#Metalsea: Turning Fates

[tryingtimi]

Old Times

Inspired by Disappearance of the Girl by PHILDEL while failing my poll dears. It’s at least still a Darmon piece, even if not the promised one. I’m on it tho. Also, first try of figuring out their dynamic, so no context.

BOOK I EXPLORATION | CHARACTER EXPLORATION | DYNAMIC EXPLORATION | WC: 1,640

The Crystal Palace always showed its true magnificence at dawn.

Thick, sparkling blanket of snow covered the infertile soil outside as if its freezing white wouldn’t have hidden rough blackness underneath. Flakes rarely fell so deep in the belly of the circling mountain range, and yet the snow never seemed to dwindle.

Darmon turned from the groove they used as a window. The dining room showered in the red-orange light that seeped into the space, the palace’s crystal walls reflecting and multiplying its brilliance. They couldn’t see the auroras this far from Atarq, still, their colors reached them at every dawn.

“Its power to chain you to the window could not die away with the years. I dare say it never will,” Zheva called from the end of the refectory table.

The Nordic shines of the sun bathed her sitting figure in its slowly disappearing light. Since the day she put her armor down, she preferred to wear shadow-colored long tunics made of warm and strong textile, embroidery decorating its full length in rich shades of red and gold. Such as it did today as well. Her midnight tunic had sewed-in golden leaves scattering around in a somehow organized way, broad red hems on the sleeves and neckline adding to the harmony of colors, while a same shaded wide belt tightly wrapped around her waist.

Darmon nodded, then hesitated for a second.

His mind has been plagued with that old prisoner’s words. Words of suspicion and secrets. He found himself growing somehow careful around her. A disturbingly foolish act on his part.

Darmon joined the servants bringing in their many servings feast as they walked to the table. One of them leaned over to pull out his seat, but he stopped them with a soft gesture of a hand. The servant bowed their head, then placed four plates before Darmon as he seated himself.

“Is there a special occasion I‘m not aware of?”

Various roasted meats and vegetables ruffled up his hunger, the scent of melted butter, rosemary, and thyme twirling into his nostrils. Beside them, beautifully shaped glass bottles contained the translucent alcohol beverage made of anise, its curving form ornamenting the deeply shaded grape and pistachio bowls secured with lemon-mint tarts.

All Darmon’s favorites.

Zheva smiled a little.

“Can’t an old woman be lonely at times?” She earned a glance from Darmon.

Zheva’s face had been painted with curious tenderness today. Her features bore age, and maturity, something Darmon had grown accustomed to through the years. Her sharp, narrow eyes carried authority and wiseness while they let some visible wrinkles build a nest beside them.

Yet, Darmon wouldn’t ever call her as simple as old.

“I just find it unusual, that is all,” he added eventually. There were times when he – shamefully – craved to dine with her, but they never did. Only during lunch, they shared their meals and company truly.

Zheva took a bite from vibrant pink meat, the crystals orienting the last rays of dawn at her as a reflector. Her focus never left her meal.

“You are right, there is an occasion you might not be aware of. Two, perhaps.” She cut another slice, something almost like blood glistening on her chopsticks. “Have I ever told you about my son?”

A piece of carrot stuck in Darmon’s mouth as he stopped chewing. Only for a second, but he did.

“No, I didn’t know you had children.”

“Child,” again, she smiled a little, “only him. Especially after I left his father… or he left us, I am not certain anymore. It doesn’t really matter, I barely remember him and my son didn’t need him to outgrow him. He was a rascal since his birth, but he’d also been loyal and valiant. One could always rely on him in times of need. Qiang, that was his name.”

The biting sensation of the anise liquor did not ease the dryness of Darmon’s throat. All the food tasted delicious, yet somehow still felt as if he was eating sand.

He never heard such affection in Zheva’s voice before, not once. He couldn’t even recall if he ever heard her talk about her past. A legendary warrior of the ages and a believer left with a crumbled faith. There was not a seed of questioning in Darmon for why she never mentioned any of it before. Still, he couldn’t deny his surprise. And something else; a stirring, unsettling shred of thought.

The seed of how little he knew about her truly.

“Sounds as if you two were close.” Why continuing the topic felt like dragging a limp leg, Darmon couldn’t say. His plate almost emptied, his stomach nearly full, but he picked up another, large meat slice nevertheless.

