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moonlitstoriess · 29 days ago

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I absolutely ADORED Unseen, Unheard, Unloved, it was AMAZING, there is not enough Kallias content out there. The ansgt? Delicious. The end? Scrumptious. That being said- can I please request a Kallias x Reader fic where the reader is from the Dawn Court and she is part of the Peregryn, so she has wings, I was thinking mainly white with splashes of yellows, reds, and oranges, and while there is a meeting held in the Dawn Court with the other high lords, the mating bond clicks into place for the reader the moment she sees Kallias, but it doesn't click for him until a while later, maybe another meeting, when she is roaming the gardens and he spots her in the moonlight, specifically noticing her wings because they're such an uncommon feature? :O lots of angst please, I love angst so much, but a happy ending, too? Thank you 🫶🫶

A court of Wings and Frost- Kallias x fem!reader oneshot

Summary: Y/N, a warrior from the Dawn Court, feels the mating bond click into place when she meets Kallias, the distant High Lord of Winter. But while she’s certain, he’s not—and the distance between them only grows. When the truth finally shatters everything under the moonlight, Y/N must decide if it’s too late to claim the love that was always meant to be.

A/N: sooo sorry for the delay in posting this!! I had a hectic month with all my assignments and projects piling up😭 But now that I'm free at last, I had to deliver this! Hope you enjoy it lovelies <3

see masterlist

Warning: SMUT!! (I will mention when it starts and ends), angst, slight miscommunication (gets resolved) I'm sorry I made Viviane the villain in this one😔, happy end!!

The sky in the Dawn Court always looked like it was just waking from a dream. Soft gold brushed across pale clouds, warm light spilling over marble spires and flowering terraces, as if the world itself stretched lazily into morning.

Y/N had seen a hundred sunrises here, and still, none ever felt quite the same. Maybe that was why she always rose early--before the courtyards filled with nobles and scholars, before politics began whispering through the halls. She liked the quiet. The clarity.

From her perch high on the edge of the palace’s western tower, she stretched her wings wide. The wind caught them instantly, tugging playfully at her feathers--white, with firelit streaks of orange and yellow and red. The colors of her court. Of her blood.

Of her freedom.

There were few Peregryn left in the Dawn Court. Fewer still who served as emissaries. Fewer still who flew at all. Most had settled into stillness, content to serve from balconies and council seats. But not her.

She didn’t care much for stillness.

They called her the Dawnbreaker. Wingmarshal. Not because she craved power, or glory--but because when the first light hit the sky, she was already gone. Already flying.

Titles had never mattered to her. Glory was something others liked to throw around at banquets and formal reports. What mattered--what had always mattered--were her wings. The way the wind moved through them. The way the world looked from above, quiet and endless.

She had earned a place beside her High Lord. She had spoken in foreign courts, fought on foreign soil. Her name carried weight now.

But none of it compared to the moment her feet left the ground.

No crown, no command, no silk-lined praise would ever mean more to her than the sky.

“Wingmarshal.”

She turned at the sound of the title, her boots echoing against the polished stone as she stepped through the sunlit corridor. One of the aides--young, always slightly too nervous around her--offered a shallow bow as he approached.

“The High Lord asked me to remind you--he’s waiting in the eastern solarium. Breakfast.”

Y/N nodded once. “Tell him I’m on my way.”

The aide hesitated, then darted off again, robe whispering along the floor behind him.

She didn’t hurry. There was no need to.

The palace was already beginning to stir--the halls humming with quiet footsteps and low voices, sunlight dripping like honey through every arched window. Florals from the courtyard had begun to bloom in full, casting a soft, sweet scent across the halls. Preparations were well underway for the arrival of the other High Lords. But the meeting itself wouldn’t begin until later, after the sun reached its peak.

Which meant--for now--she could still enjoy the calm before the storm.

As she moved, several courtiers inclined their heads. Not in fear, but in acknowledgment. Respect. She wasn’t noble by blood, but title and legacy had forged something more lasting. Wingmarshal of the Peregryn. Emissary to the High Lord of Dawn. Guardian of the skies.

And still, none of it meant more to her than the wings at her back.

She glanced toward the window as she passed, caught her reflection in the glass--her wings fanned just slightly behind her, feathers glowing with traces of sunrise. White streaked with warmth, flame tucked into every edge.

They were her pride. Her tether. Her greatest freedom, and her most vulnerable truth.

She didn’t let anyone touch them.

Not even those she trusted.

The eastern solarium was flooded with light--its ceiling high and domed with golden glass, casting warm amber across polished marble and soft velvet lounges. Vines of blooming star-roses climbed the pale columns, and fine silk curtains fluttered in the open arches that let in the morning breeze.

The air smelled of citrus and sun-warmed blossoms, the soft hush of wind brushing through the wide space like a second breath.

Y/N stepped inside, her footsteps muted against the mosaic floor--a depiction of the first sunrise, if the lore was to be believed. She had walked across it a thousand times and still found new colors hidden in the design.

At a low table set beneath a canopy of flowering vines, Thesan sat in quiet contemplation, a steaming cup of tea cradled in his hands. He didn’t wear a crown--he never did--but his presence filled the room more than any gold could.

Warm robes of deep coral and cream fell around him, his dark hair pulled back in a loose knot, sunlight catching faint glints of gold woven into the threads at his collar.

“You’re late,” he said without looking up. His voice was smooth as silk and just as hard to read.

“I was flying,” Y/N replied, settling into the seat across from him. “Didn’t think punctuality was required for breakfast.”

A small smile touched his mouth. “It isn’t. But I know you avoid company when you’re brooding. Which made me wonder if something was already bothering you.”

“I’m not brooding.”

“You’re always brooding.”

Y/N huffed, but a quiet laugh slipped from her anyway.

A servant approached, silent as sunlight, and placed a delicate plate of sliced fruit, cheeses, and warm flatbread in front of her. She nodded in thanks and took a sip of the tea already waiting--sweetened with honey and citrus, just the way she liked it. Of course he remembered.

For a moment, they ate in silence. Outside the solarium’s open arches, birds sang softly in the hanging gardens. Sunlight filtered through the blooms above, scattering tiny drops of gold over the table like the sky had spilled a secret.

“You flew longer this morning,” Thesan said finally, still not looking at her. “Lower, too. Skimming the towers.”

“You were watching?”

“I always do. You’re one of the few things in this court worth watching.”

Y/N blinked, surprised. But he didn’t elaborate, simply took another sip of tea.

She studied him for a moment. “You’re calm today.”

“I’m always calm.”

“Even with seven High Lords arriving by midday?”

“I’ve hosted gods and monsters in this solarium, Wingmarshal,” he said with a faint smile. “A few brooding males are hardly a challenge.”

Y/N let out a soft laugh, the corners of her mouth lifting.

Still, her gaze drifted toward the open archway--the wind brushing over her face as she stared out at the sky. The storm was coming. She could feel it in her bones.

Thesan watched her, quiet now.

“You’ll be at my side today,” he said after a moment, not as a question. “As emissary. And as something more.”

Y/N’s jaw tensed slightly. “I know what’s expected.”

He leaned forward, setting his cup down with a gentle clink. “No. I don’t mean politics.”

She looked at him then, really looked.

And he smiled--a little sad, a little knowing.

“You have a way of sensing things before they arrive,” he said softly. “Storms. Shifts in the wind. Let’s hope whatever you’re feeling now is one we can weather.”

Y/N didn’t respond. Just let the breeze move through her feathers as she looked out over the sun-drenched world beyond.

The peace wouldn't last much longer.

After breakfast, Y/N made her way through the lower halls of the palace, the quiet part of the Court where the hum of voices and bustling footsteps hadn’t quite reached. Here, the world felt slower, softer--a contrast to the chaos that would follow once the High Lords gathered.

Her routine was simple but sacred.

First, she checked on her warriors. The Peregryn had always been more than just a military force; they were the eyes and wings of the Dawn Court, sent where others couldn’t go, moving unseen across borders and through the shifting tides of diplomacy. And Y/N, as their Wingmarshal, was both leader and protector. It wasn’t a position given lightly. Her reputation among them was earned through blood and time.

She passed the training grounds, where several Peregryn warriors were already in motion--sparring, testing each other’s strength, refining their flight patterns. They greeted her with respectful nods, but most didn’t speak. Not unless there was something that needed fixing.

Her mind wandered as she watched the familiar rhythms of their practice--how they fought, how they moved in sync with one another. The Peregryn were always fluid, like water, like wind. Even in combat, there was beauty in their precision. And Y/N took pride in that.

Her wings stretched slightly, itching for the wind again. The restlessness was always there, pressing at the edges of her mind. No one else seemed to notice when she needed to fly--not even Thesan. But the moment she stepped away from the palace’s limits, the sensation was different. As if the very air became hers to command.

She stopped before one of her senior warriors, a tall woman named Amara, who was adjusting the straps of her armor.

“Have you noticed anything odd about today?” Y/N asked, keeping her tone light.

Amara glanced at her, then lowered her voice, eyes flicking around to make sure no one else was close. “The air’s thick with tension. No one’s saying it, but I can feel it. Something is coming.” She paused, eyes narrowing slightly. “Are you sure about this meeting, Wingmarshal? The others--the High Lords--they’re… not like us.”

Y/N studied Amara for a long moment before replying, her gaze distant. “I’ve been a part of this court longer than most of them. I’ll be fine.”

Amara looked like she wanted to say more, but she didn’t. She only nodded once before turning back to her task. Y/N lingered a little longer, watching the training unfold. There was comfort in the simplicity of it--no scheming, no politics, just the truth of movement and discipline.

After a time, Y/N made her way back toward her chambers, passing the corridors where servants were now preparing the great hall for the High Lords’ arrival. Several attendants were polishing the silver chandeliers, and others were arranging an elaborate spread of fruit, pastries, and delicacies that would undoubtedly be devoured before the meetings even began.

It was strange, sometimes, to walk through the palace while preparations were underway. Every piece of furniture, every decoration, every carefully placed vase seemed like it was all meant for someone else--someone who belonged in this world more than she did. The gilded edges, the fine tapestries, the ever-present hum of a court that couldn’t slow down for anything or anyone.

She was one of them, and yet, not really.

Her feet carried her to her chambers, where her armor lay waiting--gleaming silver, the sharp edges of her wings outlined in the polished metal.

But as much as the high courts demanded poise, elegance, and grace, her body was built for something else. And for a moment, she allowed herself to stretch, to breathe deeply, to close her eyes and feel the weight of her wings. It was a strange comfort--her wings, so much a part of her that she couldn’t remember life without them.

She reached for her training sword, not for any need to fight, but to remind herself of what she was. Who she was. The weight of it, the steel in her grip, the way it felt familiar in her hand, like the feeling of the wind tugging at her feathers.

It wasn’t a power of the court that she wielded. It was a different kind entirely.

Before long, there was a soft knock at her door.

Her second-in-command, a wiry male Peregryn named Eryk, stepped in with a respectful nod. He was one of the few who would call her by her rank without hesitation.

“The High Lord has requested that you join him before the others arrive, Wingmarshal,” Eryk said quietly, his voice measured. “A private word.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, already half-dressed in her armor. “What’s it about?”

“I don’t know, but he’s been waiting for some time. Seems urgent.”

She didn’t hesitate, despite the uneasy feeling stirring in her chest. “I’ll be there.”

The tension was beginning to coil in the air, tighter now, like a bowstring pulled too far back.

Y/N took one last look at herself in the mirror--her face unreadable, her wings carefully folded against her back. She wasn’t sure if she was ready for whatever came next, but she’d never been one to back down from anything.

The High Lord of Dawn would wait. But only for so long.

As Y/N walked toward Thesan’s private study, the familiar hum of palace life faded behind her.

It was always the quiet moments before seeing him--the ones where her mind wandered to the past--that left her feeling both grounded and unsteady, as if time itself had bent into something both far away and near. She’d always been able to feel the weight of memories when it came to Thesan, their history laid out like a map in her mind, sharp and vivid.

She wasn’t the only one who had climbed to her current position through sheer will and grit. Thesan had his own journey--his own battles to fight. But she hadn’t known him as the High Lord back then. He had been just Thesan, a young male learning the ropes of leadership, with a crown still in the distance.

And she had been Y/N, a girl barely old enough to even understand the weight of the wings at her back.

They’d met, at first, as two fledglings, barely over a hundred years old, running wild across the Dawn Court’s fields like anything was possible. Y/N had never cared for the pomp and circumstance of the court, and neither had Thesan. They’d been rebels in their own ways-too bright, too loud, too full of ideas. But they hadn’t been the right kind of rebels--not yet.

Back then, their friendship had been a quiet, unspoken thing--no titles, no expectations. Just two souls caught in the same world, both seeking something more. She’d trained with him, laughed with him, and--though neither would admit it--held each other up when the world got too heavy.

Thesan had never been the kind of High Lord who wore his power openly. But even when he was young, Y/N could see it in his eyes--the quiet strength that didn’t need to be declared. And she had always respected that.

But they hadn’t stayed young for long. The years pressed on, and so did their duties.

For Y/N, it had been the Peregryn. She had risen through the ranks quickly, her skills as a warrior unmatched. But it had been Thesan who had helped her, always by her side, whether she needed a patient ear or quiet advice. When she had learned the true weight of leadership and the battles that came with it, it was Thesan’s calm guidance that helped her hold her ground.

He had become her anchor when everything else felt like it might crumble. And in return, she had helped him with the burdens that came with ruling--sword in hand, but wisdom in her heart. In the way they stood together, formal in their roles, but always something more--brother and sister, even if no one else saw it.

It was something unspoken. A bond that had grown between them naturally. There was a comfort in their silence--something about the way he could look at her and see beyond the armor, beyond the rank. And in turn, she could look at him and see not just the High Lord, but the quiet, thoughtful male who had once laughed at the ridiculousness of court life with her.

It wasn’t always easy. Politics were never kind to friendships, especially not in the courts. But there had always been a knowing in their eyes when they spoke, a kind of language built from years of shared experiences. Sometimes it felt like their roles had only complicated the bond they shared, but they had managed to make it work.

She had earned her place in the court through battle, through bloodshed, and through years of tireless work. But her loyalty had never wavered. And Thesan knew it.

Y/N smiled softly to herself, the echo of memories brightening her heart. There were days when she wished she could return to those early years, when life had been simpler and the world less burdened. But she had learned, over time, that it was the hardships that shaped them both. The challenges. The weight they both carried, separately and together.

As she reached the door to his study, her hand resting on the cool wood, she paused for just a moment. Brother, High Lord, confidant. Thesan had become all of these things in her life--and more.

But in this moment, as she stood on the cusp of yet another meeting, she felt the strange familiarity of their relationship more acutely than ever.

She hadn’t been his equal when they first met. She had been a wild, unpolished thing, her wings too large and her heart too eager. But now? Now, they stood at the same height in the court’s eyes. He was a High Lord, and she was Wingmarshal of the Peregryn, the emissary of Dawn. But the strength of their friendship remained the same.

She knocked, lightly.

“Come in,” came his soft reply, the voice she knew better than her own.

With one last glance at the sun-dappled hallways outside, Y/N stepped inside, the air cool and crisp in the study--just as she remembered it.

The midday sun had barely reached its peak, yet the Day Court throne room gleamed as if it held its own star. Marble floors reflected the soft golden light streaming in from the arched windows above, but it was the figure beside Thesan’s throne who outshone it all.

Y/N stood tall, adorned in ceremonial armor crafted from the rarest dawnsteel--an alloy that shimmered with subtle pinks, golds, and opalescent white, like the first light breaking across a stormy sea. Her pauldrons glinted with magic, curved like wings ready to unfurl, and the sigil of the Day Court blazed faintly across her chest. The sword at her side was sheathed, but its quiet hum echoed the charged tension in the air.

Her presence was silent but striking, a blade standing beside the throne.

Thesan sat with his usual composed grace, dressed in layered gold silks and white robes, a circlet of hammered light around his brow. His gaze drifted to Y/N as the first ripple of shadows announced an arrival.

“Let them see you,” he murmured, voice soft but firm enough that only she heard. “Not the weapon--you. They will wonder how you stand so still. Let them.”

Y/N inclined her head once, jaw tight but gaze forward, betraying nothing. Her thoughts flicked through the list of High Lords like a silent tally.

Helion was the first to enter. A storm of silk and charm, resplendent in robes of deep emerald and gold. His laughter preceded him, but there was nothing humorous in the sharp glint of his eyes. He swept a bow that was too grand to be humble and took his seat, his attention grazing over Y/N with the appreciation of someone who recognized power when they saw it.

Next came Beron.

The Autumn Court lord strolled in with fire trailing in his wake and contempt stitched into every line of his face. Y/N kept her gaze forward but noted the tension that crept into the room with him--unwelcome and sour.

Thesan’s posture never shifted, but he gave Y/N a barely--there look. Do not rise to him.

The other courts filtered in slowly.

Tarquin, young and noble-eyed, entered with calm dignity and a quiet nod to Thesan. Viviane, not Kallias, stepped in on behalf of Winter, her expression tight but courteous. She offered Thesan a quick apology, voice clear.

“He had a matter that couldn’t wait,” Viviane--Kallias’ emissary--said, voice carrying across the throne room. “But he sends his word that he will be here soon.”

Thesan inclined his head. “The meeting can begin without him. The Winter Court is welcome.”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed slightly, just enough to betray her curiosity. What matter could keep High Lord Kallias from something like this?

She schooled her expression before Viviane’s gaze swept to her. Their eyes met for a second, and Y/N gave no reaction, only the impassive calm of a soldier who had been trained too well.

Still, her mind turned.

Viviane was not the type to lie. Whatever it was--this delay--it wasn’t a game. But that didn’t mean it didn’t concern her.

As the other High Lords came in, the court began to settle into their appointed seats, Thesan shifted slightly and spoke without turning.

“Watch their eyes. Not their mouths. The truth lies in what they try not to see.”

Y/N’s lips quirked, just barely.

“Yes, High Lord,” she murmured.

Her gaze swept over the gathered lords and ladies, some bored, some tense, some entirely too smug.

The formalities began slowly--measured greetings, stiff posturing, and the subtle pissing contests that passed for diplomacy among High Lords. Y/N stood still, her armor glowing faintly in the light of the throne room, eyes quietly scanning each figure as the conversation unfolded around her.

Rhysand was the first to speak, voice like smoke wrapped in silk. He leaned back in his chair, utterly at ease, his violet eyes gleaming with lazy interest that didn’t fool anyone.

“We’re missing two,” he said, glancing around the room as if he didn’t already know. “Shall we proceed anyway, or wait for the ones who tend to be the most dramatic?”

Beron sneered. “You calling anyone dramatic is laughable, Rhysand.”

A smile touched Rhysand’s mouth. “You flatter me, Beron. I didn’t think you knew how to make jokes.”

Helion snorted from his seat, golden rings clinking as he folded his arms. “It’s not a proper High Lords meeting unless someone insults someone else before we’ve even begun.”

Thesan, ever composed, raised a graceful hand. “Let’s keep things civil. We have more pressing matters to discuss than egos and wordplay.”

Y/N said nothing, her gaze flitting from one lord to the next.

Tarquin sat straight-backed, young but not naive. His eyes flicked to each speaker, calculating. Viviane, though here in Kallias’s place, didn’t speak unless addressed, her expression calm but distant--keeping Winter’s secrets to herself.

Y/N observed it all.

Beron’s distaste, Helion’s casual power, Rhysand’s smooth confidence. She noted who leaned forward and who leaned back, who avoided whose gaze. Each movement told a story, each glance another thread in the tangled tapestry of court politics.

She wasn’t just standing beside Thesan. She was studying a battlefield.

Thesan’s voice filled the chamber again, poised and direct. “We’ve gathered because something is coming. Not a war—not yet. But something is shifting, and if we pretend not to feel it--”

He paused as murmurs rippled through the room. “--we’ll find ourselves unprepared. I have reports of movement in the northern isles. I have messages that speak of strange magic resurfacing. Not just in Day.”

“There’s always strange magic,” Beron muttered, but even he didn’t sound convinced.

Y/N’s eyes narrowed slightly. She watched the way Rhysand tilted his head, the quiet way Helion went still. These lords had seen too much not to take subtle threats seriously.

She let their words wash over her. She stood still, tall, carved from morning light and forged silence. She thought of the world, of the warnings she’d helped intercept, of the magic they didn’t yet understand.

And then--

The doors opened.

And everything changed.

She didn’t see him at first. Just a rush of cold air, sharp and sudden, like frost biting into summer skin.

Then--him.

Kallias.

High Lord of Winter.

He entered not like a man but like a storm barely held at bay. White hair gleamed beneath the skylight, catching every fragment of gold and bending it into ice. His armor was of snow-steel and arctic light, trimmed in wolf-fur and etched with silver runes that pulsed faintly as he moved. His eyes--pale, endless blue--swept across the room like the hush before an avalanche.

And when her eyes met his--

Something shattered.

No--ignited.

It wasn’t just heat or cold. It wasn’t pain or pleasure. It was everything. Every nerve lit up, every sense sharpened to unbearable clarity. Her breath caught--no, vanished--swallowed by the violent rush of energy that surged through her, crackling under her skin like lightning breaking through the dawn.

Her knees nearly buckled. Her fingers twitched at her sides. She could taste snow on her tongue, feel wind in her lungs, even though the room was still. And her heart--her heart slammed against her ribs as if trying to break free.

Kallias walked calmly into the room.

She couldn’t hear him. Couldn’t hear anything anymore.

The voices of the High Lords were distant echoes, like sound submerged underwater. She watched Kallias greet Rhysand with a brief nod, clasp Helion’s hand, brush a whisper of a smile at Tarquin. But none of it registered.

Her body was not hers. Her thoughts were not her own.

Something ancient and inevitable was calling to her blood, to her bones, to the very core of who she was.

She stared, frozen, as if her soul had recognized something long before her mind could comprehend it.

Then--

A hand touched her shoulder.

She jolted.

Thesan’s fingers rested gently against her armor, grounding, firm. She hadn’t realized how tightly she’d been gripping her sword hilt until now. Her hand eased open, trembling.

“You’re doing well,” he murmured, calm and unshaken, his voice a balm. “Breathe, Y/N.”

She forced a breath into her lungs.

Another.

Swallowed hard.

Her armor was too warm. Her skin was too tight. But she nodded--once. Cool. Detached. No one else needed to see the chaos inside her.

Kallias moved to sit beside Tarquin, his posture straight, unaware of the storm he had unleashed with his mere presence. Or maybe not unaware. Maybe he felt it too. She couldn’t tell. She dared not look at him again.

But she felt him now. Every breath he took, every flicker of power beneath his skin--like her body was attuned to him. A mirror. A tether.

And then, the truth struck her like a dagger to the chest.

Her mate.

Kallias was her mate.

Y/N forced herself to breathe, each inhale coming too sharply, too ragged, as though her lungs couldn’t quite fill with air. Her skin was flushed, her heart hammering in her chest. And yet, it felt as if she was drowning, as if something far too massive for her to grasp was unfolding inside her with a force she couldn’t control.

She glanced at Thesan, standing tall beside her with the usual composure of a High Lord. His golden eyes flicked over the room, assessing, calculating. Y/N could feel the steady pulse of his calm in the air--a safe presence, a constant that she’d relied on for over a century.

But now, standing next to him, she felt--wrong.

No, not wrong… just… disoriented. It was like her entire body was out of sync with her mind. A force of nature pulling at her every movement, like she was being yanked in one direction while her will tried to keep her grounded.

Her gaze flicked toward Kallias again--stop--but her body refused to obey.

The High Lord of Winter sat there, the coldest presence in the room, not even acknowledging her. His sharp blue eyes were fixed on Helion, who was speaking now, his smooth words slithering through the room like honey dripping from a golden comb. But Kallias didn’t even glance her way--not once. His posture was composed, too perfect--too cold--his expression unreadable, as if the words that slipped from the other High Lords didn’t matter to him at all.

A wave of something thick and hot--betrayal?--flooded her chest. Her jaw tightened. Kallias hasn’t even looked at me.She swallowed, hard.

Her heart, which had just moments ago been slamming against her rib cage, froze. Was she losing it? Was the bond a product of her imagination? Could she be imagining the pull? Could it be all in her head?

She glanced back at him, watching his cold gaze fix on Helion as he spoke in that casual, bored tone. Was he really that uninterested in what was happening? Was it that easy for him to ignore her? To ignore this?

