you realized. And you whispered:

"I'm scared, Aedion."

"I know, sweetheart."

He sensed it before it happened, and was around the desk in an instant, even as you fell back into your chair. Your breath came shortly, your chest crushed beneath the iron vice of memory. You'd failed to realize what it was to be rid of the constant routine of fight or flight, and now, that freedom came crashing down upon you as a wave, crushing your breath into teary gasps of air. Into sobs.

But Aedion was there, perched next to you, drawing you as close to him as he could. He pressed his mouth to your hair, your temple, your cheek, murmuring that he had you. That he was sorry. That Lysandra was only ever a distraction. That he'd loved you since you were children. That he had you. That he wouldn't let you go.

That you were safe now.

When the sobs subsided, you managed to lift your head, to look up at him through bloodshot eyes. He gazed on you fondly, his own eyes limned in silver. His hand smoothed over your hair, a gentle caress.

"You are the strongest female I have ever known," he murmured. "You may feel lost now, but we'll take this on together. Alright?"

"You have some explaining to do," you replied with half-hearted severity. "Frolicking with Lysandra isn't entirely forgiven, I'll have you know."

"Figured it wouldn't be."

"But... Together?"

"As it's always been, Y/N." He leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours. "I swear."

"I'll hold you to it."

"Wouldn't expect anything less from my most fearless warrior."

You smiled, and leaned up just enough to take him by surprise, kissing him softly. With the tenderness of ten years of longing, of ten years of sacrifice and love.

He tasted of beginnings.