“Hardly. We shared a lot, but his innermost thoughts remained his in the end. I knew only a version of him, one he felt comfortable sharing with me.” Zheva gestured with her hand, and the chandeliers brightened above them. A moderately dim, purplish light conquered the hall. “Raising a child does not equal that you’ll know them best.”

A strange sensation scraped Darmon’s throat; a scoff. He didn’t felt this reaction since… well, a long time ago.

He packed another bite in his already full stomach.

“You two are very akin to never asking questions. Unlike him, however, your nature is curious, Darmon. That much, I know. So, why don’t you ask?”

Traveling rays of light fell under the horizon, and the end of dawn brought darkness to the mountain range and everything slumbering within. As the hall turned completely amethyst from the only remaining source of light, Darmon found himself frozen. He cut the meat in half on his plate, his chopsticks abandoned beside it. He stared at the food, then with slow realization in his chest, he turned to Zheva.

“I never expect to receive an answer, hence why bother.”

Deepening crow’s feet, gentle, dark eyes, and a pause of silence. Then, Zheva put a comforting hand on Darmon’s, and all the cold of the world evaporated into nothing.

“You are free to ask, and with that, you shall earn answers.”

It’s been such a long time. More than a thousand decades, perhaps, since he saw the difference between Zheva and his family. Darmon couldn’t even recall when was the last time he just thought of them, yet their impact still reached him. However, with them, the reason why he joined her in the first palace was reborn as well.

“Why telling me about him now?”

She did not pull her hand back.

“Because today is the day he left me. You see, he did not share my view on how things should be. He loathed the cause I represented, and therefore, he loathed me. Some thousand years before, on this very day, he abandoned his mother. On this very day, I lost my son.” She sounded utterly mournful as she looked into Darmon’s eyes. For the longest time, he even caught a glimpse of some kind of exhaustion and age in that dark gaze. Then, ever so lightly, Zheva squeezed his hand. “Then, on this same day, you joined me.”

Crystals sang under the wind that sneaked inside the place. It reached Darmon, crawling under his padded tunic, yet it could not make him cold. He glanced at the table again, drinking in the view of the delicately prepared food. Meats, spices, alcohol, and tarts. Favorites, with just enough sweetness. Thoughtfulness to please one.

Darmon realized there was a tradition he completely forgot through the years.

And with that, the words unspoken made his eyes sting. Those words Zheva didn’t need to speak aloud. She lost someone today, and still, he was the one she celebrated. When he joined her, when he was reborn. Today, they weren’t celebrating something mundane, but the birthday of her son.

Darmon reluctantly put his hand on hers.

“I could say so many things, I don’t know which to actually say,” he said quietly.

“There’s no need for such formalities. I am grateful you’re beside me. I know what we do is hard, and it is delightful to have someone around, especially when one has a tender heart. Speaking of, I’ve heard you frequently visited the chambers recently.”

Darmon froze upon hearing this. Of course, she would know about it, he wasn’t trying to sneak around. Yet, it still made him tense under her motherly touch.

“It’s admirable how you manage those creatures, I was certain you’ll be the best to take upon this task.”

However appealing the words sounded, he knew it wasn’t exclusively a compliment. Oh no, it wasn’t. Darmon did not break the eye contact, letting those dark irises devour his soul as they stared into them. He would almost say that they spread the darkness around them as the night deepened.

“You can trust me,” he uttered. Why that was the first thing that tiptoed onto his tongue, was a mystery to him as well. He could have thanked her, he could have said he had a plan. But he didn’t. He knew she would be aware of his lies if they were actually those.

Was he worrying about lying without knowing it?

He wasn’t sure anymore. Not when he stood trial under those unwavering eyes and that oh-so-longed motherly touch. Darmon felt shame washing over him as in his shuddering heart he found the tiniest speck of desperate alarm.

Zheva did not smile anymore, yet she leaned closer and breathed a kiss upon Darmon’s forehead.

“I know,” she whispered. “I do.”

[tryingtimi]

“I can only talk to you.”

Intents and Implications

Thank you so much for the prompt, my sweetest friend! <3 It was good food for another Syon and Cronyl scene. To be precise, when he basically confesses Syon lol.

Context: They had many meaningful chats now, but they still keep the distance. Syon wants to ask Cronyl to join her for the Proposal Performance.

DYNAMIC EXPLORATION | BOOK I | BIT ANGST | WC: 1,161

Syonehlia nearly knocked Cronyl off of his feet.