No. It couldn’t be that simple. The bond wasn’t something she could fabricate. She’d felt it. The way her body burned with heat and cold, how the world felt too sharp--too raw--when he entered the room. The instant connection when their eyes met. The crackling pulse that had shivered through her. She couldn’t pretend that away.

So why wasn’t he reacting?

Why wasn’t he feeling it too?

A bitter taste crawled up the back of her throat as she realized that maybe Kallias--her mate--was as good at hiding his emotions as she was. She could keep her face impassive, could bury the chaos swirling within her, but Kallias--he wasn’t even looking at her. Was he so cold that this bond didn’t even stir something in him?

Her gaze flicked to Thesan for just a moment. He was speaking softly with Rhysand now, exchanging quiet words as the meeting wore on. His presence was like an anchor in the storm--steady, reliable--but even that wasn’t enough to calm the tremor that racked her body every time she glanced at Kallias.

Does he even know?

She couldn’t make sense of it. If Kallias was truly her mate, why wasn’t he feeling it too? The bond was a living thing, a tether between them, and if he was unaware… then what was it?

Her chest tightened. What is this? What am I supposed to do with this?

Kallias. Seriously?

Her thoughts spiraled. The confusion only deepened. He’s so different. She didn’t know him. She never had. Sure, they had crossed paths in passing--at court events, diplomatic exchanges--but they had never shared any personal moments. He wasn’t like Thesan, who had been there for her through everything. Thesan was her brother, her closest friend. They had fought beside each other, bled together, and shared more than enough quiet moments of understanding.

But Kallias?

She hadn’t seen him more than a handful of times, and those moments had been fleeting--cold stares, polite but distant pleasantries. She didn’t know anything about him. What made him tick, what he wanted, what he cared for.

And yet now she was supposed to--what?

Claim him?

No. The very thought of it made her stomach churn. The two of them were as different as night and day. She was fiery, a warrior who had dedicated herself to the Peregryn, to the mission of protecting the Dawn Court with every breath in her body. Her wings--her power--had been honed through years of bloodshed and sacrifice. She had no time for the softness of the bond, no patience for the idea of it.

But him? Kallias was Winter--distant, calculated, a creature of ice and silence. The very thought of his cold indifference burned through her. He stood there, so untouchable, as if nothing could breach that solid wall of ice he had built around himself.

Could he even be her mate?

Could I even be his?

A bitter laugh nearly escaped her lips, but she quickly bit it back, keeping her face neutral, her posture perfect.

But inside, the turmoil roiled.

Thesan glanced over at her. His expression softened slightly, and for a moment, the sharp tension in her body eased. He could see it—the way she was on edge, the way her gaze kept flicking to Kallias. He knew something was wrong, but Y/N had always been good at hiding the truth, at concealing emotions behind a mask of professionalism. She could hold her ground beside him without saying a word, but right now, her head was spinning.

She let out a slow breath. The air in the room had become stifling. She couldn’t look at Kallias anymore--not like this.

She had to focus. There was work to be done. There was no room for this--this bond--to interfere with her duty. Not now, not when so much was on the line.

But how long could she keep ignoring it?

How long could she stand beside Thesan, her trusted ally, her closest friend, while her heart pulled her in the opposite direction?

She glanced at Kallias again, almost daring him to meet her gaze. To acknowledge her, to show some sign that he was feeling the same pull.

But he didn’t.

And that truth, the truth that she was alone in this, sent a sharp pang straight through her chest.

The meeting was drawing to a close, the tension in the room shifting from the weight of serious matters to the lighter, almost hollow formality of goodbyes. The discussions had been exhausting, riddled with politics, subtle jabs, and unsaid words that felt far more important than the ones spoken. Everyone had said their piece, or at least, the ones that mattered had. The lesser court representatives had already begun to file out, their movements quiet and deferential as the High Lords and their closest emissaries made their rounds.

Beron, predictably, had been the first to leave. His disdain for the entire process was written on his face like an open book, his eyes never resting on anyone too long, as though the very sight of those around him was beneath his notice. He’d stormed out the moment the meeting had wrapped, his arrogance and contempt hanging in the air long after his departure.

Y/N stayed close to Thesan, her posture perfect but her mind too restless to focus. The words of the High Lords swirled in her head. She had only heard half of them--if that. The weight of the bond still gripped her, made it hard to keep her attention focused.

She glanced at Kallias again, standing across the room, exchanging polite words with Rhysand, the two of them quietly discussing something, but there was nothing in Kallias’s face. His gaze was distant, indifferent, and not at all like the storm she had felt when their eyes first met.

But now, as the final greetings were being exchanged, as High Lords and emissaries alike began to exit the hall, something shifted in the air. She couldn’t put her finger on it at first, but she felt it--a crackle of movement. Kallias was rising, making his way across the room toward Thesan and her.

Her pulse quickened, and she forced herself to stay still, to calm the fluttering in her chest. There was no reason for her to get hopeful. It had been hours since their brief eye contact, hours since she had felt that connection so clearly, and yet, nothing had come from it. She had convinced herself that it was all in her mind, a product of too much stress and too many strange feelings swirling inside her.

Thesan turned to her, sensing the shift in her mood, but she gave him a quick nod. He knew her well enough to let her keep her space. He simply stood beside her, watching as Kallias approached with that perfect, composed air of the High Lord he was.

The room seemed to quiet, the other High Lords already having taken their leave. The conversation had trickled down into the hum of polite, final farewells, but Y/N couldn’t tear her gaze away from Kallias. His form was so imposing, his presence so stark against the warmth of the Dawn Court. He was a force of nature--calm, cold, a barrier of winter against the sun.

Kallias came to a stop before them. She met his gaze, trying her best not to betray the turmoil twisting inside her.

Kallias looked down at her--eyes pale, inscrutable. A faint flicker of recognition crossed his face, though it was gone almost before she could catch it. His mouth pressed into a thin line, his posture perfect, as if nothing in the world could disturb his poise.

“Thesan, my apologies for coming late and gratitude for hosting the meeting in your court.” His voice was deep, controlled, like the frost he carried with him.

Thesan nodded in response, a polite but warm smile flickering on his face. “We all have urgent matters that come up unexpectedly, do not worry yourself over it Kallias.” He extended his hand, shaking Kallias’s in that graceful, cordial way he had mastered over centuries of court diplomacy.

Kallias nodded in return, his eyes sliding to Y/N for a fraction of a second. The moment felt like an eternity, but there was no change in his expression--no sign of recognition, no acknowledgment of what had just happened. He simply turned his gaze back to Thesan.

Y/N’s stomach twisted.

He hadn’t even noticed her. Not really. He hadn’t seen her, not in the way she had seen him. Not in the way she knew he should.

His indifference was a slap to her already fragile hope, deflating it faster than the coldest winter wind.

“Wingmarshal,” Kallias said, his gaze never lingering on her face as he spoke the formal title she held in the Dawn Court. It felt like a polite, distant acknowledgment--a passing word meant to give no more than the necessary respect.

Y/N’s lips pressed into a thin line, and she nodded her head. “High Lord.” The words came out cold, detached, her tone a little sharper than she intended, but it was the only shield she had left. Her chest tightened with an emotion she couldn’t quite name, her fingers curling into fists by her sides.

Kallias turned on his heel, his footsteps echoing through the room as he moved away, not sparing her another glance, not even a flicker of curiosity. He had already moved past her, already leaving her with nothing but the hollow echo of the bond she was so desperately trying to ignore.

For a moment, all Y/N could do was watch him go, her heart sinking with each step he took, each second that stretched the distance between them.

The second he was gone, Thesan's voice filled the room. "Well, are you planning on telling me the cause of your clear moping now or later?"

Y/N turned around to see her high lord staring at her with a small smirk on his face as he expected her answer.

Y/N's brows furrowed. "What- I was not moping."

Thesan only chuckled as he pushed past her, heading towards the open balcony "Of course, my apologies. Come talk to me when you are ready to admit that you were in fact moping."

Y/N gasped as she run after him hitting him playfully on the shoulder as they descended the stairs from the balcony "That is an absolutely false claim! I am totally fine! see," she put on the biggest yet fakest smile she could possibly muster, causing Thesan to laugh loudly "Remind me why I talk to you again?"

Y/N smirked as she nudged his shoulder "Because you love me and can not stand to live without me?"

He rolled his eyes and was about to say something when one of his men called him.

Thesan sighed, "The newly appointed treasurer is coming in, I need to go see him. Remember to check on the new weapon designs for the 5th legion and give me your thoughts."

Y/N nodded, turning more serious the closer they got towards the main entrance of the western wing, "Of course, High Lord."

As Thesan's footsteps faded into the distance, Y/N stood still in the hall, her gaze fixed on the floor beneath her. She could still feel the echoes of Kallias’s presence in the room, a chilling reminder of the storm that had passed through her when their eyes met earlier. The bond that had ignited inside her was still raw--still burning--but there was no release, no resolution. Just that cold emptiness where something had been ripped open, and she had no idea how to patch it back together.

She sighed, running a hand through her hair, her fingers trembling just slightly. The warmth of the Dawn Court seemed to press against her, too bright, too alive. It made her skin feel too tight, her thoughts too heavy.

Focus, Y/N. She repeated the words like a mantra, as though the steady rhythm could anchor her mind.

She could pretend, could push it all down into the deepest corners of her mind where no one could see the chaos, but that would only work for so long. She knew this--had done it for years. Years of burying the cracks, of playing the part, of living a life dictated by duty and responsibility.

But this... this was different.

She glanced up at the empty hallway, the distant echo of her footsteps almost mocking her. She should be back in the forge with the weapon designs. She should be reviewing the strategies for the 5th Legion. There was work to be done. The words were familiar--comforting. They were all she had ever relied on.

But even as she turned her feet toward the meeting rooms, she knew the truth. The bond wasn’t going away. She couldn’t pretend that it didn’t exist. The crackling energy in her chest, the sharp clarity in her senses, the way she could feel Kallias across the room as if their souls were bound together. It was real.

And that made it worse.

Y/N shook her head, trying to clear the fog, but the dizziness only deepened. She wasn’t prepared for this. Not now. Not with everything else in motion. She had no time for the softness of the bond. She had no patience for it.

Maybe it’s just a trick, she thought. Maybe it’s all in my head. Maybe it’s just stress, or proximity, or whatever weird thing happens when two powerful people are in the same room.

But she knew better. She had felt it. Felt the heat and cold fuse together in an explosive rush, a force of nature that no amount of logic or self-discipline could explain away. It wasn’t just the bond itself--it was the fact that Kallias wasn’t acknowledging it. Or worse, he was choosing to ignore it.

A bitter taste curled in the back of her throat. She couldn’t help but feel... rejected.

She was familiar with cold. With isolation. With silence. But never, never had she been left so utterly adrift. She had built walls around her heart, had learned to isolate herself when things got too close, too personal. But now? Now, she was starting to wonder if those walls would even be enough to keep her from shattering under the weight of the bond.

A flash of movement in the corner of her eye snapped her out of her thoughts. It was a servant, passing through the hall with a stack of papers. Y/N quickly straightened her back, forced a neutral expression on her face, and continued walking.

She would bury it. Just like she always had. Keep moving. Keep working.

The bond would have to wait.

It didn't in fact, wait.

No matter how much she tried to push it down, to not care, to keep focusing on what matters, her duty, her honour, Y/N still couldn't move on from that gnawing thought that just kept festering inside her, not giving space for anything else.

She thought that it would go away with time, that because Kallias had no idea or would most likely not even accept it, the bond would just disappear at some point.

Well, it didn't. On the contrary, it just kept her from properly functioning. Y/N couldn't sleep, couldn't properly be present in the moment, or do anything really.

And worst of all, it has made her think of Kallias more often than needed. What is he like? Does he enjoy being in that freezing cold place all the time? Does he find her attractive at all? What does he think?

She shook her head, focus Y/N. What would Thesan think if he found out?

What would anyone think?

You and him can't be together, you hate the cold.

"If you keep staring at the poor scriber like you want to burn her, I'm afraid Tarquin will think we are planning some kind of an attack on his court."

Y/N looked to her side, at Thesan, who was staring straight ahead as they went to take their seats.

Y/N sighed and moved her gaze away, none of the other high lords were here yet. "Well, we might as well start planning because what kind of a treatment is this? Tarquin hasn't even appeared to welcome us in."

Thesan chuckled quietly. "Well, you know how things are with Tarquin. Always fashionably late--or perhaps just strategically late. Never one to rush into anything he can approach with calculated grace." Y/N raised an eyebrow, folding her arms. “Calculated or not, it’s bordering on rude. He shouldn't have offered to have done the second seasonal meeting then."

Thesan shrugged, the golden sheen of his robes catching the filtered sunlight streaming through the open pavilion. “Perhaps it’s a test. Or a message. He’s had... complicated relations with the rest of us since the war.”

Y/N tapped her fingers against the edge of the table, her mind already spinning through potential motives. “Still. If he’s trying to play games, he should remember we’ve all grown tired of court theatrics.”

Thesan gave her a knowing smile. “And yet here we are, sitting at a table in another’s court, preparing for more of them.”

She smirked slightly at that. “Touché.”

There was a pause, the warm breeze brushing through the pavilion, stirring the silk curtains.

Footsteps followed, rhythmic and deliberate.

Y/N rose slowly, eyes locked on the arched entrance across the courtyard.

“Finally,” she muttered.

Thesan stood beside her, his expression unreadable. “Let’s see what kind of welcome we’ve earned.”

A tall figure emerged through the archway, sunlight haloing around him like he was part of the very sea and sky. Tarquin--High Lord of the Summer Court--approached with graceful, unhurried steps. His robes were a shimmering cascade of seafoam and sapphire, and the jeweled circlet on his brow caught the light with every movement.

Y/N stiffened but held her tongue. Let him speak first.

Thesan offered a polite nod. “Tarquin.”

“Thesan,” Tarquin returned evenly, before turning to Y/N. “Y/N. Welcome to the Summer Court.”

Y/N inclined her head, lips tight. “You’re late.”

A wry smile flickered across his face--barely there. “I know. And I owe you both an apology.”

He stopped a few paces from them, hands clasped in front of him--not in defense, but in openness. “There was unrest in the southern isles this morning. A small village flooded when the tides shifted too rapidly overnight. I went myself to handle it. I did not mean to keep you waiting.”

Y/N’s expression softened, just slightly. A natural disaster--not politics. “Is it under control?”

Tarquin nodded. “For now. But the sea gives as it pleases, and takes just as easily.”

Before Y/N could respond, a ripple in the air split the quiet.

A sudden gust of wind swept through the pavilion—cool and edged with shadow—and with it, Rhysand winnowed into view.

Dressed in deep midnight blue, hair ruffled slightly by the breeze, Rhysand surveyed the space with a relaxed, far-too-knowing smile.

“Am I interrupting?” he asked, though the amused sparkle in his eyes said he didn’t care either way.

Tarquin’s jaw tightened for the briefest moment before he masked it with diplomacy. “Not at all. You’re the second to arrive.”

Rhys’s gaze flicked to Y/N, his expression unreadable, and then to Thesan. “Well, at least I’m not the last. That would’ve been embarrassing.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “You say that like you haven’t made a habit of grand entrances.”

“I only do them when there’s an audience,” Rhys quipped, then turned to Tarquin. “You look tired.”

“And you look exactly as smug as I remember,” Tarquin returned evenly.

The air shifted again--warm this time, the scent of jasmine and something unmistakably decadent drifting in like a whispered promise.

Golden light shimmered in the far corner of the pavilion, swirling into an elegant spiral before depositing Helion, High Lord of the Day Court, onto the polished marble with all the drama of a thunderclap in a sunlit garden.

He arrived in full regalia--robes gold-trimmed and flowing, an ornate circlet resting atop his curls like it had been kissed by fire. Helion’s arrival was never quiet, and it never failed to command attention.

“Darlings,” he drawled, flashing a brilliant smile as he strolled toward them, arms wide as if greeting old friends at a festival instead of a fragile meeting of powerful allies. “Apologies for the delay. I was detained--a charming distraction, but a distraction nonetheless.”

Thesan sighed. “I don’t want to know.”

“You probably do,” Helion replied, unbothered. “But I’ll spare you the details. For now.”

Tarquin gave him a curt nod. “Welcome, Helion. You’re just in time.”

Helion flicked a glance toward Rhysand and smirked. “Rhys, still dressing like the shadows themselves stitched your coat?”

“And you’re still wearing enough gold to blind the sun,” Rhys shot back smoothly.

Before Helion could retort, a chilling gust of wind swept through the pavilion—colder, sharper than any of the arrivals so far. The laughter died, the warmth vanished.

A swirl of smoke-black mist bled in through the edges of the open courtyard, coalescing into the sneering figure of Beron, High Lord of the Autumn Court.

He stood apart from the others, arms crossed and mouth twisted into a faint scowl. His reddish-brown cloak clung to him like dried blood, and his presence sapped what little ease had begun to form among the others.

“Well,” Beron said, gaze sweeping over the gathered lords like they were beneath him, “I see the preening has already begun.”

Y/N didn’t bother to hide her disgust. “You’re late.”

“So are most of us,” Beron replied with a cold smile. “But unlike some, I don’t feel the need to apologize for it.”

Rhysand chuckled darkly. “And just like that, the mood’s ruined.”

Thesan, ever the diplomat, stepped slightly forward. “Now that four of the seven High Lords--not counting Tamlin--are present, perhaps we can begin to establish terms for—”

“Not without everyone,” Beron cut in. “I’m not wasting strategy on people who can’t bother to show up.”

Y/N’s temper flared, but she bit it back, exchanging a glance with Thesan and Rhys.

“We wait, then,” Tarquin said, tone tight but controlled.

Helion yawned. “Lovely. Nothing like standing in awkward silence with Beron to set the tone for a productive summit.”

The tension crackled again.

Y/N didn’t say it aloud, but the thought was shared across every narrowed gaze:

This was going to be a very long day.

The polite chattering among the High Lords droned in the background--Helion’s flirtatious teasing toward Thesan, Rhysand’s half-serious remarks about Beron’s wardrobe, even Tarquin’s attempts at diplomacy--but Y/N heard none of it. Not really. Her thoughts were elsewhere, pulled taut by something no one else could see.

The bond.

That damn bond.

She could pretend all she liked--that it didn’t weigh on her, that it wasn’t a constant hum in the back of her mind--but the moment the cold air shifted in the pavilion, a draft sharp and sudden as snowfall, her body tensed.

She knew before she saw him.

Kallias.

The tall, glacial High Lord of the Winter Court stepped into the room like a storm clothed in elegance. His silver-white hair was perfectly combed back, robes pristine and edged in deep sapphire. Frost followed in his wake--not literal, not today, but something colder, more haunting. A quiet power that made the very air crystallize.

Y/N’s heart twisted in her chest.

She kept her posture still--shoulders square, chin high--but inside, something cracked.

His eyes swept the room with practiced indifference, that same cool mask he always wore, the one that gave nothing away. And when his gaze brushed over her--brief, flickering--he didn’t so much as pause. No recognition, no shift. Just the same calculated glance he gave all of them.

And it hurt.

Y/N clenched her jaw, forcing herself to focus on her breathing, on the warmth of the Summer Court sun that did nothingto thaw the ice lodged inside her.

She hated that it made her weak. Hated that her sleepless nights were full of him, that the thought of his hands, his voice, his everything haunted her. What was he like, really? Did he ever laugh--truly laugh? Did he enjoy the solitude of the Winter Court, or did it press down on him the way this bond pressed down on her?

Y/N swallowed hard, her nails digging into her palm beneath the table.

Kallias took his place at the far side of the pavilion without a word. His posture was perfect, composed. Unreadable.

Thesan greeted him gently. Rhys offered a nod. Even Beron muttered something faintly acknowledging.

And Y/N--Y/N said nothing.

Because if she did, her voice might crack. Because no matter how much she tried to focus on her duty, her court, her honour, none of it seemed to matter in the presence of that unanswered thread between them.

It had never snapped.

And gods, it should have.

But there he was, seated in front of her, mere feet away, as if he weren’t slowly destroying her just by existing.

The air inside the pavilion had shifted from tense to suffocating.

With all six High Lords now present, the meeting had begun in earnest--and it was every bit as heavy as Y/N had expected. Discussions of border tensions, the instability of magic in certain regions, trade disputes between courts, the still-unhealed wounds of the war… Each topic bore weight, each voice fighting to be heard without sparking a fresh feud. Everyone danced the line between diplomacy and domination.

It was exhausting.

Especially with Kallias sitting just within her peripheral vision--silent, composed, and utterly unreadable. As if the bond between them didn’t exist. As if she were nothing more than another voice at the table.

So when Tarquin finally lifted a hand and said, “We’ll take a brief recess--fifteen minutes. Food and refreshment have been prepared,” Y/N didn’t waste a second.

She leaned toward Thesan, her voice low. “I’m stepping out. Just for a moment.”

Thesan blinked at her, curiosity flickering in his gaze. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” she lied with a smile far too stiff to be convincing. “I just need a breath.”

Thesan hesitated but eventually gave her a slow nod. “Don’t take too long.”

Y/N slipped away before anyone else could stop her, her footsteps light but quick across the marble. The moment she passed through the arched doorway into the garden, she inhaled sharply, as if surfacing from underwater.

The gardens of the Summer Court were everything the name promised: lush, vibrant, alive. Blossoms of every color spilled over stone planters and winding trellises. The air was thick with the scent of jasmine, sea salt, and sun-warmed citrus. Palm trees swayed gently overhead, and golden koi glided through narrow streams that curled like silver ribbons between the flower beds.

But even here, surrounded by life and color, Y/N couldn’t shake the hollowness inside her.

She moved deeper into the garden, until the sound of the others faded behind her, replaced by the gentle rush of a small waterfall spilling into a crystal-clear pool. She stopped there, gripping the edge of a carved stone railing, and let her eyes close.

The bond tugged faintly, a pulse at the edge of her mind. Not strong enough to pull--never strong enough to pull him toward her--but always there. A reminder. A curse.

It should’ve faded.

She had told herself again and again that it would. That the bond couldn’t hold forever if he didn’t feel it too. That maybe, if she kept ignoring it, if she kept pretending… it would dissolve. Fade like mist in the morning sun.

But it didn’t.

And it made everything harder. Every decision, every conversation. Even her sleep was plagued with half-formed dreams of silver-blue eyes and cold, calloused hands she’d never felt on her skin.

She hated that she was thinking of him even now. Out here. Free for a moment--and still not free at all.

Y/N exhaled shakily, tilting her face toward the sun. The warmth helped. A little.

She could hear faint laughter from one of the nearby balconies—Helion, probably. And she heard footsteps coming from behind her in the gravel path. Her body stiffened.

But she didn’t turn.

Not yet.

Then-

"I always thought that wings like yours were mere fantasy."

Y/N’s breath caught.

The voice was unmistakable--low, smooth, touched with the chill of winter itself. And far too close.

No. Not now. Not him.

She turned slowly, heart thudding against her ribs, to find Kallias standing just a few paces away, his pale hair like starlight against the shadow-dappled path. His expression was neutral. Curious, maybe. Calm, collected--as always. Of course.

His gaze flicked from her face to the outspread wings behind her--white feathers laced with streaks of amber, gold, and deep, smoldering red, like sunlight bleeding through snow.

"But," Kallias said after a pause, eyes lingering, “I see now they’re real.”

Y/N blinked, her throat tightening. “I--didn’t know you were following me.”

“I wasn’t,” he said simply, and there was no arrogance in it, no intention to intimidate. “I came out for air. Just as you did.”

She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly all too aware of how exposed she felt. Of how easily the wings gave her away, made her different. How they glowed in this light.

And how he was looking at them. At her.

“They’re rare,” she said, quieter now. “The wings. It’s… an old bloodline. Not common anymore.”

“They’re beautiful,” he said, with such quiet finality that it almost didn’t sound like a compliment--more like a fact.

Y/N didn’t know what to say to that. So she said nothing.

The silence stretched between them, awkward and heavy and painfully loud beneath the chirping of garden insects. Kallias shifted his weight, the subtle movement drawing her attention back to him.

“It’s odd,” he said after a moment. “I’ve sat across from you in meetings. Heard your voice. Watched you speak. And yet I never noticed.”

Y/N tried to school her face into something unreadable. “Most don’t. I keep them hidden during court business.”

“You shouldn’t.”

She gave a bitter smile. “That’s easy for you to say. You’re a High Lord.”

“And you think I’ve never had to hide anything?”

That surprised her--enough that she finally met his eyes.

They were bluer than the Winter Court sky. And just as cold.

Y/N forced her gaze away again. “I don’t need approval for how I present myself.”

“I didn’t mean it as approval. Just... an observation.”

Another pause. It was unbearable. Why was he still standing here?

“Was there something you needed?” she asked, harsher than intended.

Kallias’s jaw flexed slightly, but he only said, “No.”

“Then why are you still here?”

He didn’t answer. And that silence--that silence--felt like a blade drawn between them.

Finally, he nodded once, a slight, regal gesture. “Forgive me for interrupting your moment.”

And then, with the same cold grace he always carried, he turned and walked away, disappearing into the garden’s shadows.

Y/N stood frozen for long minutes afterward, wings trembling slightly with the weight of everything unsaid.

The moonlight didn’t feel cold enough. Not anymore.

Kallias moved through the garden paths like a ghost--silent, composed, detached. On the outside. Inside?

He was unraveling.

He didn’t even remember half the walk back to the pavilion, only that the silence between the hedges and the dark paths felt louder than anything he’d ever known. Louder than the war. Louder than ice cracking beneath his boots in the deep winters of his court. Louder than the scream of power when he’d once torn through a legion to protect his people.

Her wings.

Gods, her wings.

White streaked with amber and flame--sunlight bleeding through snow. That’s what he’d thought. And then she had turned toward him, face bare in the moonlight, her eyes shadowed with exhaustion and strength, her voice carrying that familiar edge of restraint.

And it had slammed into him like a tidal wave against frozen cliffs.

The bond.

It had been a whisper at first--weeks ago, maybe longer. A strange pull when she entered a room. The way his attention always shifted toward her without meaning to. He’d written it off as something political, something instinctual. She was powerful, poised. Important. That was all.

But in the garden… seeing her like that--unshielded, radiant, real--it clicked. It snapped into place.

And he had said nothing.

Kallias clenched his jaw, his boots hitting the marble of the Summer Court corridor with barely a sound. The hum of conversation grew louder as he neared the meeting chamber, but he barely heard it. Barely felt anything except that gaping echo inside his chest.

She’s my mate.

The words rang over and over in his mind, louder than any logic, more undeniable than any doubt.

She’s my mate.

And yet…

What if she didn’t know?

No, she knew. He’d seen it in her eyes--just for a flicker. That hint of pain, of something buried so deep he almost missed it.

What if she had known for a long time?

What if she didn’t want it?

Kallias’s breath caught.

He had lived a life of restraint, of cold silence. The High Lord of a kingdom locked beneath ice, where emotions were dangerous, vulnerability a liability. He had buried affection beneath duty. Tempered warmth beneath centuries of war and politics. He had given his people strength and safety, but never himself.

And now--

Now this.

Someone like her--all flame and quiet passion, wings born of skyfire, loyalty etched into every movement, every breath.

And him? He’d barely known what to say to her. Had made her feel interrogated, seen too late.

What would she think? That he’d ignored it? That he’d refused her?

He had. In a way.

Kallias reached the doors to the meeting hall and paused, gripping the edge of the carved frame with white-knuckled fingers. He didn’t go in yet. He couldn’t. His mind was still spinning, his soul still aching from the realization. From the fear that maybe--

Maybe she doesn’t want me.

Why would she? He was cold. Distant. A fortress of ice and rules. And she--she had looked at him like she’d already tried to forget him. Like she'd already grieved something he hadn’t even realized he'd lost.

The thought sent a wave of nausea rolling through him.

Kallias drew in a deep breath. Composed his face again. Rebuilt the mask.

The others couldn’t know. Not now. Not yet.

He stepped through the doors with practiced ease, sliding back into his chair at the far end of the table.

Rhysand was saying something. Beron scoffing. Helion sipping wine. Tarquin eyeing the room like it was a powder keg. Y/N wasn’t back yet.

He didn’t let his gaze drift toward the door. Didn’t let his hands shake.

But deep inside, behind the years of discipline and frost-hardened walls--

Kallias was coming apart.

And he had no idea what to do next.

“Y/N is my mate.”

The words still tasted foreign, unreal, like something torn from a dream and spoken into the wrong world.

Across the table, Viviane froze.

“What?!”

Kallias looked up from where he had been staring into his untouched tea, his eyes catching hers. She was sitting perfectly still, porcelain cup suspended midair. Her expression was a strange mixture of disbelief and--what was that? Shock? Displeasure?

He couldn’t tell.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “Y/N. The Wingmarshall of Dawn.”

Viviane blinked, slowly lowering the teacup to its saucer with a muted clink. “You’re certain.”

Kallias nodded once. “I felt it a few nights ago. In the gardens when we were in Summer for the meeting. She looked at me, and it was... undeniable.”

“You didn’t feel anything before?”

“I did,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair. “But I ignored it. I thought it was tension from the court meetings. Political instincts, proximity. I didn’t know until I saw her--really saw her.”

Viviane leaned back slightly, her arms crossing. “And she?”

“I think she’s known for a while,” he said, the guilt curling in his stomach. “She said nothing. Not even when I stood in front of her. I think... she doesn’t want it.”

Viviane’s lips twitched, not quite a frown, not quite a smirk. “Maybe she doesn’t.”

Kallias’s head snapped up. “What do you mean?”

Viviane shrugged, brushing imaginary dust from her sleeve. “Y/N has always been ambitious. Loyal, certainly, but strategic. Being tied to a High Lord from another court might not be ideal for her. And besides... she hides her wings during meetings, doesn’t she? That says something.”

“It says she’s careful. Not ashamed.”

“If you say so,” Viviane said softly.

Kallias frowned but looked away. He didn’t want to argue. He hadn’t come to her for criticism. He needed clarity, support—guidance. Viviane had always been his sounding board. His second. His oldest friend.

“I don’t know what to do,” he admitted. “I feel like if I reach out, I’ll drive her further away. But if I do nothing, it will only fester. The bond is—gods, it’s constant. I can barely sleep.”

Viviane tilted her head, watching him carefully. “Why do you care so much? You barely know her.”

He hesitated. “Because it’s not just about knowing her. It’s what I feel because of the bond. It’s like... like something in me has been missing, and now it’s not. Now she’s here. And I can't stop thinking about what it means. What I could ruin.”

Viviane’s mouth tightened. “You’re sure it’s not just the magic talking?”

Kallias didn’t respond right away. He stared at his reflection in the surface of the tea, dark eyes clouded with uncertainty.

“No,” he said at last. “It’s not just the magic.”

She stood then, too abruptly for someone who had been so calm moments ago. She walked toward the window, her fingers trailing along the edge of the sill.

“She could reject it,” she said, not looking at him.

“I know.”

“She could break the bond.”

The words struck him like ice to the chest. “I know that too.”

Viviane turned to face him. Her smile was gentle. Too gentle.

“Maybe that would be best.”

Kallias stood, too fast. “Why would you say that?”

Viviane stepped forward, placing a hand on his arm, her touch familiar and steady. “Because I care about you. And I’ve watched you lead for centuries with so much on your shoulders. You don’t need more uncertainty. You don’t need someone who keeps secrets from you, who hides something this important.”

He flinched. “She didn’t hide it out of cruelty.”

“No,” Viviane agreed. “But she still hid it.”

Her hand lingered on his sleeve, but Kallias pulled back, gently but firmly.

“I can’t just walk away.”

Viviane’s smile faltered for a split second before returning, sweeter this time. Sweeter and far more dangerous.

“Of course not. I just want you to be careful.”

He nodded, distracted again. His thoughts already drifting back to Y/N. To the look in her eyes. To the bond humming like a heartbeat beneath his skin.

He didn’t see the way Viviane’s fingers curled tightly into her palm. Or the way her eyes followed him as he left the room, lost in thought, unaware.

Unaware of the storm brewing just behind him.

Y/N wiped the sweat from her brow, wings tucked close behind her as she watched two members of the Solar Legion run the final round of combat drills across the sun-drenched field. The training yard was alive with motion—armored Peregryn gliding overhead, ground units shifting in formations below, and the low, rhythmic chant of commands being called and answered. The scent of steel and sand filled the warm air.

She hadn’t noticed the quiet footsteps until one of the guards approached her, slightly breathless.

“Wingmarshall, Viviane, the Winter's emissary is here to see you.”

Y/N blinked. “Viviane?”

The name alone set something in her chest twitching.

“She says it’s a personal call. She came under lord Kallias' orders to speak to Ambassador Lioran and was on her way out when she asked for you.”

Y/N rolled her shoulders, forcing her expression neutral. “Tell her I’ll be with her in a moment.”

When she approached, Viviane was standing off to the side of the courtyard in a sea-blue cloak that didn’t quite belong in the sun-drenched Dawn Court. Her platinum hair was braided elegantly over one shoulder, a familiar sweet smile gracing her lips--one Y/N instinctively didn’t trust.

“Lady Viviane,” Y/N said, voice even. “A surprise visit.”

Viviane tilted her head, hands clasped delicately in front of her. “I was here on court business for Kallias. Thought I’d say hello before I left. I hope I’m not interrupting.”

Y/N’s eyes flicked to the training legion behind her, then back. “Not at all.”

“Do you have a moment?” Viviane asked, soft and pleasant. “To speak--just us.”

Y/N hesitated. The entire squad was still mid-drill, but she nodded once. “Of course.”

She led her down a shaded garden path toward one of the alcoves carved into the hillside courtyard. Quiet. Private.

Viviane turned to her the moment they were out of view.

“Kallias knows.”

Y/N stopped. “What?”

Viviane’s expression was gentle, almost regretful. “About the bond.”

Y/N’s blood went cold.

She tried to keep her face composed, her voice steady. “And?”

“And I thought you should know,” Viviane said, her tone soft and falsely kind. “He’s been struggling with it. With you. It’s been... difficult for him.”

Y/N’s heart twisted painfully, but she didn’t let it show. “I’m sure it has.”

“He didn’t take it well,” Viviane added, stepping closer with that same sugar-sweet voice. “He’s always held himself to such high standards. You know how deeply he feels, even when he doesn’t show it.”

Y/N didn’t respond. Her throat was too tight.

Viviane’s eyes scanned her face, too carefully. “And he worries, of course, about what this might mean for your court. For your command. It’s all very complicated, isn’t it?”

Y/N inhaled slowly. “Viviane, why are you telling me this?”

Viviane blinked, her smile never wavering. “Because I care about him. Deeply. We’ve been through everything together. I know how much pressure he puts on himself, how hard he’s worked to maintain the stability of the Winter Court. This kind of... distraction, it isn’t easy for him.”

Y/N stared at her, pulse thudding in her ears.

A part of her--some tired, frayed part--almost believed it. Almost accepted that maybe Kallias did regret the bond, that maybe this was his way of distancing himself. That Viviane was only here to be kind. To offer comfort cloaked in concern.

But another part--sharper, instinctive--watched the way Viviane’s eyes didn’t quite meet hers when she said distraction. How her voice was too smooth, too careful. How her words cut, even though she spoke them like silk.

Y/N’s voice came quieter now, but firmer. “Did he ask you to tell me this?”

Viviane hesitated. Just a flicker. “He confides in me.”

That wasn’t an answer.

Y/N folded her arms, her wings tucking in behind her as she tilted her head, meeting Viviane’s gaze head-on.

“And what do you want from me, exactly?”

Viviane’s smile didn’t falter, but her eyes cooled. Just barely. “Nothing at all. I simply thought, if there was confusion between you, it might be kinder for you both if expectations were... managed.”

There it was. The warning beneath the charm. A line drawn.

Thesan had taught her better than this. Court politics had taught her better than this.

Y/N nodded slowly, every muscle in her body taut.

“I appreciate your concern,” she said, voice clipped. “But I don’t manage expectations. I meet them. If Kallias has something to say to me, he can say it himself.”

Viviane’s lips parted, just slightly. Not with surprise--more like realization. That Y/N wasn’t going to wilt under sweet smiles and vague warnings.

“Of course,” she said at last. “You’re right. I was only trying to help.”

Y/N smiled then, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “And I’m sure he’ll be grateful for it.”

They stood there a moment longer. Viviane bowed her head, offered another polite farewell, and turned, her cloak trailing behind her like a shadow fleeing the sun.

Y/N didn’t move until she was gone.

And even then, the words clung to her like thorns.

He knows.

But he hadn’t come. Hadn’t written. Hadn’t said a single godsdamned word.

Y/N stared out over the cliffs, the sea shimmering far below, her wings flickering once in the wind.

So that was how this game would be played.

Fine.

She could play too.

Since Viviane’s visit, Y/N had perfected the art of pretending Kallias didn’t exist.

In meetings, her gaze never drifted to him. She spoke past him, around him--never to him. If he asked something directly, she answered in the briefest, most clipped way possible, all professionalism and poise. No emotion. No weakness.

Even when he was standing a mere breath away.

Even when the bond throbbed like an open wound beneath her ribs.

Inside, it shredded her. Piece by piece.

But Viviane’s words clung to her. The way she’d said “he’s struggling... with you”, so carefully, so sweetly, as though Y/N were the problem to solve. A complication. A mistake.

She’d buried it. Buried him. Swallowed the pain and thrown herself into her role until her body burned from it.

“More,” she had said to Thesan, voice frayed from exhaustion. “Give me more to do.”

He’d narrowed his eyes at her, the concern in them deeper than anything he said aloud. At first, he only complied. Extra meetings. Additional correspondence. Policy drafts, strategy proposals. She’d devoured them all like a woman starved for anything but thought.

But eventually, he’d asked.

She still remembered the moment.

They’d been in his study, the curtains drawn against the afternoon sun, scrolls stacked high. He was reviewing battle maps for the border updates when he suddenly set his pen down.

“Y/N,” he said softly, “how long do you plan on pretending?”

She stiffened, fingers pausing on the edge of a report. “Pretending what?”

“That you aren’t bleeding internally every time Kallias walks into a room.”

Silence.

Then, almost inaudibly-- “How long have you known?”

Thesan studied her. “Since the last seasonal meeting. You think I wouldn’t notice how your eyes followed him like gravity? Or how you can’t sleep anymore?”

Y/N didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

“And now,” Thesan continued, “you’re more ghost than general. You’ve built a fortress so tall no one can reach you. Not even yourself.”

Finally, she whispered, “He doesn’t want it. He knows about the bond--and he doesn’t want it.”

Thesan’s brow furrowed. “Did he say that?”

“Viviane did.”

His silence was telling.

“You trust her?” he asked quietly.

Y/N gave a weak laugh, bitter. “It doesn’t matter. If he wanted me, he would’ve said something by now.”

Thesan’s voice was gentle but firm. “Don’t destroy yourself because someone else couldn’t speak.”

She looked away.

He rose from his seat, circled the desk, and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“I can’t tell you how to face him,” he said. “But if you keep hiding in your duty, you’ll wake up one day and find you’ve erased yourself.”

The ballroom shimmered with soft, enchanted icelight--glowing from chandeliers sculpted out of winter stars. The frost-laced walls of the Winter Court sparkled as music floated through the air, light and lilting like snowfall on glass.

Y/N stood at the far edge of the ballroom, spine straight, goblet of mulled wine untouched in her hand. She had been here for two hours and hadn’t said a word to Kallias.

Not once.

Not even when she had felt him arrive, felt the shift in the air like a drop in temperature, that familiar pull between them yanking at the thread of the bond until it ached.

She didn’t look at him. She wouldn’t.

Thesan hadn’t been well enough to attend. She had offered--begged--to stay behind, to assist him, to make excuses on his behalf. But he’d only given her that quiet, patient look and said:

“You’ll go. You’ll wear something beautiful. And you’ll remember that you are more than what hurts you.”

So she had gone.

The gown she wore was a blend of sun and storm--deep crimson velvet that swept to the floor in soft waves, gold embroidery curling like flame across the sleeves and hem. Her wings were fully on display, feathers braided with tiny threads of bronze and rose-gold. Not hidden. Not tonight.

She’d never felt more exposed.

More exhausted.

The conversations drifted by her, but she barely listened. Courtiers flitted past in glittering swirls. Foreign dignitaries raised glasses. Laughter echoed. Somewhere, someone was playing a harp.

But all she could feel was that empty part of her chest that pulsed with something she tried so hard to kill.

She hadn’t looked at him.

Not once.

But she felt him.

Every time he moved. Every time he passed too close. Every time that unrelenting pull of the bond whispered across her skin, begging her to just turn around.

But she didn’t.

Because Viviane’s voice still echoed in her mind.

Because he hadn’t come.

Because she was tired of bleeding for a silence that wasn’t hers.

So she stayed in the corner of the Winter Court ballroom, radiant in red and gold, armor made of fabric and pride.

And pretended not to hurt.

She didn’t even see him coming.

One moment Y/N was staring numbly at the rim of her goblet, trying to remember how to breathe, and the next--a hand closed firmly around her arm.

She gasped as she was pulled away from the ballroom crowd, spun slightly by sheer force.

“What--”

The towering form beside her didn’t speak. Didn’t even look at her. But that grip, cool and strong and far too familiar, was unmistakable.

Kallias.

“Kallias--what are you--?” Her voice rose, twisting with panic. “Let go of me!”

She shoved at him, dug her heels into the marble, but he didn’t stop. He was leading her--dragging her--through a side door tucked between frost-carved pillars. A cold corridor swallowed them whole, dark and echoing.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she snapped, yanking against him.

Still, he said nothing. His face was stone. His jaw locked.

“You can’t just manhandle people out of your little snowball party!” she shouted, slapping at his shoulder, twisting her arm in his grip.

He didn’t flinch. He just reached the end of the corridor, unlocked a heavy silver-inlaid door with a sharp flick of magic, shoved it open, and pushed her inside.

The door slammed. The lock clicked.

Y/N spun, breathless, livid, hair askew from the struggle. “You are insane! What gives you the right--?”

“You’ve been ignoring me,” Kallias snapped, his voice low and fierce, cracking through the cold like thunder.

She stared at him, stunned.

He was breathing hard. Not from exertion--but from fury. From whatever storm had been building in him since the moment this bond had snapped into place.

“You dragged me into a room because your feelings were hurt?” she hissed, stepping forward. “You don’t get to be mad at me.”

“Oh, really?” he growled. “Because you knew about the bond. You knew and said nothing.”

Her eyes went wide. “I knew?”

Her voice rose into a shout. “You knew too! You figured it out! And you did absolutely nothing. Not a letter. Not a word. Not even a look.”

“Because I didn’t know if you wanted it!” he exploded.

The room was silent for a moment, save their ragged breathing.

“I didn’t know if you wanted me,” he said, quieter now. “You never looked at me. Never said anything. You just disappeared behind your rank and your reports and--”

“Because I was scared!” she cried. “Do you even understand what it meant to me? To feel that bond click into place and then realize that the one person it tied me to--the one person fate chose--wanted nothing to do with it?”

Kallias’s mouth opened. But she cut him off.

“And then Viviane showed up. She told me you were struggling. That this was too complicated for you. That I was--what? A distraction?”

His expression changed. His brow furrowed, ice-blue eyes darkening in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“She told me you knew and didn’t want it,” Y/N said, voice trembling. “That you were trying to be kind. That it would be easier if I just... faded out.”

He stared at her.

Then: “I never told Viviane anything like that.”

Y/N blinked. “What?”

“I never said a word to her about regretting the bond,” he repeated, voice tight and low, his fury simmering now with something colder.

“But she said--”

Kallias turned away from her for half a second, hands clenching into fists at his sides.

“That lying bitch,” he muttered. “I’ll deal with her later.”

Y/N watched him, heart still racing. The wall between them was cracking--splintering under the weight of everything unsaid.

Kallias turned back to her, slower now. Quieter.

“I didn’t come to you because I was terrified of doing it wrong. Of ruining it. Ruining you.”

“And I didn’t say anything because I thought I wasn’t wanted,” Y/N whispered.

“I wanted you,” he said hoarsely. “I always wanted you.”

She took a step back.

Then a step forward.

So did he.

And then--

The space between them shattered.

His hands were on her face, in her hair, pulling her toward him like gravity had finally won. Her arms wound around his neck, her fingers tangling in the white strands as their mouths crashed together with a desperate, aching need.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t soft.

It was rage and longing. It was hurt and relief. It was every unspoken word, every silent ache, every sleepless night--

Their kiss burned through the cold of the room like fire in a snowstorm.

And neither of them pulled away.

Not this time.

(smut starts here)

Kallias pulled away for a second, leaning his forehead against hers. "I want you."

Y/N, still breathing heavily, replied. "But the ball-"

Kallias shook his head, his grip on her tightening, voice becoming more desperate. "My officials can handle it for me. I don't care about the damn ball. Not anymore. Just answer me please, do you want me too?"

Y/N smiled. "Yes."

And that one word, was his unraveling.

A raw sound escaped him, somewhere between a growl and a plea. His mouth was on hers before she could speak again, devouring the confirmation she’d given him. One hand cupped the back of her neck while the other slid down her spine, pulling her flush against him--no more hesitation, no more formalities.

He could feel her wings shift against his chest, trembling slightly.

His hand slowed as it trailed downward, brushing the base of her wings--testing, curious.

Y/N gasped against his mouth, hips twitching forward at the contact.

That sound. That response. It went straight to his core.

Kallias pulled back just enough to look at her, lips swollen, breath shaky. “There?” he asked, brushing the spot again with deliberate slowness.

Her eyes fluttered shut. “Yes,” she exhaled, voice barely a whisper, already wrecked.

He wasted no time.

With one hand supporting the small of her back, the other began exploring every inch of her wings--light touches at first, then more pressure, mapping out the places that made her whimper, shiver, clutch at him. Each time she moaned, he felt her magic brush against his like sparks. Her wings were twitching, open and arched slightly now, helpless to the sensations he was coaxing from her.

He kissed his way down her jaw, then to her neck, tongue flicking against her pulse. “I’ve thought about this,” he murmured into her skin, “about you--spread out beneath me, wings trembling, moaning my name.”

A shudder ran through her.

“You feel everything there, don’t you?” he whispered, fingers gliding down to the sensitive edge where feather met flesh.

Y/N let out a broken sound, hips grinding against him. “Kallias-”

That was all the permission he needed.

With a thought, frost bloomed across the door, locking it. Curtains drew themselves closed. The chill of his magic mingled with the heat between them, a delicious contrast.

“Bed,” he said hoarsely. “Now.”

Kallias didn’t wait for her to walk.

He swept her up into his arms like she weighed nothing, his mouth crashing down onto hers with the kind of hunger that made her bones melt. Her wings, delicate and trembling from the charged tension between them, flared open behind her, brushing against his chest and dragging along the chilled air he left in his wake.

Each graze only made her cling tighter.

The moment her back touched the bed, his hands were in her hair, his lips trailing fire down her throat. “This dress has been driving me insane all night,” he growled, voice rough as gravel, fingers already tugging at the back of her gown.

Y/N gasped as cool air kissed her bare back, the fabric sliding down inch by slow inch. Kallias dragged the sleeves off her shoulders, letting it slip away like water until it pooled under the bed.

She sat there in nothing but her delicate underthings--lace and shimmering detail--and those trembling wings. And Kallias… he just looked at her.

Like a starving man at the altar of a goddess.

“I want to taste you,” he rasped. “Lie down.”

She backed up slowly until her back hit the headboard. The sheets were dark velvet—lush and cool to the touch. Her wings fanned out behind her, fluttering with anticipation as she lstared at him, breath coming fast.

Kallias followed.

Ripping off his formal robes, followed by his tunic and pants, he crawled over her like a predator, slow and deliberate, eyes fixed on her as he knelt between her spread thighs and lowered himself until his mouth hovered just above the damp silk of her panties.

He pressed a kiss to her inner thigh first--then licked a slow, heated line up the sensitive skin.

She whimpered, hips twitching.

He inhaled deeply. “You smell like sin.”

With careful hands, he peeled her panties down her legs, eyes never leaving hers. Then, without warning, he dipped his head and licked her in one, slow stroke.

Y/N let out a strangled moan, her back arching off the bed.

He looked glorious like this.