He barely stabilized, before backing away but to no avail. She was a living storm in the night, a spitfire running towards him on the ground, counting her blows at him. There was a certain grace in her movements, yet it did not soften her hits. Wrist and ankle spikes attacked Cronyl, each one a mere inch from his skin. If they wouldn’t have agreed on no blood, he would have been covered in more injuries than any of his encounters could cause him in his life so far. Of that, he had no doubt. Not a single shred.

Cronyl grunted from the bandaged punch on his side. Again.

He shielded his face from her feet, only to feel a muted pain surge through his left thigh instead. A hiss slipped out of his mouth.

She was good. Metals, she was phenomenal.

Cronyl lunged forward, trying to deflect her hands so he could get behind her. However, Syonehlia plopped down in a half-split, perfectly avoiding his manoeuvre, and using her momentum, she pushed her hips up to rotate her legs around his waist, bringing him down into the dirt with a thud.

In a split second, she was weighing on his hips, one hand chaining his attack-ready hand over his head, the other hand’s wrist spike poking the soft skin of his neck.

Their panting entangled, as a subtle smirk took over her lips, her eyes proudly boring into Cronyl’s. He could feel the mud on the tip of his tongue and stuck to his skin, every bit of his body aching. Yet, Syonehlia’s clothed form on him turned those very minor inconveniences.

Sweat soaked her face, and her training clothing just like his. Cronyl’s bare chest pressed to hers as they heaved, his free hand itching beside her tigh that cornered his lower half.

Gleaming of ecstatic excitement reflected in her lavender eyes.

“5 to 1,” she breathed, her smirk deepening.

A soft wind tried to cool them down with the scent of autumn in the air. He clicked his tongue, deliberately ignoring the itch of touching in his hand.

Yet, he couldn’t ignore her intense gaze, or her reddened, smiling lips.

Which flattened at the moment his eyes dropped to them.

Syonehlia’s weight disappeared from him as fast as it came. She rose with ease, without any unnecessary movement. Her spikes were nowhere to be seen anymore, her incredible control over them showing clearly yet again.

She walked to the stone stair where she stored her waterskin.

“Your eyes are still the same,” Cronyl said, sitting up. He groaned as he did so.

“Come again?”

Syonehlia gulped down most of the water, finishing with a sigh. The next time she looked at Cronyl, her eyes were piercing. Reserved. Usual.

She tossed the waterskin to him, sitting on the stone.

“Your eyes, heiress.” He did not drink, but instead crawled to his feet and walked to her. “They’re not changing, yet you’re over the level of any in the Ivory Guard.”

A delicate brow rose on her face.

“What are you implying?”

He leaned back on his hands as he sit, his muscles burning, his bruises evenly turning visible.

“That you’re keeping secrets,” he added calmly. “But it’s your business, not mine. It was a simple observation.”

Or a distraction.

He gritted his teeth slightly, slowing his breathing while gazing at the dark sky with the Moon shining over them mightly. It was a peaceful night, even though he experienced the storm of Syonehlia again. But it was only him to blame, considering how he told her to show him everything she got.

“You and your simple observations. What are they for? Or would you really want me to believe you made that comment without having any intent behind it?”

A scoff bubbled up in his throat at her pragmatic tone.

“Of course not. You wouldn’t be able to, anyway.” Cronyl glanced at her. She was also inspecting the sky, mirroring his posture. “My intent was to compliment your skills, heiress. Your progress is pretty incredible.”

Quiet chirping filled the air, the Humming Oaks silent, but the grasshopper’s songs were a fair replacement. Some starbug might have strayed from the forest, finding the Dione garden. Cronyl counted three, before some more appeared, bobbling and shining in the night as little guiding lights.

He glanced at Syonehlia again and found her looking at him too.

There was no fluster on her face, but something told him she wasn’t far from that state. Which, honestly, surprised him. Maybe it shouldn't have to, but it still did.

For that, or whoever knows why, he became painfully aware of the little distance between them, and their hands behind.

“I don’t like the sound of that,” she eventually said.

Her cold statement tugged Cronyl’s lips almost up.

“Of course, you don’t.”

Another content silence blanketed them, the starbugs dancing in the distance, guiding their gazes. The smell of autumn strengthened, all the dirt stuck to Cronyl’s body hardening, and pulling on his skin. His muscles did not stop aching, and his bruises were constantly throbbing as well.

It never bothered him in the past, and it would never do it in the present either.

“You can’t stop my training. I need you.”