Kallias groaned in response, hands tightening around her thighs. He licked again--this time slower, more precise. His tongue circled her clit before he sucked lightly, and she cried out.

“Keep your wings still,” he murmured darkly, blowing cool air against her soaked heat. “Or I’ll make you come like this over and over until you can’t breathe.”

Her wings twitched violently.

He smirked.

Challenge accepted.

He dove back in, devouring her with all the cold, relentless precision of a Winter Lord. His tongue moved in practiced strokes, alternating between soft flicks and rough pressure, and when he slipped two fingers inside her--curving them perfectly--she broke.

Her moan was loud, wild, her body shattering as pleasure crashed over her like a wave. Her wings snapped open, arching off the bed, and her magic sparked under her skin.

But Kallias didn’t stop.

Even as she trembled, overstimulated and wrecked, he dragged his tongue slowly along her again--drinking in every sound, every twitch of her hips.

“Kallias--please--”

He looked up at her from between her thighs, lips slick, eyes glowing. “Say it again.”

She swallowed. “Kallias… I want you.”

That was all he needed.

Kallias stood above her, completely bare, bathed in moonlight--and he looked like a god carved from snow and shadow.

Tall and broad-shouldered, his body was a sculpture of pale, toned muscle--elegant but powerful. His chest was firm, lightly dusted with silver-blond hair that caught the light like frost. Ridges of muscle lined his abdomen, tapering into defined hips that flexed with every movement. Veins traced the lines of his forearms, strong hands now worshipful and possessive.

His cock was thick, long, and flushed--hard and heavy with need, already slick from the aftermath of her. It curved upward toward his taut stomach, a promise and a threat, crowned perfectly and veined with control barely held in check.

But it was his face--sharp cheekbones, that silver-white hair tousled from her fingers, and eyes glowing like a blizzard in motion--that made her shiver. Not just from lust, but from awe.

He kissed her again--slower now, letting her taste herself on his tongue.

“Are you sure?” he whispered against her lips.

“Please,” she breathed. “I need you.”

He lined himself up and pushed inside her--slowly, agonizingly deep. Both of them groaned, breath catching as he filled her completely.

Her walls clenched around him, and her wings trembled in the open air.

“Fuck--you feel…” he gasped, jaw tight, “so good. So fucking perfect.”

He gave her a moment to adjust, his forehead pressed to hers.

Then he started to move.

Slow at first--long, deep strokes that made her eyes roll back. Then harder, rougher, the slap of skin on skin echoing in the room.

His hand found the base of one wing, fingers stroking just right.

She gasped, body jolting. “Kallias--don’t--can’t--”

“Yes you can,” he growled, rutting into her deeper. “Come for me again. Come with your wings trembling.”

She was already there.

With a cry, her entire body convulsed, her second orgasm crashing through her as he fucked her through it--wings spasming, magic bursting under her skin. Kallias followed seconds later, slamming into her one final time and groaning her name as he spilled deep inside her.

But he didn’t stop.

He didn’t even slow.

Still buried inside her, Kallias growled low in his throat--a wild, raw sound—and pulled back only to thrust into her again, harder.

Y/N gasped, her body twitching beneath him. “Kallias--I--” She couldn’t even form words. Her thighs shook, her nerves already frayed, her wings fluttering helplessly against the bed.

But Kallias was gone. Not gentle, not composed--consumed.

His lips found her throat again, biting down gently before sucking hard enough to leave a mark. “Can’t stop,” he panted, hips slamming into her relentlessly. “You’re mine--you feel too good--I need more.”

Her hands clawed at the sheets as she cried out, another orgasm already building too fast. Her clit ached, her walls clenched, overstimulated and unbearably sensitive--but it only made it worse. Better. Everything.

Kallias shifted slightly, angling his thrusts to hit that spot deep inside her with brutal precision, one hand reaching under to circle her clit with maddening pressure.

She screamed--head thrown back, body writhing as pleasure and pain collided.

“You love this,” he growled against her skin. “Being fucked until you can’t think. Until your wings won’t stop shaking.”

She sobbed out something like his name, her magic sparking uncontrolled now--frost and light flickering across the sheets as she shattered again, her body convulsing violently.

And still--he didn’t stop.

Kallias was lost in her, drunk on her sounds, her scent, the way her body responded to every thrust. His pace turned ruthless, primal—driven by a hunger that only seemed to grow with each orgasm he gave her.

“You’ll take it,” he snarled, voice thick with need. “As many times as I want. Until you can’t walk. Until you remember whose you are.”

Y/N couldn’t speak--only moan, cry, come, her mind blank and her body a trembling, overstimulated mess. Tears pricked her eyes, her legs numb, her wings spread uselessly as wave after wave of pleasure tore through her.

And Kallias?

He kissed her fiercely, then whispered, “I’ll ruin you before the night ends.”

And she wanted him to.

(Smut ends here)

The fire crackled low in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the bedroom’s icy walls. But the bed--luxurious and draped in furs--was warm, tangled with limbs and blankets and lazy contentment.

Y/N lay half atop Kallias, her wings tucked carefully behind her as she traced idle patterns across the bare skin of his chest. His pale hair was a mess, cheeks slightly flushed, lips still kiss-bitten. And for the first time in what felt like forever, he looked... happy. Peaceful.

She exhaled a long breath, her cheek pressed to his shoulder. “You know... I’m pretty sure dragging someone out of a ball and locking them in a room isn’t the traditional way to confess your feelings.”

Kallias chuckled, low and deep in his chest. “Worked, didn’t it?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, poking at his side. “Barely.”

He caught her hand, kissed her knuckles. “I’ll refine my methods. Next time I’ll just write a strongly worded letter and send it with a polite raven.”

She laughed softly, lifting her head just enough to look down at him. “So what now, Winter Lord?”

Kallias turned his head, eyes gleaming in the dim firelight. “Now… we sleep. Then we have breakfast. Then, maybe, we talk to Viviane about her urgent transfer to the Summer Court.”

Y/N snorted, covering her mouth with one hand.

His smile faded into something quieter. More serious. “And then… you move to Winter. I’ll name you High Lady. My equal in every way. My mate. If you’ll have it.”

Y/N blinked. “Whoa, whoa, wait a second.”

Kallias raised a brow. “What?”

She sat up a little, sheet sliding down her bare back as she gave him a look. “I just accepted the bond. You think I’m ready to toss my entire life in Dawn out the window tomorrow morning?”

“I mean,” he said with a straight face, “we could make it a mid-morning decision.”

“Kallias.”

He sighed, dramatic. “Fine. Noon.”

She slapped his chest, but he caught her hand again, kissing her palm this time, slower.

Her voice was softer now. “I need to talk to Thesan. I still have responsibilities. My legion. My people. I love my court.”

His eyes didn’t lose their warmth. “Then we’ll find a way. A way that lets you be with me and still be you.”

She stared at him for a long moment, chest aching in a different way now. The good kind.

“I want to be with you,” she whispered.

A smile crept across his face. “That’s all I need.”

Y/N leaned down and kissed his forehead, wings shifting gently behind her.

“Forever,” she murmured.

And Kallias, without hesitation, wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to his chest, the beat of his heart steady beneath her ear.

“Forever,” he said, eyes closed, content at last.

He had found his mate.

And she had chosen him back.

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#acotar #fanfics #fantasy #acotar x reader #acotar angst #acotar imagine #kallias #kallias acotar #kallias x reader #acotar fluff #kallias angst

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singularscissor · 4 months ago

Text

so uh. i don't really like the previous ref post i did for Bright Crown so. i made a new one that gets to the point and also actually looks good. it's still not really an art reference per se (consistency is for losers 😎), more like a general summary about them

much yapping and elaboration follows below

Bright Crown was initially designed by a member of the Assembly in Recognition of Ignorance. The Assembly was a scientific trancendentalist organization that believed the Solution could only be found through a deeper and more complete understanding of the world in general, in particular various natural laws and phenomena.

The Assembly conducted research in a variety of fields, astronomy/upper orbit conditions were only one branch of the organization. For much of the Assembly's existence, the work of Bright Crown's development and construction progressed slowly. Scientists built ground infrastructure (the Endless Sea Facility) and refined the superstructure's design in anticipation of its construction.

When the Great Equalization came, storms and flooding began to threaten the Assembly's complexes, and the leadership fell into agitation. The branch responsible for Bright Crown suddenly became politically powerful because of the infrastructure they had built -- the automated facilities were already designed to supply the superstructure, and it was not difficult to adapt them to also support the Assembly's general population. In particular, the half-constructed communications spire was modified to include a sizeable city, safely above cloud level.

With control of the Council, the Bright Crown branch was able to more fully commit the Assembly's resources to the project, and construction proceeded considerably faster (though, compared to other contemporary iterator projects, progress was slow. Building in space is difficult.)

During this time, all five launch rails were used to deliver components up the the station for assembly. The rails use a combination of gravity manipulators and magnets to accelerate the supply capsules past the cloud layer. The capsules are also equipped with their own thrusters for use once the rails are cleared.

After the structure's completion, the launch rails were used less -- though, as an mostly isolated and definitely not lossless system, Bright Crown requires regular shipments of fuel, replacement water, raw materials etc. All five rails were kept operational for the sake of redundancy, but only half of them were ever used at the same time.

Most communication receivers are designed to catch signals from other ground based sources, rather than from space. Even proper equipment (such as the specially designed ESF spire) can only pick up a signal when Bright Crown is at the proper point in orbit above it. This left Bright Crown socially isolated -- though they are assigned to a local group based off ESF's geographical location, they are more or less ignored by its members due to the infrequency of their transmissions.

Bright Crown also often worries about their long term survival. There are a lot of inherent complications with being in space -- damage that might be ignorable to a normal iterator would be crippling in such a precariously balanced system. A hull breach in the wrong place, or a breakdown in the groundside supply chain could spell disaster.

Relations with the Assembly eventually degraded. Bright Crown hated being dependent on Endless Sea Facility and the Council's goodwill, and also held a grudge against them for continuing with their own construction even after it was clear their longevity would be substandard.

#yippeee i love ocposting it's my favorite thing to dooo #fun fact bright crown is now over a year old i totally missed their birthday (jan 28)#i feel like i've come a long way since then art-wise #now i have to make posts for etchings and the ninth (well. eventually)#rain world #rw oc #rw iterator oc #rw art #singularscissor #my art #bright crown #oh and one more thing i couldn't find a way to work in there:#the neural core is covered in partially articulated radiator panels to manage heat. so essentially it looks like a giant disco ball!

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gretavangroupie · 5 months ago

Text

Transcendent - Two

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x Female Reader

Word Count: 15.6k

Warnings: Mentions of Alcohol, Smoking, Cursing, Mention and Use of Magic, Black Magic, Curses, Mentions of Death, Anxiety, Attempted Assault, Mention of Injury, Blood, Arranged Marriage, Sadness, Crying. Smut: Sexual Themes, Heavy Pining, Kissing, Touching, Fingering.

A/N: Surprise! @gretavanmoon and I are back with another chapter of what has to be our favorite project yet. Without giving too much away, this will not be your traditional storyline. We've been dreaming on this one for a while and after a quick little break we are ready to get back to business. There will be no posting schedule with this story, taking it as it comes to give you the best story possible. But, it will be ongoing throughout this Winter and Spring season. As always, thank you for reading, liking, commenting and reblogging. It means the world to us and truly keeps us going.

The harsh sunlight blinds me as my eyes flutter open and I find myself in some type of field laid out on my back. My trousers feel wet, as does my shirt. I can feel water between my fingers, and a few wet strands of hair against my neck. I can hear what sounds to be crickets hiding in the tall grasses around me, though they don’t resemble any grasses I’ve ever known. They’re thin and razor sharp with a bundle of seeds at the tip. The water beneath me is murky and brown and I cannot see through it, though I know it’s shallow. Maybe only a few inches deep. The grass seems to be in perfect rows, and I quickly realize this is a crop field, not a grass field.

As I pull myself up out of the water, the chill in the air bites at my wet skin and clothing, sending a shiver through my body. Goosebumps raise along my skin and a chatter falls from my teeth. As I look around I see endless rows of crops, and in the far off distance what seems to be a barn or small farm. It takes all my effort to trudge through the muddy water, finally finding the edge of the crop field. I cannot name the crop, but I know it’s nothing I have seen in Louisiana.

Large Oak trees occupy the perimeter of this land, thick with spanish moss and heavy with foliage. The landscape is so different from what I have known, with large rolling fields of grass and less swamp land. As I step onto dry ground I do my best to wring out my trousers with water still dripping from my hair. I panic as I reach for the front pocket of my frock coat, hoping my book isn’t soiled with the dirty water. As my hand reaches into the pocket, I find it dry and untouched. As the wind blows again, I realize that I need to rid myself of these wet garments before I fall ill.

I hear Serphine’s voice in my head, telling me of the tree that would hold the items I needed to blend in. “Find a tree with three mother trunks, and a deep hole at its center. There, inside, will be everything you will need to survive in the place and time you find yourself.” I hope there will be dry clothing there, though I am not quite sure what to expect. I search the trees in the distance looking to find the one she spoke of, three large trunks with a hole at the center. I walk quite a ways closer to the property, not finding the tree I am searching for, but as I draw nearer to what I now know is a barn, I locate the large Oak I am looking for.

It is just behind the large white wooden barn, and as I round the corner I am met with quite a sight. A grand estate sits just off to the right, with a stately double staircase leading up to a full wrap-around porch filled with large white columns. The house must be three stories tall, each level having a generous covered balcony. I’ve never seen anything quite so ornate in all my time as a carpenter. But it's the roof that steals my breath away. I see what must be ten large chimneys protruding from the shingles, but the crowning jewel of the home is its large copper spire at the center of the roof, catching the sun and shining brightly. Something tells me that she is in there, but this doesn’t seem to be the place where one can just barge right in.

I shake away my awe and make my way to the tree, feeling a bit foolish as I reach inside the hollow of the trunk. Shock runs through me as I feel a canvas sack brush against my fingers. I pull the bag from the tree and drop to the ground with it as I empty its contents. Inside is a new pair of light colored wool trousers, a white long sleeve half button shirt, a pair of leather suspenders, a wide brim hat and a pair of work boots. Inside is also a small leather pouch with a pocket knife, etched with the image of an hourglass. I know this is Seraphine’s doing, a small reminder of my limited time.

I quickly redress myself in the new clothing, instantly feeling warmer thanks to the wool trousers. I place my soiled clothes in the sack and pocket the knife, ready to head towards the mansion in search of answers. As I start out toward the footpath, I am quickly stopped by an incoming carriage making its way up the small dusty path towards the barn, and as I change my path I realize that the barn is actually a large carriage house. I watch as the horse trots toward the stables, furrowing my brows as I notice it favoring its rear hoof. My hunch is telling me that Y/N is somewhere on this sprawling property, and I realize that this horse and its injured hoof could be my ticket inside.

I sling my sack over my shoulder as I rush towards the stables, watching as the carriage is unhooked from the horse and wheeled back into its storage slot. I can hear the whinnying of several horses at varying ages as I slowly step inside the building trying not to spook the horse that has finished its work. A large statured man is tending to this horse, patting his neck as he begins to lead it away to the stables.

“‘Scuse me, sir?” I say.

He turns abruptly, clearly startled by my presence. “Walkin’ tour starts at the main house.” he says, nodding to the estate behind me.

“Oh, I’m with no tour, sir,” I explain, “I couldn’t help but notice your Gelding there seems to be favoring his right rear hoof.”

He raises a brow to me and looks down at the horses back hooves. “You noticed that from the walking path?”

“I did,” I nod, gesturing towards the hoof, “I know you don’t know me from Adam, but if you’d like I could take a look at it for you. I’ve worked with horses most of my life.”

He takes a good long look at me, as if trying to decide if I am telling the truth of not before nodding. “Alright, have a look. Simon is a calm horse, shouldn’t give you no trouble.”

I nod to him as I gently drop my sack to the floor and place my hand on the hindquarter of the horse to let him know I am there. He twitches beneath my hand as I pet his coat, finding it to be in immaculate condition. I don’t know what this place is that I have found myself in, but they seem to care for the look of things and this horse and stable are no exception to that. I then quickly move to grab the horse's back hoof, trapping it between my knees to disable his movement. The man was right, Simon gave me no trouble and let me look at the underside of this hoof.

“Ahh,” I remark, “His shoe is too small. He has outgrown it by a large amount. This is causing him pain.”

The man huffs, “Sounds right. Our farrier has stopped coming to tend the horses. We haven’t seen him in several months. I fear it was a harsh winter last year and we’ve had no luck finding another,” he pauses, as I release the horse’s hoof, dusting my hands off on my trousers. The man extends his hand out to me, and I shake it, offering a small smile.

“Name’s Elijah, yours?”

I clear my throat as I grip his hand tightly, “Jak–Jacob,” I correct. “I’d love to get this horse fixed up for you if you have the tools?”

His eyes grow wide, “Are you a farrier?” he asks desperately.

“Not by trade, I’m a carpenter, but my father taught me much about horses, and this is one of those things.”

“I believe we have the tools, but no one has used them. If you follow me I can take you to them,” he urges.

I follow him out the large stall doors to the side of the building. As we walk I notice a large number of people walking the property near the home, admiring the gardens filled with azaleas and bright camellias. The people are dressed in fine clothing, finer than anything I’ve ever seen back home, and I wonder if I truly did make the jump to South Carolina. I didn’t really know what to expect but this was never in my imagination.

Elijah returns from the shed with a small bag of farriers tools, everything I will need to replace the horses shoes, down to custom horseshoes. Again I turn my gaze towards the house, seeing the main entrance as we walk towards the horse stables. A large green and white sign sits at the entrance of the walking path, finally answering the question of where I have found myself and where my girl is.

‘Magnolia Plantation and Gardens Ancestral Home of the Drayton Family Charleston, South Carolina Est. 1676 ’

—

Several hours and a farrying lesson later, Elijah feels confident in his newly acquired skill and I feel as though I have earned my reason to stay here and help out. When Elijah offered me the work, I took him up on it. The longer I am here, the more time I have to find Y/N. I will work in the stables with the horses, tending to their needs and helping Elijah manage the carriages and carriage house.

I follow behind him as he walks me to my living quarters. I am pleasantly surprised to find out that my accommodations are included in the job and that I wouldn’t have to venture into town to find something. He leads me to a row of small white wooden houses, just large enough for one room. The door creaks open as he steps inside, where a thin layer of dust is covering most of the surfaces.

“S’not much, but it gets you by,” he says, gesturing to the room. There is a wood burning fireplace in the center of the room, a small table and a chair, a full size bed with a few blankets and what looks to be a trunk for my belongings.

“Thank you, Elijah,” I answer with a nod, “It’s more than I expected.”

He nods at me as he begins to make his way out of the quarters, pausing briefly at the door. “Supper is at dusk, just as the guests leave. Meet me at the carriage house and I’ll walk you down and introduce you to some other folks.”

“Thank you,” I respond, feeling the rumble in my stomach.

He closes the wooden door behind himself, leaving me in the quiet dusty room. I take a seat on the small featherbed, happy to have it after spending the day hammering down horseshoes. I don’t know how long I will be here, but I am glad to have my own space somewhere close to Y/N. Now, I just have to find her.

—

I meet Elijah at the carriage house right at dusk, eager to fill my hungry stomach. We walk along the walking path, passing the main house and some of the fields when I finally get the nerve to ask.

“What crop is it, the one in the fields?” I ask, feeling slightly nervous.

He smiles and laughs as he throws his arm over my shoulder, “Well, that's Carolina Gold Rice boy. Don’t you know where you are?” he jokes, and just as you start to stammer back an answer, a loud dinner bell rings alerting the help staff to supper. A large steamboat is pulling away from the dock on property, black smoke rising up into the evening air.

We approach a building just off the main house that Elijah explains as the Dining House and Recreation Room for the staff. All meals are served here and this is where the staff comes to socialize after working hours. The room is lined with long tables and chairs, dimly lit by gas lanterns. It smells of kerosene and a warm meal, adding to the growing hunger in my stomach. I take a seat next to Elijah as he introduces me to a field worker named Henry and his wife Etta. They are kind folk and offer to show me around if I ever needed.

We all stand and make our way to the supper line as the kitchen staff plates our meals, which seems to be some sort of stew. As I carry my bowl back to the table a glass of water is set in front of me by a housemaid. I look at the stew, seeing that it is made with what is very likely the same rice from the field just outside. It's rich, with a tomato base and full of vegetables. It is sure to fill my stomach.

I listen as Etta and Elijah talk about the crop this year, trying my best to learn this new place I have found myself in. Henry looks to me as I spoon the stew into my mouth.

“You from around here, boy?” he asks.

I shake my head, “No sir. I’m new to this area, I’m from down South. Louisiana,” I answer.

He nods, “I have some family back in Louisiana,” he pauses. “You know anything about this place?”

“No sir, just what Elijah has told me,” I admit.

“So you didn’t fight in the War of the States?” he asks. I feel my pulse quicken as I struggle to answer him. I know nothing of the war he speaks of, but I think it best to be truthful.

“No sir.”

“I figured as much. You know, this place actually burned to the ground. S’why everything looks so new and shiny. Mr. Drayton poured a small fortune into rebuilding the property. He lost a lot of land but rebuilt it double the size.”

I clear my throat, “It’s– It’s a beautiful property, seems very well kept.”

Elijah chimes in, continuing the conversation with Henry as I turn my face back to my supper. But it's then, out of the corner of my eye I see a flash of blue fabric rush past. I lift my head to find a house maid in a pale blue dress filling a water glass at the table across from me. My heart nearly bursts out of my chest. I’ve found her. Her hair is tied in a braid at the nape of her neck, a pale blue ribbon tied in a neat bow at the bottom. She works diligently filling water glasses with a smile, and I realize that I’m just as taken with her in this life as I was in the past.

She turns quickly, spotting me behind her as I stare her down. Her eyes linger on mine for just a brief moment before looking away and returning to her work. My pulse is racing as my stew continues to drip off of my spoon into my bowl. It must be obvious that I’ve lost my mind when Elijah leans over and whispers over my shoulder.

“That's Ms. Y/N. She is the children's nursemaid. Not too sure why she is out here on supper duty tonight. Very beautiful woman, but a smart man would steer clear of her if he intends to keep his job.”

I swallow down the lump in my throat as I nod, bringing my nearly empty spoon to my lips.

“Now, I ain’t seen anything myself but, Mr. Drayton seems sweet on her,” he continues, keeping his voice low.

“Oh, he is unmarried? You mentioned children. Did his wife pass away?” I ask, looking for a little more insight.

He scoffs, “No sir, she hasn’t. Mrs. Drayton is alive and well, but is often away in town.”

I feel heat start to rise in my cheeks, “I don’t understand.”

Elijah looks around before he speaks again, “Rumor is that Mr. Drayton is after a male heir. His son passed in the States War and Mrs. Drayton has only given female children since.”

“How does that involve Ms. Y/N?” I ask, dropping my spoon into my bowl.

“I believe he intends to get one from… her.”

I feel my jaw tighten as I swallow harshly. “So are they– Do they, you know, get on well?”

“From what I have seen, quite the opposite. She despises him. Only stays to care for the children. She practically raised them. Quite a task since she is but a child herself. You ain’t hear none of this from me, ya hear?”

I nod my head quickly, turning to look over my shoulder for another glimpse of her, but as my eyes scan the room, I realize she is gone, and that maybe my purpose in this life isn’t to make her mine, but to keep her from someone with intentions much worse.

—

The outside sounds so different here. Once things are silent and I can hear the nocturnal earth come to life around me, I feel a little out of place, expecting to hear the crickets and frogs that I’m used to, but instead hearing sounds of creatures that I’ve never heard before.

My bed is hard and lumpy beneath my back, as it’s nothing but a sack filled with straw and feathers, but it’s better than sleeping on the ground. I take a deep breath as I realize I’m being hit time and time again with the realization of what I’ve done. I’ve jumped overtop of the hands of time, or swam beneath them, maybe, all to chase after a love that lasted no longer than a fortnight back in Louisiana.

“Insanity,” I mumble to myself as I turn over in my bed, gazing out the window to the high trees lining the property.

Insanity doesn’t even begin to cover it.

I’m a cursed man, what did I even expect of myself? To live my normal life day to day, simply being happy with the fact that I’ll stay twenty-five forever? No. My life wasn’t mine, anymore. And I have my brother to thank for that. This is a distraction…perhaps. Something to live for, chasing after Y/N lifetime over lifetime.

It’s disorienting to recognize that I seem to have landed in the exact place that she resides; I wonder if it will always be that easy. Seraphine didn’t give me that detail, probably because it was unknown to her. Happenstance or not, I guess I will have to find out on my own.

My eyes are growing heavy as I let the peaceful new sounds lull me to sleep, the harsh smell of manure and straw now beginning to embed themselves into my skin and clothing. The scent reminds me of times past with my father and Joshua as he taught us everything we ever knew about equine life. And carpentry. And silversmithing.

I grip my silver charm in my hand as I finally let sleep begin to overtake me. It brings me comfort for some reason, though the hands that crafted this talisman hated me so that he purposefully changed the trajectory of my life, and, unknown to him, changed his own life in the process. I wonder where Joshua has ended up, I wonder how he felt when he landed here in this new time and space. I wonder how confused he is, how terrified that we’re now alive eleven years in the future, in a different universe altogether. He doesn’t have the comfort of the book that Sera gave me, or the advice she bestowed me with. He’s clueless, out there wandering around aimlessly. I wonder how long it will take him to realize that his whole plan may have backfired.

A stream of thoughts enters my mind, and I think back on what Elijah had said about how Y/N despises Mr. Drayton. I wanted to press him for details, but the last thing I need is suspicion. My judge of character tells me that Elijah is trustworthy, though I do need some time to solidify that.

She looked beautiful today, even from afar. Just the same in her mannerisms and movements, but all the more different at the same time. The draw my body feels to her is still very much alive and well, and I’m thankful that I was able to feel my heart rate rise from seeing her again. I drift off to thoughts of her, how her lips felt on mine the day at the pond, how she felt writhing beneath me, and how my chest caved in on itself the night the doctor told me she hadn’t made it. A fate I would wish upon no man to ever experience.

But suddenly I’m awoken by a different sound, and it trumps my thoughts and the crickets lulling me. It’s rustling in the grasses, it’s laughter in the distance. I sit up in my bed and rub my tired eyes, pulling my blanket from across my lap to grab my bedside candle. I quietly creep across the squeaky boards of my quarters, allowing the glow of the light to follow me along to the window. I suddenly panic, realizing that I don’t have any protection in case an intruder of sorts were coming up on me.

It’s then that I catch sight of another candle flame off in the distance, right underneath the largest iron oak tree I’ve ever seen. I peer more closely and finally make out what I’m seeing, four little girls barefoot and dressed in their white nightgowns, dancing around the base of the tree trunk.

Must be Mr. Drayton’s daughters.

I smile as I watch them dance, holding hands and twirling around as they laugh and whisper to one another. They’re all very young, I notice, ranging from only maybe five to twelve years. The cool, thick air makes their breath visible, and I wonder what on earth they’re doing out here in the middle of the night. And why Y/N isn’t with them.

I grin ear to ear when I realize they must have been feeling mischievous and snuck out of the home, much like Joshua and I would do as children. For no reason, other than feeling a sense of freedom and rebellion that only came with escaping from our house while our Father was fast asleep.

I watch as the littlest one begins to try and climb the thick, low branches of the tree, making it fairly far up before her sisters take notice, but do little about it as they continue dancing and playing in the shadows. Her agility astounds me, for as little as she is.

But my impression is short lived, as I watch her lose her balance and topple off the branch onto the ground below her, immediately shrieking out in pain. Her sisters rush to her as I can hear her cries through my thin walls, and I contemplate on whether or not I should go to them. I don’t know them, I hardly know anyone here… but I can’t let her just lie there in pain if she truly has injured herself.

I step into my boots and rush out the door, hearing her sisters begin to cry along with her as her tiny voice shrieks. I pick up my pace as I rush more quickly to them, finally reaching the circle they’ve made around her. “Hey there, excuse me… My name is Jacob… is everyone alright?” I say before I approach them gently, not wanting to startle them too much in the darkness. “Where is your caretaker?”

The oldest one rushes to me, taking my hand and pulling me over to the scene. “Please help us, it’s Lottie, she fell! She hurt her arm!” she cries, gripping my elbow as I realize things might be worse than I’d thought. I gently kneel beside the girl and take a closer look, seeing that her wrist is already swelling.

“What’s your name, again?” I ask her as I offer to take her arm.

“L–Lottie… it hurts re-really baddddd,” she wails through loud cries, but she lets me take her injured limb. It’s most definitely sprained, and already bruising. I gently manipulate my fingers across her bones, thankfully feeling no break.

“I know it must hurt, but you’re going to be just fine. Why are you girls out here so late? Why have you snuck out–”

“Please help her, mister!” the girls cry, just as scared for their baby sister as she is for herself. They must know they are going to be in trouble, too, for sneaking out past their bedtimes.

I feel conflicted as I look around, debating on whether or not I should call for someone else, or if I should take the responsibility of carrying the girl back to the house. No one knows me here, yet, and seeing a strange man carrying the little girl could look badly on me. Her wrist continues to swell as she cries, and the girls all begin to panic.

“Lottie!” I hear a familiar voice off in the distance, traveling across the grounds and directly through my heart. “Kit, Marian, Evey… you girls step away from that man immediately!” She isn’t happy, just as my internal thoughts had presumed. I quickly rise from my kneel on the ground and stand, not wanting to startle her any more. “You get back from them, do you hear?!” she yells at me as she rushes across the yard.

Still just as fiery and beautiful as ever.

When she finally approaches, she puts both of her hands forcefully on my chest, pushing me backward until I stumble into the dirt. “How dare you! Who are you?!” she screams in my face, not caring a bit that I’ve fallen down. I watch as she rushes to Lottie, mumbling quiet concerned words to her as she assesses the scene. “Leave us be, get out of here, or I’m calling for Mr. Drayton!” she pushes her hand at the air behind her, telling me to vacate quickly.

She gathers Lottie in her arms as she spits disciplines at the other girls, her tone deep and frustrated as she yells at them.

“No no, Ma’am, please forgive me, I heard them outside playing and I watched her fall from the tree. I heard her crying and thought she had hurt herself, I’m so sorry, I just thought I could help,” I try and explain myself as I stand back up.

She looks to me with a grit on her features, her jaw clenched tightly as I see the fire burning in her eyes. Worried, of course.

“You’re a stranger, you shouldn’t have bothered–”

“No, Ms. Y/N, he was trying to help me, he tried to make me feel better, don’t yell at him,” Lottie explains through sobs.

“We don’t know this man, children, you mustn’t talk to strangers!” Y/N barks back at them. “Back to the house, all of you!” she yells with a snap of her fingers. I watch as the other three little girls scurry across the grass, Y/N and Lottie trailing behind in the heavy fog. I stand unmoving as I catch sight of her glancing back at me for just a second, likely memorizing my face for whatever wrath I will succumb to tomorrow.

I retreat back to my bed as I relax into a dissatisfied grunt, realizing that that couldn’t have gone worse.

—

It's a knock at the door that wakes me from my slumber. The sun is shining brightly through the dirty window and instinctively I pull myself up from my warm bedding to check for danger. As I peer through the glass I can see the figure of two people, and without a doubt one of them is Y/N.

I quickly pull on my trousers, tucking my hair behind my ears quickly before unlatching the door. I have no time for my shirt, but I don’t think that matters much as the knocking grows louder. A rush of nerves fill my body as I open the door, but the second I see Y/N it all disappears.

“Mornin’,” I say, greeting Y/N and Miss Lottie.

“Good morning sir, I’m sorry to wake you at such an early hour, but Lottie here would like to say something to you,” Y/N answers, ushering Lottie closer to the door.

I’m surprised to say the least, but more so I am sad to see the small girls’ wrist bundled up and in a splint. She seems shy, her cheeks turning pink as she begins to speak to me. I decide to meet her at eye level, crouching down before her as I rest my arms on my knees.

“Sowwy we sneaked out of Daddy’s house and woke you up in the middle of the night,” she says, her sweet voice like honey to my soul.

“And,” Y/N urges, nodding to the girl.

“And fank you for trying to help me feel better about my arm,” she finishes, looking up to Y/N for her approval.

A smile overtakes me, “Don’t be sorry for getting yourself injured on accident. Just be sorry that you couldn’t sneak back into bed without being caught.” I wink, earning me a big smile from the young miss.

I let my eyes meet Y/N’s, a smile now on her own face. My eyes flick back to Lottie as I examine her splint. “May I?” I ask, hoping for permission. Y/N nods and I begin to adjust the splint so that it may sit more comfortably on her small arm. I stand quickly, stepping back inside to grab my old handkerchief, nearly useless to me now.

I fashion a makeshift sling to hold her arm, relieving some of the pressure as I tie it over her shoulder. “There, not you won’t hurt it any further. Does it feel alright?” I ask her.

“Yes sir. Fank you mister…”

I stand, dusting off my hands as I answer her. “Kiszka. But you can call me Jacob.”

It’s then that I take in the sight of Y/N in the full morning sun. Her hair tied back with a ribbon, and a beautiful dress, much nicer than the ones I’ve ever seen back home.

Lottie begins to tug on Y/N’s skirts, looking back behind her as she hears her sisters playing off in the distance. “Can I go now, I want to play tag,” she asks Y/N, looking at her with longing eyes.

“You may, but you must be careful with your arm. Do you understand?” she answers, adjusting Lottie’s braids.

“Yes ma'am. I will!” she shouts, scampering off towards her sisters and leaving me and Y/N alone for the first time.

I stand there in my doorway, doing my best not to stare at Y/N or be obvious about my infatuation with her in this new time. Her eyes meet mine, slowly they drift down though, and it’s then I remember I don’t have my shirt on, and I suddenly feel warm under her gaze.

Though I may be warm, I can see her breath in the air of the early morning, the sun not warming the earth just yet.

“Aren’t you cold?” she asks me, still eyeing my naked torso.

I smile at her and shake my head, “No ma’am, I’m warm blooded. Always have been.”

Out of politeness I step inside and grab my shirt, pulling the laces tight around my neck, before tucking it into my trousers. Her eyes never leave me though, clearly fascinated by me.

She pulls them away once she has noticed that I’ve caught her, quickly changing the subject as her cheeks grow flushed.

“Thank you– For trying to help little Lottie. The girls like to sneak out in the middle of the night and pretend they are runaways. This isn’t the first time I have chased them down late at night.” She smiles, and I find myself nearly swooning over the sweet sound of her voice, still a little raspy, just as I remember it to be.

“Oh, it’s no problem ma’am. I apologize for overstepping. I didn't know the extent of her injury and I just wanted to make sure she wasn’t hurt worse,” I say, continuing our small talk as I take her in fully, just as she does me.

“You know,” she pauses, “I saw you near the stables yesterday. Are you a new hire on property?”

I nod my head as I answer her, “Yes ma’am, just started as a farrier, helping out Elijah.”

“So then you would say you have an affinity for horses?” she confirms.

“Sure do. I grew up with them,” I reply.

I see her features soften, and a smile threatens her lips before she stifles it back. “Then you best get to the stables. I do believe they have already started their morning, and Mr. Drayton does not fool with tardiness.”

I quickly realize she is correct as I hear a horse whineigh in the distance.

“Yes, I should be on my way. Thank you,” I answer, pulling on my boots and grabbing my hat. I pull my door shut as I step down beside her on the wooden steps.

“Oh, and Jacob,” she calls out, causing me to spin around.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“I also feel as if I should apologize for shoving you into the dirt. That wasn’t very ladylike of me,” she answers, looking a bit defeated.

“You were protecting the girls. Never be sorry for that,” I answer confidently, tipping my hat to her as I take one last look before heading off to start my day. But as I walk away I can feel her eyes burning into my shoulders, and I resist the urge to turn back, for fear if I do, my work shall never get done.

—

“Aaagghh! I’m definitely going to have to go into town for some new boots, now!” I hear Elijah shout from the next stall over. “Son of a bitch!”

I grin to myself as I adjust my hat and lean my rake against the wall, peering over to see what he is on about. I find him leaned over and cursing, scraping off a heavy bit of horse manure from the bottom of his boot. The heel has come completely off of the rest of the shoe.

“Did any get on your foot, mate?” I ask, trying to contain my laughter.

“Yes, of course it got on my foot, you nimwit!” he yells as he continues to try and clean himself, eventually giving up and waddling outside to the water troughs.

My eyes follow him out the stable front doors outside into the yards, and the most beautiful sight catches my eye, Ms. Y/N and the children following alongside her. They’re headed right our way.

“Afternoon, Ma’am,” I hear Elijah say as he tips his hat and passes her, “and little Ma’ams…”

My heart is in my throat as I watch her approach from under my hat, clasping her hands behind her back as she takes in the order of the stables. I try not to make myself known, keeping to raking out the old straw as I stay quiet. I haven’t seen her in days, and I can feel my emotions swirling as her proximity tightens in on me.

“Good afternoon, Jacob,” I hear her sweet voice greet me, still hiding a bit in the shadows as the girls run around freely.

I clear my throat. “Oh, good afternoon, how is everyone today?” I ask, my voice shaky. I watch as little Lottie rounds the backs of her legs, her arms gripping around them as she hugs her. The wrist she injured is still wrapped, but she doesn’t seem to be as bothered by it as she was before. “Not climbing anymore trees, I presume?” I wink at her.

“No, no more trees for quite a while,” Y/N laughs, running her hand along Lottie’s curly hair. “We actually thought we would stop by for another reason… We have a proposition for you, Sir.”

My interest is piqued, and I’m sure my expressions show it. I lean the rake against the wall again and extend my hand for them to follow me into a larger room of the stables. “Do tell?” I ask.

Now, Lottie and Y/N are hand-in-hand as we walk, and I can’t help but swoon at the visual of the relationship the two of them obviously have. I know that she cares for these girls as if they are her own.

“Well, for months now, Lottie has been saying how she wants nothing more than to learn to ride horses, but we’re being burdened by one problem,” she explains with a lull in her voice.

“Besides the fact that she’s still so small…?” I jest, bulging my eyes at Lottie, making her skitter off into the corner.

“She’s actually very, very scared of the creatures,” Y/N whispers. “I told her there was nothing to fear of them, though they are giants in her eyes. She’s intrigued by them, but I think she just needs a little assistance in the getting used to them department.”

I bite my tongue into the corner of my mouth. “Aha, I see.”

“So, yesterday she said that she knows that Mr. Jacob works with the horses…and…”

I nod quickly as I take a deep breath. “I understand. I’d be more than happy to help her become more comfortable around them.”

I watch as Y/N’s face lights up, her eyes sparkling in the bright afternoon sunlight. “Oh, really, Jacob? Would you? If you have the time, of course…”

I ignore her formalities, instead going to the corner that Lottie has hidden herself in. I squat down to her level, watching as she cowers away just a bit. I slap my dirty hands against my trousers, and give her a reassuring smile. “How is your arm today, Miss Lottie? Not hurting too badly anymore?”

She slowly shakes her head. “Not so bad, now,” she answers quietly.

“Good,” I say, standing back up and offering my hand to her. “Come on, I hear you want to meet a horse.”

I feel her tiny hand slip into mine, and I take this as a move in the right direction, step one of overcoming her fear with her. I walk with her along the stable openings, the horses leaning their heads out one by one as we pass.

“This one here is Fitzgerald, but we like to call him Fitz. He’s young, just like you. Full of energy. And this is Copper, she’s very fast.”

“How fast, Mr. Jacob?” she asks, squeezing onto my hand.

“So fast that you can hardly see her as she zips past you! Quick as a lightning strike!” I explain with animation.

“And this is Frasier, Barclay, and Piper… and this one, this one is my favorite. Her name is Cecily.” I take my time introducing her to this last one, the one that I am trusting the most to try and let Lottie ride.

“Cecily,” she repeats back, a bit of a lisp on her tongue.

“That’s right. Cecily is twenty-four years old, if you can believe that,” I say.

“My father purchased her when I was one year old,” I hear Y/N behind me, her voice gentle and reminiscent. I pause as I watch her run her hand along the animal’s nose. “The first horse I ever rode.” My heart swells again. She has a love for them in this life, too.

“Then that is somethin’ you and Lottie will have in common, hm?” I say, leaning into her just a bit. I watch as her cheeks brighten with pink as I make a point to let my eyes linger on hers for just a second too long.

“Come on, Lottie,” I say as I grip under her armpits, lifting her to eye level with Cecily. “See? She is very sweet, even Ms. Y/N will pet her.”

Lottie feels terrified in my grasp, but she bravely lifts her unbandaged hand, hesitating as she decides if she wants to touch her.

“Go ahead, she won’t hurt you,” I encourage. And finally, she lets herself make contact, earning a sweet huff of air from Cecily’s nose. Lottie giggles loudly.

“Would you like to ride her?” I ask, placing her back down on the ground.

“Nooo, no! I don’t wanna! I’m too a-scared!” she cries, whipping herself away again to hide behind Y/N’s skirts.

I hear Y/N exhale a rough breath. “Well, this was progress, at least. She’d never even go near the stables before, let alone touch one of them. This is a big step forward–”

“What if I walk along with you?” I coyly interrupt her, looking back to Lottie.

She snarls her nose. “If I ride one, can Ms. Y/N ride one, too?”

I look back to her in question. “We can saddle one for her, too, and you can ride alongside her, perhaps?”

I watch as Lottie thinks through the options I’ve given her, before confidently stopping on one. “Hm, no, I wanna go with you, Mr. Jacob.”

I laugh along with Y/N, opening the door to Cecily’s stall. “Alright, it’s settled then. Though I don’t know many good trails around here, I am still very new, you know… But I’m sure Ms. Y/N does.”

She smiles, “Yes, I suppose I’ll have to show you around if you’re going to be the one keeping our horses healthy.”

I put the finishing touches on the saddles and help Lottie up onto Cecily, still a bit nervous but less scared than before. “Hold on tight, with your good hand, just there. Perfect.”

I swear the old mare recognizes that Lottie is nervous as she gently trots around the field, carefully stepping over rivets in the ground from the plows. “See, Lottie? Not so bad huh?” I press, glancing at Y/N trailing behind with a soft smile on her face. “And you’re doing it all by yourself.”

“Not so bad,” she quietly replies, and I can tell her expression has softened.

“Y/N, this way?” I ask, pointing to a clearing in the hedgerow. She nods and I walk the horse forward into the coverage of trees, giving us a little shade as we maneuver the worn-in trail. We go along for fifteen minutes or so and I listen to Lottie go on about the trees, her sisters, and Cecily, answering all the questions I can while knowing that Y/N could answer them better than I could.

“Ms. Y/N, did you name her? Or did Grandfather?” Lottie asks, turning a bit to see her on her own horse.

“I didn’t name her, she was still just a baby when she came to us, and I wasn’t yet old enough to talk. Do you like her? Are you still afraid?” Y/N asks. My heart is thrumming as I listen to her speak, soft and understanding.

“I’m not so scared anymore, but I still don’t wanna do it by myself. I want Mr. Jacob to go all the time,” Lottie says, avoiding my eyes but still making me blush.

We round back to the stables and I help Lottie off her horse, watching as she scurries away back to her sisters. “I did it! I rided a horse!” I hear her squeal with excitement as she rejoins them, her wrapped arm flying into the air above her head.

As I begin unsaddling, I feel Y/N at my side, her presence beginning to feel more and more familiar to me now. It’s as if just the energy she emotes is recognized by mine, meshing together in our own space in time.

“Thank you, Mr. Jacob, I can’t explain how appreciative I am that you took the time to help her, she seems so much more at ease with you, I could never even get her to go near them,” she says, pushing her hat back on top of her head.

I turn, adjusting my own brim to shield the sun, allowing me a more clear view of the face I’m falling more and more in love with as the minutes tick past. “The pleasure’s mine, Ma’am. I hope she wants to return, and learn more. I’ll give her my time as often as I can.”

The smile that ticks at the corners of her lips makes me forget how to breathe as her eyes search mine for something else, suddenly. She huffs an inhale, almost as if she is second-guessing her words. “I notice you have a way with people, Jacob, but even more so a way with children. And I believe that’s a trait that is very admirable in a man.”

I fight down a swallow, trying to stand firm as my knees want to buckle beneath me. “Thank you, Ma’am. I do enjoy watching the world from their perspective, seeing things so much larger and so much more unimportant than we do. Paying attention to only what’s in front of them, instead of what will come next. It’s refreshing, you know,” I respond, biting my lips in as my eyes scan her face. I watch as her eyelashes flick rapidly, likely experiencing the same shift in the air as I am.

“Yes,” she whispers, clearing her throat. “I–I will see you next time?”

“I’ll be here waiting, Ma’am,” I reply, tipping my hat her way as she turns, giving me a double-take as I watch her drift back off toward the girls.

—

Several days pass with no sight of her, and I begin to wonder where she’s hiding. I’ve not seen the girls either, the property eerily quiet for this time of day. I check for them every night on my walk to supper, passing the main house on my way. Tonight though, I walk with Elijah and do my best to not seem obvious as I look for any sign of the girls or Y/N.

We can smell the food a good few minutes before we reach the Dining House, and I can feel my stomach start to rumble with hunger. I haven't eaten since breakfast this morning, skipping lunch to finish polishing the leather saddles. My feet start to carry me faster as the smell of supper gets stronger, and Elijah matches my pace.

“Eager for supper?” he asks, shooting me a grin.

“Yessir, always.” I respond, pulling open the door to let him enter.

We both enter the line, and as we make our way towards the serving table I see her. My brow furrows in confusion and Elijah must have noticed.

“Ain’t usual for her to be in here,” he pauses, “Must be some good reason.”

I nod my head in agreement, but when I watch the smile on her face grow as she serves the food, I find a smile appearing on my own lips.

A nervous flutter fills my belly as I step up to her, holding out my plate as she scoops the rice dish onto it. It’s not something I recognize, but it smells like heaven.

“Hello Jacob,” she grins, sneaking me an extra half serving. Her eyelashes dust her pink cheeks as she suddenly seems bashful.

“Hey there,” I answer with a smirk, “Wasn’t expecting to see you in here this evening.”

She nods as her tongue wets her lips, “No, no. You’re right, I convinced Harrell to let me try a new recipe tonight and it was only right that I serve it as well. Was hoping to get everyone's true opinion on it.”

Shock fills me as I look at her, “You made this?”

She nods a shy nod as she scoops the dish onto the next man's plate. “I did. I hope you like it.”

I want to answer her but before I can get the words out, I am at the end of the serving line and she’s moved on to the next person. I make my way towards the table Elijah selected for the night, setting down my plate as my mind reels about her cooking.

“I’m just as surprised to see her as you are,” he smiles, taking a large bite of his food. “She is never in here with us.”

“Yeah, she just told me she made this meal and wanted to help serve it.”

“Well I’ll be sure to let her know what I think,” he says, as I take my first bite, and as I taste it, I know that if I wasn’t already in love with the woman, I sure would be now.

—

With my belly full of Y/N’s delicious meal, I feel myself starting to grow tired. Today was a long day, and one of the horses got ornery on me. I know that once I return to my quarters I will fall right into bed and sleep straight through ‘til morning.

I feel an elbow nudge at my side, startling me from my tired daydreaming. I see that Y/N has joined me at the table, finally finished with her duties.

“Well, did you enjoy it?” he asks, twiddling her thumbs together in her lap.

“Best meal I’ve had since I’ve been here, swear it.”

She smiles at me through closed lips, her eyes twinkling in the dimness of the room. “Would you like to go somewhere with me?” she asks.

“Me?”

“Yes you, I want to show you something.” she confirms, her eyes never leaving mine.

I turn to look at Elijah, who is already looking at me with a grin. He raises his eyebrows and turns back to his conversation, silently telling me I should go. As I turn to look back at her I nod my head, “‘M all yours.”

—

The air has started to cool significantly since the sun went down, and I now find myself unrolling my sleeves as Y/N and I walk. I have yet to walk this path since I have been here, never finding myself on this side of the property. It’s quite beautiful, a long winding dirt path that is leading up towards the wooded area of the grounds.

“Where exactly are you taking me?” I ask, flashing her a small curious smile.

“Only the best place on the whole property. My favorite place in the world, I think,” she answers, pulling my arm as we take a right at the fork in the path. The moon is shining through the large oak trees, a silver blue cast landing on her face. Our arms are now intertwined, and I feel my heart start to beat a little harder at the contact.

“We’re almost there now,” she continues, gripping my arm tightly as if I could fly away at any moment.

A few minutes later we are approaching a beautiful pond, surrounded by Oak trees filled with low hanging spanish moss. The moon reflects onto the lake a perfect round circle in the rippling water. She leads me to a tree close to the bank of the pond, perching herself on a soft patch of grass. I sit down next to her, letting my legs stretch out and crossing them at the ankles. I lean back on my hands to match her position, feeling the soreness of my body from today's work.

“This is a very beautiful place,” I say softly, breaking the silence.

“I’ve come here since I was a child,” she answers, her tone soft, matching mine.

“Tell me about your family,” I say, turning to look at her as she fiddles with her braid.

“I wish there was more to tell, but sadly there isn’t. They aren’t here anymore.”

I swallow harshly, “Mine either.”

Her eyes quickly dart to mine, “I’m so sorry, Jacob.”

“Do you think you will have a family one day?” I ask, changing the subject.

“I do, but I don’t believe it will be of my own choice,” she answers, causing me to furrow my brows.

“Why’s that?” I ask, wondering what she could mean.

“Well,” she pauses, looking towards the moonlit pond, “I believe that Mr. Drayton has plans for me.”

I feel my blood start to heat, “What sort of plans?”

She lets out a long, pained exhale. “I was to be married to Charles. Mister Drayton’s only son. He and I were courting when he was drafted for the war.” she pauses, swallowing hard. “He never came back, passed on in battle I was told. Mister Drayton was very angry for some time, though he allowed me to move to the property to be with the family. It’s how I came to care for the girls.”

“I see.” I breathe. I’d never heard of Charles in my time here, so this came as a surprise.

“One night, Mister Drayton was on a drunk. He wasn’t fairing well with Charles’ passing. He told me I was to give him the heir to his fortune, whether it be Charles or him, and with Charles gone, I knew what he was insinuating,” she pauses. “Thankfully he has never spoken of it again, and I do my best to avoid him in the home.”

“Y/N, that’s– He can’t do that. What about Mrs. Drayton?” I stumble.

“She can only bear girls, apparently. Though I don’t know how true that is,” she murmurs. “I believe that Charles and I– We could have–I did love him…”

“I am very sorry for your loss, Y/N,” I say, truly grieving for her and her situation.

“Thank you, Jacob. Though much time has passed now, and I have finally begun to feel something again after all this time,” she says, turning to me and resting her head on her shoulder. “Thanks to you.”

I feel my cheeks heat with diffidence as I take in the beauty of her face and the authenticity of her words. I reach for her small, soft hand, and bring it to my lips, pressing a delicate kiss to the top of her palm. “I as well, Miss Y/N.”

We sit there for a few still minutes, watching the turtles come to the top of the water. I feel content in her presence and I believe she feels content in mine. She is beautiful in the lighting, and I yearn to tell her so, but I think it inappropriate after all she has shared with me tonight.

“It is getting rather late,” I say, looking to her. “I should get you back.”

“One of the other housemaids is tending to the children tonight. I was hoping for you and I to take this walk this evening,” she answers with a sweet smile.

“I am very glad we did. Thank you for showin’ me this place. It’s very peaceful.”

“Could I walk with you back to your quarters?” she asks, taking my hand as I help her up from our grassy spot.

“If you’d like, though you do not have to,” I answer, hoping she will choose to join me.

“I’d like that very much,” she says, as she grabs my chilled hand and begins to pull me back down the walking path.

—

Far too quickly we reach my living quarters, the conversation between us flowing so naturally it’s as if she's waited for someone to connect with in this way. I hang on her every word, memorizing every facet of her face as she speaks so freely to me. It’s only when we reach my door that I remember how exhausted I truly am.

“Would you… would you like to join me inside? It isn’t much to look at, but it is warmer there,” I say shyly.

A gentle smile parts her lips as she softly shakes her head, “No Jacob, I must get back to the main house. I don’t want to be caught by Mr. Drayton. He tends to wander the main floor at this hour.”

“I understand, you must go then,” I say, feeling a sharp pain ripple through my abdomen.

“Are you alright?” Y/N asks startled, reaching for my arm.

“Yes, yes,” I lie, “Just weary from the day's work. You go, and I will be seeing you, alright?”

“Thank you, Jacob,” she smiles, pulling her hand from my arm, and lifting her skirts to run towards the main house.

I watch until I can no longer see her before stepping inside my quarters. Quickly I remove my shirt to see what has pained me, and what I find is something I was warned of. My burn scar is fiery red and angry. My first signs that my time here is beginning to tick away.

Remembering Seraphine’s warning, I quickly find my bag of personal effects and reach for my book that is to be my guide to my next jump. I open it swiftly to the next page, and much to my dismay, ink has begun to spread across the page. “Damn it…” I mumble, feeling a rush of anxiousness run through me. The words are not yet visible, but I know that in a short amount of time they will, and my time here with Y/N will be done.

—

Two Weeks Later

It’s been a fortnight since mine and Y/N’s first walk to the pond, and since that night, she’s joined me every evening since, pacing around and wasting our time together. We’ve been talking and getting to know one another, and I take my time in knowing that in this life, her personality feels so eerily different, yet her soul is just the same. I can’t help but notice that her body language has changed just a bit… almost as if she is becoming more and more comfortable with me as the days pass. I’ll never overstep the boundary, though my hands are aching to reach out and touch her.

Tonight after our walk, Elijah has joined me in the stables for a nightcap. We can see our breath as it floats over the air, and even though I have been around the cold, I have never really had to live and work in it.

“I’ll bring you a pair of my spare gloves tomorrow, got sheep’s wool on the insides. Keep your hands from blisterin’ in this temperature,” Elijah offers, noticing the dryness of my hands.

“Appreciate that, friend,” I reply, rubbing them together.

“Mmmhm,” he goes on, passing the whiskey bottle back to me. “Can’t have Ms. Y/N noticin’ your hands rough on her, now, can we?” he jests.

“Elijah… Now…” I scold him as he laughs at me.

“Gonna get in over your head, boy. Better watch yourself. Mr. Drayton may not show his face much, but he ain’t none to bother with. I can assure you of that,” he warns. “Don’t want you to be the one causin’ trouble in his paradise.”

I take another sip of the spirit and take a deep inhale, watching as the stars begin to debut themselves in the sky. “Trouble always finds me. I’m used to running from it. The hard part is deciding what kind of trouble to stick around for.”

He studies me as silence falls between us. “You love her?”

I dart my eyes to him. “I barely know her, Eli. How can I love someone I hardly know?” I hope that I am a better liar than I am a friend. Little does Elijah know, our friendship is destined to be short-lived, and his apparent judge of my character as of late is spot-on.

“‘Cause I see that look in your eyes whenever she’s ‘round. See your face shade, your hands jitter. I may be well past my prime, but I know a man in love when I see one.” He cackles again as he pushes my shoulder, taking another nip from the bottle.

I shake my head at him. “You’re drunk, Eli.”

“And what of it, kid?” he smiles.

Just then, we’re interrupted by the ghost of an image running across the front doors of the stables, rushing past without even a pause. “What in God’s name was that?” he asks as we both stand to rush to the door. In the darkness, I catch sight of the billowing skirts of a woman’s dress rushing through the high grasses of the field. “Is that Ms. Y/N?!”

“It is,” I breathe, frozen in place as I watch her run for her life.

“Speak of the devil…” Elijah whispers, and within seconds, I am running behind her, following her across the grasses and into the field. I have to run at full speed to catch up to her, and it is only when I get close that I can hear that she is crying.

“Y/N,” I yell after her. “Stop!”

She finally slows her pace as she hears me behind her, folding herself in half as she crouches down into the weeds and grasses. As I finally reach her, I hear her wailing… her face full of terror and tears as she tries to make herself calm. My heart falls. Something bad has happened.

I kneel beside her and place my hand gently on her knee, her dress scuffed up and dirty from the muddy ground. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong? What’s going on?” I ask, desperate to help her.

“Mr. Drayton… he–he’s drunk…” she cries. Her hair is falling from it’s usual perfect braid, messy and in her face as it sticks to her tear-soaked cheeks. Her voice is barely audible from her cries. “He finally tried to–to take his chance…”

“What chance, Y/N? What did he do?” I ask, pushing the hair from her face to get a better look at her.

All she does is look up at me, an emotion worse than fear written all over her. “Did he hurt you?” I ask. Her face falls as her hands grip onto me, using me to hold herself up.

“He tried, but I broke free, I ran,” she says. “He almost… He nearly…”

I feel a rage billowing up inside me, one that I have never really felt before. And I realize in this very moment that I’d go to the end of the earth to find that man, and do whatever it took to make him feel the fear that is radiating from her, right now.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ kill him,” I whisper.

“No, no you’re not, Jacob. You’ll do nothing of the sort,” she demands, her voice suddenly deep and commanding.

“Where are the girls?” I ask. “Are they safe?”

“Yes, yes,” she sobs. “They’re with their mother in Virginia.” I study her face as she tries to clean herself up, wiping her tears and fixing her hair as I still keep a firm grip on her shoulders.

“Go back to my quarters. Run. Go inside, lock it behind you. I’ll be right there,” I say. Her eyes peer up to me, and I swear that I see the entire universe in them, just like I did that day at the dock.

“Alright,” she whispers, and to my surprise, she doesn’t argue. She wants to go. I help her get to her feet and I lead us out of the grasses, sending her off quickly toward my quarters. I rush back to the stables to find Elijah trying to busy himself, probably confused as he watched us in the field from afar.

“Saw her head back your way, son. Why’d you come back here?” he laughs.

“This isn’t a time for laughter, Eli,” I say as I finish up the duties I had half-ignored earlier. The whiskey is long gone from my system after that rush of nerves.

“Oh,” he says, now full of concern. “Is… is she alright?”

I don’t answer, instead I give him a look that I know he will recognize. He takes my glare as it is, nodding in understanding. “I’ll take care of the rest of this, son. Go on. Go to her.”

Within minutes I am back to the line of small, run-down buildings under the iron oaks, rushing through the drying mud to get to my own. I step up on the singular wooden step, seeing that she has lit a candle inside. “It’s me,” I say quietly as I knock on the door. I hear her rustle inside before the lock is being undone and the door is slowly swinging open. She’s wrapped in my blanket, slowly pacing around the place as her eyes stay trained on the floor.

I turn and lock the door again behind me. I’d long since let the fire burn out, so I take my time in relighting it, adding my breath to the few still-burning embers to create a flame. I throw four or five logs on and make sure they catch before turning my attention. She’s still pacing behind me, and I wrack my mind trying to think of what to do, what to say. What do I even say?

After the fire is lit, I feel it beginning to warm the air around us quickly. I take a seat on my bed, watching as her back repeatedly turns to and from me. Her anxiety is making me nervous.

“Y/N,” I finally whisper. “Come here, come sit.” I put my hand to the bed beside me, knowing that if I am going to even begin to comfort her tonight, I first need her to relax just a bit. Easier said than done, I already know.

She pauses a second, her thumbnail between her two front teeth. Finally she comes and sits beside me, letting out a shaky breath I know she has been holding since she got here. I know she is terrified, I know her mind is on another plane, entirely. Slowly, I feel her head crane sideways to rest on my shoulder, and her breathing even out just a bit. I bring my arm around her back and shoulders, pulling her in just a bit to let her know that she can relax. “It’s alright, you’re safe here. I’m not goin’ to let anything else happen to you.”

I hear her sniffle through a cry, but this one sounds different than her ones in the field. This one sounds as if she has let her demons fall away, letting the light of clarity overtake her. “You can stay here as long as you like,” I offer. I feel her head nod on my shoulder.

Then, like all of the stars align, her arm wraps up and around me, and I feel her face bury against my neck. I shudder at it, my skin burning as I feel her breath lay hot against me.

“Thank you, Jacob,” she whispers, pressing her lips to the skin right below my ear. I know she can hear my heartbeat, there is no way that she can’t. My body is swirling with a fondness that I’ve found only in her, a warmth that only she can bring to my chest.

We stay this way for a few minutes as I feel her body start to soften against mine, and her fear begin to slowly subside. I know that soon, we will have to move from this position, especially if I want to continue to be the gentleman that I am.

“You can have the bed, I will take the floor,” I suggest, moving from my seat.

“No–” she says quickly. “No… I–Don’t be ridiculous. It’s too cold, you’ll freeze to death on the floor.”

I stand and meet her eyes, glowing just like the embers in my fireplace. “Then where do you suggest I sleep, Ma’am?”

Her face flushes as she brings her lips into her mouth, wetting them slightly before she speaks. “By me, of course. For warmth…”

All the air leaves my lungs, and I’m positive I couldn’t form a coherent word, if I tried. “Warmth…” I repeat.

She nods. “Would be a shame for either of us to… freeze…” I swallow down my emotions as she stands from her seat, letting the blanket she’s wrapped in fall back to the bed behind her. Her hands crawl to the center of her robes that are tied at the front of her chest. She pulls the tie, letting her heavy cloak fall to the floor, as well. She’s standing before me in much less clothing than I thought I’d see her in, tonight, but the last thing I’m going to do is argue it. She steps closer to me, and I can feel my nerves begin to bubble up inside me again. She turns slowly, pulling her hair to the side. “Help with my corset?” she asks, peering over her shoulder.

My fingers tremble in rhythm with the pounding of my heart in my chest as I think about her inquiry. I can’t deny her, who would I be to not help her? With shaking hands I take the ends of the light blue ribbon between my fingers, giving it a light tug to free the bow and knot. It’s funny, knowing in the back of my mind that I have already done this once before, that day on the dock. In another life, in another time, completely…

I loosen the ribbon and gently pull it, watching as she is able to take a full, deep breath after being freed of her confines. She lets the corset fall and she kicks it away, slowly turning to face me. I know the look on my face is surprising to say the least, but the way that the firelight ignites her features makes me fall for her all over again. So ethereally beautiful, so tempting in an uncountable amount of ways.

She shivers harshly as the warmth from the fire hits her skin. “Would you like my… coat…?” I ask her, realizing the question is stupid as soon as I say it.

She laughs through her nose, shaking her head side to side. Her hands climb up to undo the buttons of my coat, slowly pulling them free one by one. My heart is in my throat, and I hope that she doesn’t notice my growing anxiousness. Her hands are barely touching me, and I can already hear my own breath becoming ragged. She pulls the jacket from my shoulders and I toss it to the side, my eyes never once leaving her face. Her fingertips slip underneath the straps of my suspenders, pulling them down to my sides one at a time. She’s moving so slowly that I could scream, but at the same time, there’s nothing I would want to last longer.

Next she begins to unfasten the buttons of my shirt, slowly still as she uses care to undo them. I feel a chill rush through my body at the touch of her hands on my barren skin, mixing in with my growing need for her to touch me more. “See, you’re cold, Jacob,” she says quietly.

“Your hands are like ice,” I mutter, my words sounding like mush in my mouth.

“Not for long,” she reassures me, pulling my arms free from the sleeves of my shirt. I watch as her expression changes, seeing me without any covering for the second time. She pulls the chain that hangs around my neck, straightening it so that the silver charm is settled in the center of my chest. “Where did you get this?”

“My brother made it for me,” I choke out, the memory of Joshua’s face racing through my mind for a split second.

“It’s beautiful,” she says, still running her hands along the chain, her fingertips barely dusting across my skin.

“Are you sure you do not want the bed, Y/N,” I ask rhetorically, trying to break free from the mesmerizing feeling of her touch.

She nods. “I’m sure. I want you… with me.”

“You do?” I ask, again.

“Yes,” she breathes, releasing the chain. She brings her face close to mine, her the tip of her pointer finger resting on the underside of my chin. “I have for weeks…” She pushes me backward, and I try my best to not stumble as I kick my boots off, leaving them laid across the floor.

She crawls backward into the bed, slitting her legs under the covers as she leaves them half-pulled back for me. I grab the blanket she had let fall behind her to cover us, as well, and against every nerve ending in my body telling me not to, I slide in beside her. I feel her shiver as the heat from our bodies meets, warm and welcoming as we rely on each other for it. She presses into my side as she shudders through it again. “Are you okay?” I ask, pulling my arm around her.

“I am now,” she breathes.

Her head comes to lay beside mine on my singular pillow, and I turn my face to meet hers. I can tell the both of us are having trouble steadying our breaths, and I can feel my hands burning to reach out and touch her. Like she can hear my thoughts, her hand reaches up to rest on my chest, her skin a bit warmer than it was before.

“Your heart, Jacob. It’s pounding,” she says. I swallow it down, suddenly feeling confident.

“Of course it is, I’m lying beside you,” I say, watching as her eyes scan my face. The glimmer of the fire reflects in them, only making them harder to look away from. “You’re– I’m enamored by you.”

“But, I’m nothing but a nurserymaid,” she answers, smiling just a little.

I shake my head, letting my hand land on her cheek as I whisper, “No, you’re more than just that. You’re the most desirable being that I’ve ever encountered.”

I hear her inhale as her lips press quickly to mine, light and feathery at first as she lets them linger for only a second, before pulling away. She studies me again, and when she finds that I’m not denying her, she leans in again, this time with a bit more conviction. My hand that was resting on her cheek now cups her jaw as I kiss her back, my entire body burning with a heat that the fire beside me must envy. Her lips are softer than any flower petal I’ve ever held, and her touch is more edacious than any hold I’ve ever felt. I let myself become blind in the moment, realizing that every passing second with her is not promised for long.

I can taste her already. Sweet and just a little bit spicy as I take the initiative, letting my tongue begin to explore a little further. I hear the quietest whimper fall from her lips, and a surge of desire floods me. My muscles begin to become rigid in my body, and I give in to the temptation, removing my hand from her cheek to the back of her head, gently pulling a handful of her hair into a loose fist. Then I let it travel from there to her shoulder, then down her arm, then to balance on her waist. I feel her hips move into me as her lips part further than they have yet, urging me on as I feel her body pressed up against me.

I watch through hooded lids as her hands drift up to unbutton the top half of her gowns, revealing herself completely to me. I pull away for a second, and I feel my eyes bulge as I hiss through my teeth. Her tits sit so perfectly, and she’s displaying herself to me on a silver platter. My body tenses with want again as I feel myself growing harder for her. Her hands move from her buttons to tangle ferociously in my hair, pulling and entwining her fingers as I hungrily dive in for her again. This time the sound that falls from her lips is audible, and I can hardly contain myself as I let a pitiful moan fall, myself.

“Fuck… You’re…” I manage to say as I roll myself to lean up on my elbow, and my knee slots between her legs. Her hand pulls on my arm to bring me in closer, and her hips grind down onto my leg. My hand harshly grips onto her hip as I help her in her motions and pull her down on me, wanting to feel her just as badly as she probably feels me.

For a split second I find clarity, thinking back on the situation with Mr. Drayton that got her here, in the first place. I pray that she doesn’t feel uncomfortable, or for some reason that we must do this in order for her to stay with me. I pull away quickly, my hand still resting on her hip, my thumb dangerously close to her heat beneath her dressings. “Are you sure you want to be here? After everything tonight–”

“I don’t want to step foot into that house ever again,” she cuts me off. We stare at one another and I realize that we’re both out of breath, panting and heavy in the throes of our want for each other. Like she really wants to drive her positivity home, she takes my hand from her waist, pressing it to her barren breast. I pause before I let my hand grip on to her, and the feeling is unlike anything I’ve felt in a long, long while.

I decide to give in to her want for pleasure, and I begin massaging, my hand paying a special bit of attention to her more sensitive places. I grip her nipple between my fingers and kiss her harder, her body falling harshly onto my leg again as she searches for some type of relief. “God, Jacob...” Her motions are driving me wild, and I beg the heavens above to show mercy on me and my impure actions. I’ve never been a religious man, and it seems in this life, neither is she, but when your mind is stuck in the purgatory between manners and a lust heavier than anything you’ve ever felt, you begin to wonder if you need to apologize to someone for it.

Thankfully, my life is now a permanent purgatory, and deciding whether I go to Heaven or Hell isn’t up to me, anymore.

“Touch me, Jacob,” she breathes, and I swear that even if God’s army was fighting against me, I still wouldn’t be able to tell her no.

I pull the blankets even higher around us, and the fire beside us cracks, sending sparks up into the air. Quickly, my hand manages to creep under her garments and between her thighs now thick with the heat we’ve created. My mind swishes with desire as my hand searches, taking my time to caress her, feel her, tease her…

Finally I find where I was looking for and I slip my hand beneath her underwear, quickly sending my middle finger between her folds. God, the sound that comes from her is enough to make me want to come undone, in itself. She’s dripping with wetness, covering my finger like sun warmed honey. I want to taste her, I want to feast on her and have her calling my name over and over, but I know that will have to wait for another time.

Her hands are still gripped tightly in my hair as I watch her expressions turn up into the most beautiful pleasure, spurring me on to work her through every single bit of lustfulness she’s felt for me. I hear her voice bellow out with a shudder of her stomach, and I know I’ve found her sweet spot. “Yes?” I ask her.

She nods quickly, “Yes,” she breathes, biting onto my lips as I continue rubbing circles onto her. “Yes, please, please…” she cries, panting through her words. She’s so deliciously desirable as she lets herself be vulnerable with me, and I fear that my emotions and want for her will never be satiated. Ever. In this lifetime, or any other. And I haven’t even made love with her, yet.

I let my finger slowly enter her, and I begin pumping it inside her, watching as her jaw falls completely slacked. “Jacob…” she cries, my name in two syllables.

“M’right here, my love… right here…” I coax her, feeling no resentment in using that word with her, right now. My finger is buried deep inside her, and I feel her walls squeezing tightly around it. Our bodies are burning together, and I swear that I have never heard anything as sweet as my name on her lips. Her fingernails are digging into my skin as her hips begin to grind on my hand, viscous and ragged and messy as she searches for her peak. “Kiss me, Y/N,” I beg, “I want you to let go, and I want you to kiss me through it…”

Her lips crash onto mine again, this time with a want so furious I contemplate begging God to just let me go to Hell, if this is what I get to experience, there. Her tongue buries itself in my mouth as she licks up all of me that she can, knowing that the taste of me will be her downfall, too. She begins whimpering into my mouth, quietly at first before it builds and builds, echoing off the walls like a song sung by the archangels. I feel her whole body tighten as it hits her, pitiful and writhing as I feel her on my hand. My strands are pulled taut in her hands as she cries through the comedown, her lips still pressed forcefully to mine as she shakes.

Finally her body relaxes and my hair loosens in her grip, and I watch as her eyes peep open and see my face for the first time after experiencing her own version of a miracle. The way her gaze bounces back and forth from each of my eyes, I briefly wonder if she is deciding whether or not she’s made a mistake, but as her hands grip my face and she kisses me again, I know that my suspicion was unwarranted.

I remove my hand from her undergarments and lift her body, twisting her so that her back is to me, now. I cuddle myself into her hair, breathing in her scent and committing this version of her into the very depths of a memory that I won’t get to keep. My first time making her come for me, an experience that I never thought I would get to have in my other life. Neither of us say a word for a very long while as I make myself comfortable against her under the warmth of the covers.

“I was going to run away,” I hear her voice cut through the quiet of the night, startling me from what was near-sleep.

“What?” I ask.

“I was going to run from this place, from Mr. Drayton,” she says. “Start my own life my own way, do things on my own accord. But now, now I think I feel a little differently.” She turns her body to face me as I stay silent and wait for her explanation. “I’ve developed feelings for you, Jacob, feelings that I wasn’t sure I would ever have again. Not since losing Charles in the War…”

“No,” I interrupt her. “You can��t stay here, if you’d already had your mind set. Especially after what he could have done to you tonight… You should go. You should go as soon as you can.” Even though my love for her has grown tenfold in the past hour, there is nothing more I want for her than her own happiness, and if that happiness doesn’t include me, then so be it.

“What about you?” she asks.

I stop and think for a second, realizing that the only thing tying me here, is her. “I’ll go with you.”

“Really?!” she beams. “You’re not joking, Jacob?”

I shake my head, a smirk finding my lips. “I’m not joking, Y/N.”

“How? What will we do?” she asks.

I roll to my back, staring at the wood-slat ceiling above us and letting my mind fly away to a reality only I can create.

“I’ve got a plan.”

—

Seven days have passed. Seven days of repeating the plan to each other over and over in the quiet of the night. I feel certain that she can do this, and I hope I have instilled in her the confidence she needs to carry out this plan. Elijah knows what to do, and I have spent the last week preparing him to take over my role. The nights have been long but I know they will be worth it.

Today she will run. She will take the last steam boat set to depart at half past four, and I will join her when Elijah gives me the word that it is safe for me to join her. My things are packed and ready, and Elijah has given me an advance in my payment to last me for the next few weeks. Called it his parting gift for teaching him my ways.

The day seems to drag on, and I check my pocketwatch far too often. Time seems to be moving in slow motion as I count down the hours until we run. When the clock hits four I feel the nerves start to settle in my stomach, and my mind begins to run through worst case scenarios. I fear Mr. Drayton will see her attempting to leave and trap her.

My burn has begun to pain me daily, the ink in the book becoming more and more legible. I quickly make my way to my quarters and grab my belongings, closing the door behind me for the last time. I return to the stables and find that Elijah seems to be just as nervous as I am, his knee bouncing up and down as he watches the tour guests make their way back to the steam boat.

“It is almost time my brother,” he says in a low voice.

“Have you caught sight of her yet?” I ask, biding my farewell to the horses I have grown rather fond of.

“Not yet, but soon I reckon,” he answers with a tip of his chin.

I reach into my pocket, double checking that I have her ribbon. I am doing this for her, and I cannot leave this time without a reminder of her. A light blue ribbon to add to my book. A place marker to be sure I remember her in every life.

“I want to thank you, Elijah,” I pause, “I couldn’t have done all of this without you.”

“It has been my pleasure, and I wish you a prosperous life in the future, wherever that may be.”

I smile at him, little does he know just how fitting his words are to my situation.

“She’s there,” he says, “She is at the dock. I see her.”

I feel my body begin to tremble at his words. She's done it.

“It’s your time now, friend,” Elijah says, standing and extending his hand to me. I shake it in thanks, the both of us saying everything we need to say, wordlessly.

I grab my bag and tip my hat to him as I slip out the side of the stable house and begin to make my way to the ferry. I keep my head low and try to blend in with the folks around me. They are dressed way finer than I am, and I hope that doesn’t make me stick out to others.

My breathing grows heavy as I make my way down the dock, knowing that I should be able to find Y/N at the very back of the boat, just as we planned. The moment I step onto the boat I feel home free, though I know that is not the case just yet.

I make my way through the small crowd of people, offering thanks as they let me pass, and as I reach the very back I find her, sitting on a small wooden bench with a suitcase in her hands. Her head is down, just like I told her, but I could recognize the gleam of the sun on her hair, anywhere.

“Y/N,” I breathe, taking a seat next to her. “We made it.”

She turns to look at me with eyes full of hope, and slowly a smile spreads across her face. I brush my lips against her cheek as I kiss her, her hand reaching for mine.

“Everything is going to be okay, I made sure that no one followed us. We should depart soon.”

“Thank you, Jacob. Thank you,” she urges, squeezing my hand tightly in hers.

I feel the boat begin to pull away from the dock and the relief rolls off of me in waves. No one is going to stop us. We are finally free.

“The girls,” I breathe, suddenly remembering the reason I was able to speak with her in the first place.

“I wrote them. Each of them. Left the letters under their pillows for them to find. I will miss them terribly but I know I have taught them well.”

“I know you have. They were lucky to have you,” I confirm.

“They were going to be my little sisters, I’m happy I was able to be that for them for as long as we had…” she says, pursing her lips.

About halfway to the city I turn to look at her. The hope she feels is contagious, though she doesn’t know of my plans. I wish I could stay with her. I hardly slept last night as I tossed and turned with anxiety over it. Every day my burn scar hurts worse, andI know that at any moment I will leave this time and find myself in the next. I know this will hurt her deeply, so I say nothing of it. I know she will be safe now, and she didn’t notice as I slipped the small bag of money into her suitcase. I won’t need it, but she will.

Her body has grown more and more relaxed over the last several minutes, and as I turn to look at her, I see she has fallen asleep on the sidewall of the boat. I know it’s time. I know what I must do. I have saved her from Mr. Drayton and a life that she was running from. I loved her the best way I knew how in this life, and now it is time for me to move on to the next and do the same, whatever that may be.

With one final kiss to her cheek, I grab my bag and move away from her, remembering her only by the blue ribbon in my pocket. “Don’t miss me, Y/N… I will see you again soon.” It is the hardest thing to do, walking away from her, but I know I must go.

I find myself in a small corridor on the interior of the boat, lined with doors and the engine room. I slip into one of the rooms, a storage closet of sorts and I know this place will work for what I must accomplish. Shutting the door behind me I take a deep breath, telling myself I will remember this life and this version of my love. I will always remember her.

I pull my book from my bag and retrieve the blue ribbon from my pocket, tucking it into the page that reads ‘Charleston’. I couldn’t bring myself to turn to the next page. I’m not ready to see where I will land, but now, I have no choice. I pull the small mirror from my bag and open it, looking at myself in the reflection for the first time in several weeks. I look gruff and could use a serious shave, but I look happy. I look determined. I swallow deeply as I turn to the next page in the book, the ink dark and clear as day now. My hands tremble as I recall the words Seraphine recited to me, and prepare myself to start all over again, in a different time.

“Echoed glass, reveal the way, through the veil of night or day. Turn the key, unlock the door, let me walk through time once more.”

The feeling of euphoria takes over me as the words do what they were intended to do. A curse bestowed upon me, to chase my love forever through space and time. I think of my love and how I will find her in the next place. I feel the small space begin to swirl around me, my vision beginning to fade in and out as I start my jump to another world. Forcing my eyes to focus, I finally read the words on the page in front of me, and pray that Y/N will love me in this new time and place, just as she has in the past.

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classicsofclassicsofgame · 8 months ago

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youtube

Game: Project Night (PC)

Seeing a Unity game in a CoG video is like being suddenly woken up from a long dream. Lost in a seemingly endless maze of PS1 era shovelware and bizarre passion projects, we breach the surface, gasping for air, only to find ourselves surrounded by mountains, spires of asset-flip games. Far too many to ever be counted. Cathedrals are everywhere for those with the eyes to see them and all that.

#110 #entry

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manicali · 8 months ago

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Synopses for my stories!

The Marionette Chronicles

A young woman named Ash stumbles upon a magical world of dreams she like many before her stumbles upon this fantasy world, meeting a number of bizarre people along the way, Including but limited to, A mysterious grinning creature at a play pretend tea party inside a broken home made of cardboard(Smiley), a lovely lady who knows everyone and her pet snake Noodles(Camilla), and an antisocial eccentric toymaker with a habit of giving his creations life only to take it away. (Clover). On the particular day she stumbles upon this world, Day, an impulsive deity, decides to let her keep her memory. of this place. Once Ash falls out of this place, she desperately tries anything and everything to claw l way back in. Little does she or Day know that her moving between worlds is shaking the thin veil tha separates the codependent worlds or dreams and reality. Now the two worlds are entangled in a web madness that Night herself cannot untangle.

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Last Reign of The Sol King (LRSK)

With the north islands ruled by a corrupt dynasty, a long bloodline marred by illness and insanity, the council government is based among the elite academics at the renowned Institutes of Knowledge and Arts, in the country’s capital, a city known for its rich history. Despite it’s reputation and the urban legends surrounding the prestigious school, many scholars dream of attending. And three of those students are the main focus of this story.

Meet Rowan, David and Emilee. Rowan wad raised at the Institute never a glimpse of the outside world. David is from a small island in the southwest, gifted with a genius mind and cursed as a pariah. And finally, Emilee is a practical apothecary mage from the far side of the mainland, past the mountains, who has never once been alone from her family. These three scholars of the supernatural are roped into political dispute, high society and dark secrets!

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Envy’s Angel

Envy is a young man obsessed with demons, and so he tries to summon one, a pacifist scholarly demon to converse with and further his studies. Buuut he gets the runes wrong, he doesn’t summon a fallen Angel, he summons an Angel of sins, Haziael, who, annoyed that Envy isn’t impressed by them, starts to follow him. Chaos and romance ensues.

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Free Therapy

Six students wake up with no recollection of where they are, looking like they definitely shouldn’t. Physical appearances warped and minds foggy they must find a way to escape the spire, a seemingly endless tower of nightmares, all while discovering new and horrifying abilities!!! Horror stories look back from the mirror and ghosts haunt them in this dysfunctional comic! What lies beneath them, outside their prison? Only time will tell! Tune in for more!

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Project Level 001

With the outbreak of powered humans, superhuman beings, the world is in global chaos, even after decades of advancements. They’re mostly normal people who live average lives. But the high risk powerful beings are contained by the world government and continuously fought over by federal governments who want to control the superpower that is the beings. Living in containment away from their families for their whole lives, the captives are a well trained machine, a singular force of destruction under control.

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Ordinary Anya

An ordinary and repetitive existence is that of Anya Tyler Tohmas. Day in and day out, just how she likes it, without a touch of fun or whimsy. Hired at an unassuming office job, occupied with pointless emails, she is finally at her happy place. What could possibly go wrong?

Strange happenings begin to plague her ordinary life. Whether it be her bizzare coworkers who barely seem human, or the way riddles spew from the mouths of ordinary people. What could possibly be happening? And surely, it can’t involve her?

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Tavern of broken Dreams (tobd)

The Traveller used to be part of an adventuring party, slaying dragons and raiding treasure, as many young people do. Until their mission went sour, and their companions were lost. They landed in a town with a tavern known to be the resting spot of many adventures, and they spend their time trying to forget. They say broken souls find each other, and that may be true, as every soul they meet is a shattered chapel window. Will they drown in sorrow together, or become each other’s life boats.

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Black Blood

An animated musical about a man who dies under tragic circumstances and goes on a mission to achieve godhood, and become the saviour he never had!

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Because it is a Fangan, liars gambit doesn’t have a synopsis

Warnings for each story are here!

Character list

#manicali’s lrsk #manicali’s envy’s angel #manicali’s free therapy #manicali’s project level 001 #manicali’s marionette chronicles

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grandcrossoverworldbuilding · 2 months ago

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Multiverse

Written by InfamousEmpire

Across the reaches of creation, there are a near infinite number of worlds both within and beyond the universe which form an infinite tapestry beyond comprehension. This is what is often called the Multiverse, and the worlds among it are many and varied.

The smallest and most simple of these worlds are known as Realms. Realms are realities adjacent to their primary universe, often even overlapping with or corresponding to certain locations within the universe. Realms are smaller than universes, most being the size of a planet, though some can be as large as galaxies. The endless litany of Realms that surround the universe is often called the Megaverse by travelers.

The origins of Realms are many and varied, some are natural byproducts of universal functions, while others were artificially created by the efforts of deities or other such powerful entities. The physical laws of Realms are equally variable, some operate by the standard laws of physics, while others, colloquially known as Hyperspace Realms, are wildly different, often to the point of incomprehensibility.

The stability of the Megaverse is sustained by the Nexus of All Realities, the central trunk of the grand metaphorical tree that is reality and has a near-infinite series of forms & manifestations in different corners of reality. Its many forms include Sigil, the city of doors connected to all realities, the Wanderer’s Library, an eldritch & near-infinite storehouse of all knowledge, and the Dark Tower, a massive spire at the heart of the distant realm of Mid-World. Regardless of how it manifests, damaging or even destroying the Nexus would have significant consequences for the entire Megaverse.

Travel to and between Realms is accomplished through a variety of methods. The most common form of travel is through the use of special Trees which grow across the Megaverse, most often in the void between dimensions. These trees possess the ability to open rifts between worlds, but since direct contact with them is dangerous and often comes with disastrous side effects, most dimensional travelers reduce them to a more manageable state, such as storing them within engines or using their bark to make Dimensional Scissors.

Another reliable form of travel is through a series of localized wormholes known as Cross Gates, which form a network that connects various realms to each other. The Gates were originally created untold millennia ago by a malevolent species known as the Einst in an attempt to return to the main Universe through the creation of various wormholes. This project ultimately proved fruitless, as the only worlds he could access were alternate Realms, but it did have the unintended consequence of giving these worlds easy access to each other. The ultimate result of this was the Endless Frontier, a network of 777,777,776 Realms locked in a state of endless war between the thirsting Gods known as Demiurges.

Most elusive of all, though, is the power of Planeswalking, the ability to travel between Realms at will. Planeswalkers are born with the Spark of that power within their very souls, but most awaken it at a later time. Most Planeswalkers are treated with either fear or reverence by those who travel the worlds, but the nature of their power also makes them a target for those who would use it for their own purposes.

As a form of self-defense against potentially destabilizing factors from the beyond, each individual realm has an individual, or individuals, chosen from among the realm’s populace by its cosmic functions to defend it against extradimensional incursions when the need arises.

On some occasions, Realms overlap with each other or the main Universe in some way, allowing for easy physical travel between the two without trouble. Such overlap is exceedingly rare but not unheard of, with the most notable example being the Sol System, from which a great number of worlds can be accessed through a dimensional rift which permeates the Kuiper Belt. On even rarer occasions, such overlap goes even further to the point of the realms outright merging, with the most common way for this to happen being through the Mortal Kombat tournament, a formalized martial arts tournament overseen by the Elder Gods in which realms might settle disputes without disrupting the cosmic balance, with the realm that issued the challenge getting to absorb the opposing realm if they defeat their Champions.

While the reaches of the Megaverse are vast and almost unfathomable, they are but one facet of what is often called the Multiverse, an even larger sea of alternate versions of the Universe and its adjacent realms. There are two observed types of worlds in the Multiverse: Alternate Timelines and Alternate Universes.

An Alternate Timeline is formed as a natural consequence of quantum mechanics, as when significant events occur, the various equally valid outcomes of such events branch off into their own worlds, each containing slight differences which reverberate and grow more apparent over time. Multiversal groups often categorize Timelines as being extensions of the Universe they branched off from.

Alternate Universes, on the other hand, are simply different because of their very nature rather than any specific point of divergence. Often speculated to be because of a divergence at the Big Bang itself, Alternate Universes vary wildly in their nature, some possessing a similar makeup to each other, even down to the same planets and histories, while others are wildly divergent even to the point of having different laws of physics, and others straddle the line, possessing disturbing similarities despite wild divergences. This is often called the Law of Dimensional Inertia, in which some Universes (often classified as being “closer” to each other) may be unnaturally similar despite there being no logical reason for these similarities to exist. Universes are categorized numerically, starting from 1.

Travel across the Multiverse (called Parachronics by scientists) is significantly harder than travel between realms. Between timelines, travel can be accomplished by traversing the waters of the timestream itself, most commonly performed with the use of Wormholes and devices made to survive the temporal tides, often known as Time Ships.

Traveling to Alternate Universes, meanwhile, is nearly impossible outside the use of Special Trees, which allow for travel across the Multiverse as well as the Megaverse. Study of the trees within the field of Parachronics has similar results to inter-realm travel, allowing for the creation of Parachronic Engines and Quantum Conveyors. Though since much fewer Special Trees link to Alternate Timelines and Universes, these devices are much rarer than their Megaversal Counterparts.

Due to these limitations, few people or organizations possess the means to lay claim to or conquer a significant amount of the Multiverse or timestream, though it is not unheard of. The most prominent case of this is the Time Variance Authority, an atemporal organization which manages the timelines surrounding Universe 1 by erasing every one of them except for the “Sacred Timeline” which they have dictated to be “perfect”, and thus the only timeline within Universe 1 which deserves to exist.

Separating both realms & universes from each other is a non-space which is known to most as the Void, though some refer to it by other names, such as the Phantom Zone, the Astral Sea, and the Washington Wonderland. The Void lacks even basic principles such as time & space, with the closest things to landmarks in the expanse being Special Trees and the drifting corpses of dead gods. The non-space is sometimes used as a prison by beings of the Multiverse, a fate generally considered worse than death, with the lucky prisoners merely frozen in time, while others are warped or eroded away by extended contact with the Void.

Beyond even the known Multiverse is the realm simply known as The Abyss, a massive tear in the fabric of existence itself made up of worlds, people, & ideas so fundamentally twisted that the Multiverse rejected their existence. The residents of this fragmented orrery, The Prim, crave nothing more than to make themselves part of the true Multiverse, uncaring of the untold horror and destruction they bring along with them.

Of the many threats which emerge from the Abyss, among the most consistent and dangerous ones across all realities is Jagganoth the Scarlet King. In almost every universe and timeline, Jagganoth is born into the Megaverse but eventually fled to the Abyss as the first stage in a grand war waged against creation itself. Every version of the Scarlet King is an immense threat to existence, and his eternal campaign to annihilate reality is one of the greatest conflicts existence has ever known.

#grand crossover worldbuilding #fanfic #dc comics #marvel comics #the dark tower #GURPS infinite Worlds #super robot wars #kill six billion demons #mortal kombat #eldritch skies #star vs the forces of evil #the monument mythos #mage the awakening #scp foundation #magic the gathering #dungeons and dragons

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musical-chan · 1 year ago

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Father of Time Chapter 34: Canticum Noctis

A field of battle.

Link stood alone, the Biggoron sword held tight in sweaty hands.

Soldiers shouted for aid but he did not know where they were.

Ruined buildings swarmed with red-hued monsters. Their numbers were endless. Sudden skirmishes broke out and he could see soldiers in unfamiliar armor run out from behind him. He spun to see spires shining in the sun. Something was wrong with the castle.

A flash of green.

A woman laughed, cold and calculating.

A dark man on a dark horse appeared and charged at him.

"Link! Watch out!"

Gasping, Link shot straight up in bed. It was dark in his room and he mentally groped around for his sense of time. Too early to get up, still a few hours until sunrise. He sighed and swung his feet around to sit on the edge of the bed, the vision still swimming through his mind. Reflexively, he hummed the Song of Healing under his breath, trying to relax. It always felt better when his dad did it but Link really didn't want to bother him right now. The dream had been another premonition, he was sure of it, but he didn't know how to explain it. It wasn't at all the same as his last one. That had been Phantom Ganon there at the end. Nothing made sense about what was going on but it had all felt very urgent, like it was something that was going to happen soon.

(Read the rest on AO3!)

#Legend of Zelda AU #post-OOT AU #post-MM AU #Legend of Zelda fanfic #Fierce Deity #Fierce Dadity #loz fanfic #Fierce Deity is a good dad #loz au fic #post MM Link #Legend of Zelda #Father of Time fic #Link is still considering names #Lots more domestic fluff!#Oceanis continues to be the fun uncle #Two years have gone by in the timeline on this fic #The first year took 8 chapters. The second year took 26. Um yeah so...

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most-datable-datable-bracket · 2 years ago

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Hey, sorry if I’ve just missed it but is there a list somewhere of all the games that have characters in this bracket?

There is now! I've done it for the first bracket but not for this one, so here it is:

Fire Emblem: Three Houses (x12)

Baldur’s Gate 3 (x9)

Mystic Messenger (x8)

Arcade Spirits (x7)

Obey Me (x7)

Stardew Valley (x6)

Dragon Age: Inquisition (x5)

Monster Prom (x5)

Persona 5 (x5)

Coral Island (x5)

I Was a Teenage Exocolonist (x4)

Persona 3 (x4)

Boyfriend Dungeon (x4)

Romancelvania (x4)

Fire Emblem Fates (x4)

Blooming Panic (x4)

The Arcana (x4)

Potion Permit (x4)

Uta no Prince-sama (x3)

Arcade Spirits: The New Challengers (x3)

Mass Effect (x3)

Hooked On You: Dead by Daylight (x3)

Fallout 4 (x3)

Infinite Blue (x3)

Trouble Comes Twice (x3)

Fire Emblem Engage (x3)

TOUCHSTARVED (x3)

Tri City Monsters (x3)

Fire Emblem: Awakening (x2)

Code: Realize (x2)

Court of Darkness (x2)

XOXO Droplets (x2)

My Time at Sandrock (x2)

Cyberpunk 2077 (x2)

Our Life: Beginning and Always (x2)

My Time at Portia (x2)

Dragon Age 2 (x2)

Tears of Themis (x2)

Doki Doki Literature Club (x2)

Mass Effect: Andromeda (x2)

BUSTAFELLOWS (x2)

Titan Arum (x2)

Harvest Moon: A New Beginning (x2)

My Candy Love (x2)

The Witcher 3 (x2)

The Divine Speaker (x2)

Divinity: Original Sin 2 (x2)

Baldur's Gate 1&2 (x2)

Later Daters (x1)

Fallout: New Vegas (x1)

Monster Camp (x1)

Rune Factory 3 (x1)

Our Life: Now and Forever (x1)

It Lives in The Woods (x1)

Scarlet Hollow (x1)

Stray Gods (x1)

The Fernweh Saga (x1)

Story of Seasons: A Wonderful Life (x1)

It Lives Beneath (x1)

The Soul Stone War series (x1)

Seduce Me The Otome (x1)

Fields of Asphodel (x1)

Blood Moon (x1)

The Royal Romance (x1)

The Golden Rose (x1)

Re: Alistair++ (x1)

Persona 2 (x1)

Long Live The Queen (x1)

Dragon Age: Origins (x1)

Magical Diary: Horse Hall (x1)

My Horse Prince (x1)

Gilded Shadows (x1)

Obscura (x1)

Café Enchanté (x1)

Inuyasha: The Secret of the Cursed Mask (x1)

DRAMAtical Murder (x1)

A Villain's Twisted Heart (x1)

The Sims (x1)

GreedFall (x1)

Cryptid Crush (x1)

Postknight 2 (x1)

Sun Haven (x1)

Loren the Amazon Princess (x1)

Hustle Cat (x1)

A Date With Death (x1)

The Ssum (x1)

1931: Scheherazade at the Library of Pergamum (x1)

Dandelion -Wishes Brought To You- (x1)

Persona 4 (x1)

Intertwine (x1)

How Not To Become a Queen (x1)

Thorn for the Villain (x1)

Villainess Idolized By Everyone (x1)

Assignment Due: Project Blue (x1)

Silhouette (x1)

Story of Seasons: Trio of Towns (x1)

Mr Love (x1)

Heart no Kuni no Alice (x1)

Harvest Moon: More Friends of Mineral Town (x1)

Harvest Moon DS Cute (x1)

Story of Seasons: Pioneers of Olive Town (x1)

Number Days Sim Date (x1)

Cupid Parasite (x1)

Amnesia (x1)

Lover Pretend (x1)

Untold Atlas (x1)

Witches x Warlocks (x1)

OZMAFIA!! (x1)

Pokemon Black and White 2 (x1)

Blades of Light and Shadow (x1)

Life is Strange: Before The Storm (x1)

Life is Strange (x1)

Cinderella Phenomenon (x1)

Endless Summer (x1)

The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim (x1)

Planescape: Torment (x1)

Changeling (x1)

The Good People (Na Daoine Maithe) (x1)

Heaven's Secret (x1)

Andromeda Six (x1)

Dracula: A Love Story (x1)

Path of the Valkyrie (x1)

Arcanum (x1)

Nameless ~The One Thing You Must Recall~ (x1)

Dialtown (x1)

Infamous (x1)

Crimson Spires (x1)

Birushana (x1)

The Wedding (x1)

When Life Gives You Lemons (x1)

Pillars of Eternity series (x1)

//TODO: today (x1)

Heart Fragment (x1)

#Damn it took me way longer than I thought #Y'all are crazy about Fire Emblem #not a poll #MDDC 2

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thetalesofno-one · 1 year ago

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Curse of Strahd, Act I: Pt. 1, Ch. III -43 Tallies-

D&D Campaign Retelling Part 1/6 Chapter 3/5 ~5.3k words Content Warnings: Curse of Strahd typical content, Read at own risk

Summary Forced together by the mists and lost in a strange new land, our four strangers run into a grim omen along their path and a fork in their road. The Ghost, the Rebel, the Charmer, and the Holy Man finally reveal their names where the deadmen carve their messages on the bones of trees. Read Previous Chapters also available on AO3

Time seems timeless in this place.

No light wanders behind shaded skies, no sun, no stars. All the heavens diffused entirely behind grey skies hung so low the tops of the barren trees stretch their fingers to touch the clouds. A heavy shroud without breath, suffocating the land. Grasses greyed and withered, thin as straw, dry as hay. Their stalks rustle lightly in the rain with an endless shifting that carries the mind to places beyond. Luring thoughts away from the land like a dream.

Left in the rustling silence, Emet’s mind wanders.

The dim dissonance with the world bringing back memories of a darkened shop thick with the scent of paper and leather. Of a worktable scattered with various tools and thread, half sewn signatures left in a neat stack beside a half drunk and forgotten glass of wine as he remeasures a board and pares the edges of supple smooth leather, the scrapings curling across his fingers. Of candlelight flickering long through the sunken day, windows ever cast in the shadows of spires. Of night slipping over the city like a thief, light fingers pocketing the sun in velvet black without so much as a blink of notice from the little shop. The candles burning ever bright, the day’s end only realized when the flame flickers thin and the darkness steals the workman’s light.

Fingers pricked with needle thin scars and paper thin cuts lighting another candle. Hair loosely tied back, a few strands always slipping free as he smooths the marked tape along a new edge and carefully notes the measurements with a tailor’s precision. Of a guillotine blade sliding through a stack of vellum and trimming its edges to a fine point, a perfect block to be folded. Of the smooth texture of bone between his fingers, the gentle scrape as he runs the folder across the edge of a bent sheet, turning a bowed page into a sharp crease. Glue sticks to his wrist from a missed spot on the wooden table, the book shaping in his mind before its pieces are folded and glued and sewn together.

And all the while, the quiet loneliness whispering at his back with a phantom silence. Not of presence, but absence. Empty. The weight of a space where someone should be, infinitely loud in its stillness. Its siren voice chased away by the endless work. Its words unheard and yet unignored. Every movement his, every breath slipped through his teeth with no other lips to catch it. Scarred hands reaching for tools no other fingers brush across. And all the while knowing when he finally stops, the kitchen will be empty, the home devoid of spiced currents in the air, the bed cold. The bitterness left in tasting the flavors of an old life when you know now the sweetness of another.

“There is a scent of death.”

Emet’s attention snaps from lullaby memories. The holy man stopped along the muddy road, bent nose turned up and sniffing the air.

“Maybe undeath.”

The blades are in Emet’s hands before the old human even finishes his sentence. The broken glaive hanging dangerously from his hand, vicious tip polished to perfection and flashing brilliantly in the dim light. A stark contrast against the dark bloodstained cloth wrapped around its shattered haft.

The charmer knocks an arrow into his charred longbow with the fluidity of someone who has fired it under dire circumstances. A faint scent of smoke whispers past as his fingers tug the string lightly, ready for trouble.

“I don’t like this,” the rebel whispers, slipping her arm through a shield—a small round thing of black and gold painted metal. A coil of whip hangs from her belt but she reaches for metal instead. The short blade slips free of its sheath with a faint hushed breath.

The all too familiar stench of death doesn’t yet reach Emet’s nose, but he has no reason to doubt the holy man in this. Eyes flickering through the mist, resentment wraps itself around Emet’s chest and burns through his scars. But there is no place for spitting out what has been earned because of the hand that offers it. Not when it comes to undeath. Emet calls on his forsaken power. Soul reaching out beyond himself with clawed grasping hands ready to take what might be denied, he stretches out his inner self toward a god he isn’t sure will answer. Toward a god who heard his screams and turned away.

Power floods through Emet’s irises in a dim display. Pale grey light ignites his faded eyes in a hollow glow burning with ghost fire, and though they do not shine with the brilliant white of beacons as they once did, the divine sense is not gone entirely. Not yet.

The rebel glances up at him with an unreadable expression, but he ignores her and scans the mists around them. If anything undead or fiendish in nature lurks nearby, the divine power flowing through him will draw his attentions like someone taking his chin and gently pointing him toward unseen dangers. But no phantom fingers grace his scarred jaw or pull at his divinely heightened senses. Whatever smells of death here must then truly be dead.

Giving a nod to continue on, the holy man presses forward with the slow and quiet feet of a hunter stalking its prey. The faded light falls from Emet’s eyes after a moment and he feels the divine slip away from him with a cold chill. The rebel still stares at him with narrowed eyes and uplifted brow, but her lips remain sealed. Whatever question lurks in her mind, he suspects she no longer needs to ask it. A curiosity that seems less about the ability and more about the person wielding it.

Though he no longer wears his holy symbol or any sign of faith emblazoned on his person, no trace of a past better left buried, it is not uncommon knowledge to those of faith that only paladins—knights of gods—are blessed with such an ability. And Emet realizes he’s let something of himself slip in front of knowing eyes.

The rebel’s lips part—

The scent finally reaches them.

Sickly sweet and turning the stomach with a heavy wave of bile. Both enticing and revolting in that way only death can be. Corpse rot. There’s no doubt. Not but fifteen feet down the road, a human body decomposes half off the path with arms outreached toward the road as though it breathed its last in a desperate crawl. A young man once, clothes torn by brambles and thorns with flesh pockmarked by the beaks of birds feasting on an easy meal. A tarnished copper compass spills out from that outstretched hand, its red needle trembling and twisting uncertainly as though unable to find North.

The holy man kneels beside the body and looks it over without touching the overly soft and rain sodden flesh. The boy’s skin shifts across his bones with gelatinous ripples as the old man accidentally shifts the mud in taking a knee. A slimy sheen has already settled over the pale flesh like melted fat. Long strips and sharp pecks break through the wet surface to expose the black and purple insides, dark as a bruise, the blood long clotted and rotting. White bone peaks out from cheeks a fingertips, the nose half consumed. The birds have eaten well.

The holy man narrates his findings softly. Scratches from branches and brush, gaunt flesh, sunken eyes—what remains of them, at least—but no visible mortal wounds. The young man died from exhaustion of all things. The holy man’s eyes take on a dark and certain stain when he says the word.

Exhaustion.

How the holy man knows, Emet isn’t sure. But he never was the best at healing during training. Healing required not just blind faith like those outside of holy orders assume when they beg healers to fix their every ailing, but also knowledge of medicine. A bone cannot be knit together without knowing how its structure is woven together. A crushed hand cannot be reconstructed if one does not understand the pattern of nerves and vessels, tendon and ligament. Or rather, it will heal with faith alone, but it will never be the same again without knowledge behind it.

Emet has always been better at the unmaking…perhaps that’s why they were put together during training.

Him and Azemir.

Wrapped eternally like wax around the cold stillness of Emet’s heart, his name brings warmth to the hollows of Emet’s soul where nothing grows. Ever a flame without shadow, a sun without night. Healing and warmth have always been more of Azem’s specialty and Emet wonders how long it will be before he can touch those healing hands and feel their warmth. How far he must go to set things right again. When they will talk without so much distance between them. Or if whatever has happened in these mists will delay his journey. He will walk a hundred lifetimes seeking a way back if that’s what it takes. He will carry the weight of that name forever.

Sickening chills drift and trail cold fingers across Emet’s body snuffing out the thin flame of Azem’s name within his soul—always touching, always grasping. He shudders and crawls within his own skin wanting to shrink away, wanting to claw them off. They touch and grasp and choke and scream—

The calming coolness of one washes away all the others for but a moment. And Emet can breathe. Just one breath. Before they drift back like the sea and cling to him as algae on an anchor. But it’s enough. Why they grow restless, he doesn’t always know. Perhaps a reminder of the promise he made them so it doesn’t settle unfulfilled.

Emet’s eyes follow the old man’s ministrations with that name balanced delicately on the tip of his tongue. The way the old man’s rough and calloused hands move light as feathers over the boy’s corpse as though the kid can feel anything anymore. Pain is beyond him now, but still the old man moves gently. Emet isn’t sure what he is searching for. Perhaps some other answer than the one he already knows and something in the holy man’s expression settles like wet sand over a stone when he finds no other. The warm candle flame in his eyes dimming beneath a cold and familiar wind.

The old man rests a hand over the boy’s rotting one in a strange gesture of comfort. Bowing his smooth shaved head, he whispers blessings beneath his breath. Emet isn’t sure why the old man bothers. There’s nothing left to save.

Nudging the broken compass after his prayers and looking to where the boy’s hand falls, the holy man quirks his mouth sadly. Perhaps seeing another blessing where there is none.

“The boy was going this way,” he points to the opposite side of the wagon trail toward a tree bearing faint tally marks—43 of them. An arrow carved into its bark points away from the muddy road toward a thin path cutting deeper into the woods. A jagged knife cut through the trees, all but unnoticed if it weren’t for the arrow to point the way.

“You want to follow the dead’s path,” Emet asks incredulously.

“Why not?” The charmer steps over the rotting corpse’s outstretched arm to get a better look at the path behind the body rather than ahead, “He’s probably a criminal trying to leave, so I’d say follow where he came from and we’ll find civilization.”

“Why would you say he’s a criminal?”

“Why else would he be out here?”

“Why are we out here,” the rebel counters.

The holy man looks up from body, “And we are not criminals.”

The rebel gives the holy man a nod, “What the old man said.”

“I am not that old.”

Emet looks over the kneeling holy man. Crows feet spiderweb out from his eyes into well worn paths, tracing old channels. Deep lines folding into the leather of his human face, ripples and cracks where great emotion has marked it forever in memory. The echos of pain and joy held forever in weathered lines. Calloused rough hands scarred with the burden of much hardship dust off his knees as the holy man stands from the corpse. But no light cracks and pops fill the air as his bones settle. And he springs back from his crouch with ease, not even bothering to lean on his shepherd’s staff. The skin past his toughened hands bears much scarring and yet a youthful smoothness.

If he is not old, then he lived a life full of immeasurable hardship.

The holy man quirks his head to the side and returns Emet’s stare, “Why are you looking at me like you are reading stones in the sand?”

“Human ages are a bit difficult for elves to determine,” Emet admits.

“I am thirty-two.”

The charmer and rebel both snort.

“Nah, mate,” the rebel crosses her arms and grins, “You’re at least sixty.”

“I am not lying.”

She smiles, “Whatever, old man.”

The holy man scrubs his scrawled salt and pepper beard, gesturing off to Emet, “I am not old, he is old. Elves are always old.”

Emet concedes that with a shrug. He’s already lived more years than most of those with him could hope to ever reach and lifetimes before that.

“Yet he looks closer to thirty-two than you, old man,” the rebel continues, picking her nails with a sly grin.

“That is because he is an elf.”

“And I’m not?”

The holy man sighs.

“Ah, I’m just fucking with you, grandpa” she chuckles, “I know I’m half human.”

“You are half—what are you doing?”

The charmer barely pauses his light-fingered search of the dead boy’s pockets, finding more interest in stealing from the dead than their idle chatter. The holy man is about to admonish him further when the tiefling carelessly flips the body onto its stomach and continues his search through pockets.

The holy hand throws up a hand, all conversation on age and good looks forgotten.

“Eh! Eh! Devil boy! Respect the dead! I already took his compass if that is what you are looking for.”

The charmer ignores him, his hands continuing to wander across the ragged clothes and slipping into the pockets and folds as though it is a dance they have performed many times before. His fingers wander with a speed born of practice, seeking whatever the dead may hide. But his search is fruitless, the tiefling finding little more than a small pocket knife like used to carve the tree with its 43 tallies. He turns the small blade this way and that in his red hands, dark nails tracing the edge before pricking his thumb atop the tip. No blood flows along the blunted edge.

With one quick toss, the useless blade flies over his shoulder, “I’m a bit too far gone for respecting the dead at this point.”

The holy man frowns deeply, those ancient lines creasing in old paths. He turns away from the grim display and takes out his feather once more. Whispering more quiet words meant only for the far reaching ears of gods, the old man holds the brilliant feather out before him like a candle in the dark. After a breath, he releases the stem and watches it flutter listlessly to the wet ground. The stem settles first in the mud, its tip angling lightly toward the deadman’s path.

“I think we should go this way.”

Emet’s lips curl into a faint snarl, “How much faith do you have in that feather?”

“A lot of faith.”

“Do you honestly trust that more than the actual, factual compass you have in your other hand?” The rebel asks with no small amount of skepticism, the moment of warmth shared between them only a moment ago blowing away with the breeze.

“It has never lead me wrong, nor has my god. Besides,” the holy man tosses the tarnished bronze compass to the rebel, “this does nothing. It is broken.”

“I can’t fucking map-read,” she growls as she snatches it from the air with a loud clang as the compass hits the edge of her shield. The rebel palms the bronze and glass bauble in her hands, watching it a moment and expecting the needle to settle. But the sharp red spine continues to wobble and spin as though unsure.

Her eyes narrow, “I don’t think it’s meant to do that.”

“I have never had a compass,” the holy man shrugs, “but I did not think so.”

“Hey, poncy bloke,” the rebel looks up at Emet, “You look like you know how to use this kind of shit.”

Emet arcs a sharp brow at the nickname. In the absence of anyone having offered up their names, it was inevitable they’d all call each other something. But poncy bloke? Not exactly his first guess. Most people went with ‘giant’ or ‘tower’. He’s even heard ‘statue’.

The rebel’s arm swings out with the compass and all the world slows. Emet’s breath catches and his eyes lock on that approaching hand like a blade plummeting toward his gut. For a moment he can’t see, his vision crystalizing on that hand and blurring all the world around it as he instinctively steps away before he’s even realized what he’s done. His body moving without thought, shifting back as though about to be skewered in a fight before the moment ends and only an open palm offering a compass hangs before him.

A strange look crosses the half-elf’s face.

Emet thought he was starting to get better about this. Hand-shakes, fingers brushing when taking a drink from a server’s hands, shoulders getting bumped in a crowded tavern. All of these things he could handle with a steadying breath. But all of those things are expected touches. Expected moments that he can predict and prepare for, ready his nerves to stand firm. But the more unexpected the approach, the more he steps back into the shelter of himself like a fox cornered between stones with nowhere to run from the wolf’s shadow. And his body reacts with all it knows in that moment. Fear.

Emet shifts his blade arm deeper beneath the dark cloak draped over his shoulder, drawing attention away from the hand wrapped tightly around the glaive’s broken haft with a light cough as he forces his clenched fingers to release. He breathes, thankful he did not draw steel this time.

Acting as though nothing happened, Emet stiffly leans over when the rebel gives the compass a little shake, beckoning him to take a look. Her face immediately screws up, recoiling as though he’s some shit-faced drunk at the bar thick with the scent of whiskey and lust and offering her the best lay of her life. Emet doesn’t understand the shift in her expression a moment before he realizes he’s a very large man looming over this young woman despite the distance his previous reaction put between them. The half-elf’s discomfort is readily apparent and Emet quickly puts some space between them after a brief glance down at the compass.

“No, it’s not supposed to do that,” he says gently.

The compass disappears in one of the rebel’s belt pouches as she shuffles away from him, risking a look over to the holy man as though asking him to interpret what the hell just happened. The old man only shrugs lightly.

Everything is going wrong, that’s what happened.

He almost apologizes, but the words catch in his throat. What if doing so makes them ask why he practically jumped away from her. Those aren’t questions he’s ready to answer, so better to not give an opportunity for them to be asked.

“So we have a feather, a broken compass, and I’m hoping you’re a tracker,” Emet says to the charmer, trying to plough through and trample into dust whatever walls this disaster of a conversation brought up before anyone thinks too hard on it.

The tiefling regards him a moment before flicking away a piece of dried grass twirling between his long fingers, “I rely on instinct and I’m with the old man on this one. His dumb feather pointed to where I wanted to go anyways.”

“Thank you, young boy,” the holy man nods.

“Watch it.”

“You keep calling me ‘old man’, why can’t I call you ‘young boy’. It is better than ‘devil boy’, no?”

“You’re fair game,” the tiefling bites back, “I’m not.”

Emet pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing, “Would it not be better to call each other by our actual names instead of these substitutes.” He cuts a glance at the rebel to his side, “Creative as they are.”

The charmer scoffs, “Let’s not get sentimental.”

“First names, then.”

The holy man’s eyes widen incredulously, face scrunching as though Emet just suggested the moon is an illusion, “I only have one name. Are you supposed to have more?”

“Typically…Your name and a family name.”

The rebel murmurs something under her breath about having too many.

“That is a…weird revelation, but okay.” The holy man lifts his hand in greeting, “My name is Roshan, but you can call me ‘old man’ if you like.”

“Emet. We’ll leave it at that for now.”

Both the charmer and rebel suddenly find great interest in some moss on a tree and a particularly long strand of dried grass as Emet and Roshan’s attentions fall on them in expectant silence.

“I can just call you ‘devil boy’ and ‘lovely elf lady’ if you want,” Roshan offers.

The charmer rolls his eyes and flicks away the chunk of moss, “Evrrot. You can call me Evrrot.”

Kicking a loose stone on the ground, the rebel keeps her voice low. Perhaps hoping no one will actually hear her, “Most people call me Evie.”

Roshan nods after each one, fingers twirling in his beard as though he can tie each name to his memory, “Emet, Evrrot, Evie. Everyone is an ‘E’. That is strange, but okay.”

“So we’re done here?” Evrrot asks, “Everyone all happy with their little names?”

He walks off down the deadman’s path without waiting for an answer, abruptly ending the conversation that was more akin to pulling teeth than basic introductions. Roshan quickly follows with a grin, resuming his practice of trying to walk ahead of Evrrot, further irritating the charmer tiefling into a faster pace.

Emet and Evie watch them hastily disappear between the trees, left behind again. Realization slowly dawns on them as they share another look that this will likely be their shared fate quite often in the days ahead.

“You know,” Evie says, “I get the feeling that wherever we go, we’re gonna end up in the same place anyways.”

“As do I,” Emet sighs.

“We could just keep following this muddy slop road and they’d probably end up right behind us.” She shrugs, “We could just go.”

“Tempting, though I get the feeling we shouldn’t be separating in a place like this.” He glances around the dark and silent forest pointedly, the mists shifting into strange shapes and shadows in the distance.

“Mmm, probably right,” she groans. “Come on then.”

Evie ushers Emet ahead of her and they follow the already fading silhouettes of Evrrot and Roshan. Both still vie for who gets to lead without there ever being a winner. Though from the near permanent curl to the old human’s lips, Emet suspects Roshan takes the game itself as a win.

The arrow carved into the tree above forty-three sharp tallies—every slash bearing down harder than the last, the groupings becoming more sporadic and wild, telling a tale of madness and desperation—points them down a narrow footpath. The trail is thin, quickly forcing them into a line as the trees and brush crowd in eagerly to either side. Branches reaching out to snag on their clothes and boots sinking in the thick slosh of earth. Roshan and Evrrot are forced to relinquish their game of footsie. ‘Devil boy’ comes out on top as he slips ahead of the holy man through a rather narrow bend where two barren trees crowd as desperately close as lovers in a storm. Despite the loss, Roshan casts a secret little amused grin toward him and Evie. A promise their game is far from over.

Though the scent of decay and rot gradually gave way to bitterly sharp winter air as they walked beyond the corpse along the road, it returns again, thick as ever in their lungs and threatening to make them choke. Ahead, an eerily similar tree with another forty-three tallies looms near the path with a bowed back, its branches nearly sweeping the dried grasses. Another arrow continues to point further down the path. But it’s the second body that makes this repetition unsettling, a shiver passing through their bones as though someone walked over their graves.

A bulking husk, ribs splayed open in grim offering to the meal of its soft blackened innards spills out across the path. Bloated gases wafting from the entrails with fresh release as though only recently released from the prison of bone. A half eaten yawning skull grins up at them through the sinew of the face it once wore, hooves splayed out in deep grooves as though the beast tried to keep running until the very moment of death. The rotting horse rests on its side, never to rise again.

Evrrot studies the body from a good distance where the smell is not quite so overwhelming. Emet notes he doesn’t pinch his nose from the stench as though it is one he well accustomed to. In fact, none of them do. An odd revelation, but one Emet isn’t yet sure of what it means. His own line of work often sent him delving into crypts and left him covered in the rot of decay for hours before he could finally scrub it off. But the average person does not easily handle such a scent without practice. The newest recruits to the order often went on several missions before they could stand it without bile filling their throats. His own first experience left him nauseated for days and unable to keep anything more than light broth down.

Evrrot steps over the splayed hooves, “Alright, so that dead guy was on this horse obviously. Probably riding away from whatever settlement is down the path. His horse dies, he goes on foot, and then he dies.”

“Or the other way around,” Evie counters, “Horse could’ve thrown him, then the horse went and died.”

Roshan hops lightly over the body, kneeling by the tree with a dagger of his own and carving a new tally to the set, “Maybe he was carrying the horse,” the old man offers sagely, “He was very tired.”

All eyes turn on him and Roshan simply grins.

With the tally carved, Evrrot quickly jumps ahead of the holy man and presses the group further down the pointed path. Emet steps carefully over the corpse, glancing back at Evie to see if she desires a hand. But the half elf stares off behind them, unawares. The path they’ve walked is already half swallowed by mist, the large wagon trail long gone from view. She twists back with a sigh, face quickly shifting as she gives him a glare to move. They continue on.

Eerie becomes troubling when the path leads to a third tree with the same forty-three tallies and another arrow. The lack of a corpse this time does little to alleviate the hook twisting in Emet’s stomach. It lifts and snarls his insides, not in pain, but in anticipation. Anticipation of the moment it will all go wrong.

This is what it felt like that day. The day he should’ve listened to his instincts.

The arrow points to a swallowed path. All sign of trail and trees vanish behind a solid wall of fog so thick Emet cannot see even a glimpse of what lies beyond. It bisect everything perfectly, trees ending abruptly as though severed by blade. As though a curtain were drawn across the land on a giant stage. The line the mist cuts across the path is unnaturally defined, too sharp and perfect and to be natural, yet permeable as proven by the grasses swaying in and out, vanishing instantly on the other side, yet returning again.

The foreboding hook twists deeper with the echo of Emet’s past. Of dark crypts and silent darkness, a day that started in laughter and ended in screams. Blood spilled beneath the sickening brightness of beautiful sunny day, the color forever tainted in red. They should’ve stayed on the well-worn wagon path. They never should have cut through these godforsaken woods. His instincts tell him to turn back now, but going back on his own still seems a far more foolish idea in these unknown lands.

Emet steels himself. A chilled touch settles over his shoulder. If the self-chosen leaders get him killed—if they ruin what he’s given everything for—Emet will never allow them a moment’s peace. Not in this life or the next. He already knows Kelemvor will never collect his twice damned soul. Not after what he did. So he’ll have all the time in eternity’s glass to make good on his vow. Maybe this one he’ll keep.

“This repetition is how the kid died.” He glares at the severed path, “We’re going in circles.”

“This isn’t the same as the last tree,” Evie says, “The old guy put an extra mark in that one. Plus, no dead things.”

“Not yet.”

But Emet suspects they will pass that tree again and the horse one beyond. And if his instinct proves right, they will do so again and again until they too die of exhaustion, carving tallies into trees until they can carve no more. There’s madness here and he’ll be damned if it catches him off guard. But the dead kid probably thought the same thing. Now he rots with a skeletal finger ever reaching for the path that killed him. A warning they did not heed.

The wall looms before them, vast and endless until it vanishes into the grey of the skies. Tendrils of thick mist swirl and twist like eels against the edges, unseen bodies pressing against the glass but never breaking through. The snaking, winding movement is almost hypnotic in the terrible silence.

Evie’s eyes narrow, “Anyone else think this fog is fucky?”

“Yes,” Emet and Roshan answer in unison.

The holy man taps his staff, warm dawns light spreading across the wood like honey. Though it glows in the deep reds and oranges of the morning sun, the light does little to chase away the sickly grey of this place.

He nods satisfied, “But this is the path, so let’s go.”

Emet blanches as Roshan lifts his shepherd’s crook and presses toward the wall of fog without another thought. He vanishes instantly. Whatever god this holy man follows, Emet hopes they have as much faith in their followers as Roshan does in them because this is about as foolish as sticking your hand in a nesting viper’s den and trusting it will not bite.

Evrrot—never more than a half step behind the holy man—strolls past the moon elf as casually and carelessly as choosing a garden path to stroll, vanishing almost instantly behind the old human. Not even a shadow is left to hint at their passing.

Emet stands speechless, too shocked to believe what he’s just seen.

The words finally come to him, “Well, fuck.”

#curse of strahd #dnd fic #strahd von zarovich #barovia #dark fantasy #gothic fantasy #gothic fiction #adventure fiction #fantasy fiction #fiction #fiction writing #my fiction #my writing #creative writing #writeblr #writers on tumblr #Tales of No One

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