Syonehlia’s words sounded nearly loud under nightfall. Was that worry in her voice? Yearning? Did he hear it wrong? Another scoff scratched Cronyl’s throat, but he kept it down. He did because if anything, an overwhelming feeling took over his chest. Something he tried to ignore for a long time now, but after hearing that it became rather difficult.

A soft feather touch caressed his insides, all the previous flames turning and changing into something different than before. Stronger, more alive. More irresistible.

His screaming muscles tensed as he carefully turned the words in his mouth before he spoke them.

“I am here and I will be,” he uttered, trying his best to stay quiet. But he did not command himself anymore. “You can always count on me. Because as you to me, I can only talk to you, Syon.”

And there, Cronyl knew, he felt he stepped over his own line. He showed her that fracture he bore as a heart, the cracked thing he tried to hide deep enough for no one. Not even himself. Yet it seemed to find its way up, to be in the open. To be shown to her.

He set his jaw in the silence, his hands are warm from the closeness of hers.

Then, he decided to look at Syonehlia eventually.

A sense of coldness washed over his bones when her lavender eyes locked with his. Piercing. Reserved. Usual.

Yet still hiding something inside he couldn’t grasp.

“We are not alike, Rescuer.”

[tryingtimi]

“your smile brings me so much joy.”

Joy of Two

A bit of Avelyn fluff, with someone who I had no chance to introduce yet; Priestess Rheata. She's an important person in her life, and basically a grandma for her, tho not by blood. She's gonna have a big role in the first book too. Inspo song was Beside You by PHILDEL

CHARACTER EXPLORATION | DYNAMIC EXPLORATION | FLUFF | WC: 953

“Can I come in?”

Avelyn’s soft question lingered in the air before the thin door. She waited patiently for the muffled “Yes, dear.” she was accustomed to, and only then she entered.

She found Priestess Rheata sitting on her habitual spot — on a Phravani carpet carefully weaved delicacy, situated right beside the tall window. She did not kneel the way they did during prayers, and her veil hung idly from a hanger on her bedside table. They reached the time of the year when the sun could bathe her in its magnificent glow during late afternoon still, and Avelyn had no doubt she was watching the little ones play in the Oak garden secretly.

“Good afternoon, niele,” she said quietly as she bent forward.

Priestess Rheata mirrored her gesture. “Just a moment. It is such a beautiful day.”

Her pale eyes lingered on the outside while Avelyn walked over to her. Heartfelt laughter climbed into the vast room through the window and the Priestess’ thin lips turned into a gentle smile. Her kindly gaze followed the children, wrinkles deepening on her face.

“All right,” she said while bending forward to begin the process of standing up.

Avelyn rushed to support her with her plump arms.

“How are you feeling?”

Every muscle tensed in Avelyn’s arms as she helped her to her feet, yet she stood still, letting her huff and puff while straightening. Then, the Priestess let out a quick, bright trill of laughter.

“Old,” she put her palm over Avelyn’s arm to squeeze it, “and rusty. But I am better each day.”

The weather might have been changing, however, it could never compete with the warmth Priestess Rheata’s words brought to Avelyn ever since they met in her childhood. She let her put most of her weight on her as they strolled into the bathing area of the chamber. A beautifully decorated archway led to the already steaming, completely tiled room, a large built-in bathtub waiting for them. There was a window situated beside the tub, letting the slowly dimming sunlight sneak in to waltz on the tiles’ surface.

Avelyn smiled to herself as she guided the Priestess to it, matching her steps to her feet by feet pace.

“That’s a delight to hear. The others won’t leave me peace since Priestess Cascelin became your replacement. Everyone is awaiting your return, niele.” A playfully dismissive wave of a hand kept the smile on Avelyn’s lips.

Yet, she still held her breath for a second while helping the Priestess out of her loose ivory and gold embroidered tunic. It wasn’t merely because of her completely bare state; Avelyn had seen her rotund built without clothes before. There has been no costume for it, still, the Priestess had let her bathe together until Avelyn reached the age of desiring more privacy. It’s been more for her expectation of what change she’d notice this time.

Avelyn spread out a towel on the tiles as she always did. Then, the Priestess could sit down, her breathing turning slightly heavy as if she already exhausted herself.

Priestess Rheata folded the textile into a neat, wrinkleless package, edges sharp and crisp, just like everything in her chamber.

“It is a beautiful day,” she repeated, looking out the window. “The roses are already blossoming, and the magnolias are nearly ready. You must visit the magnolla’s soon, my dear.”

With a dampened cloth, Avelyn evenly began cleaning the Priestess’ skin. The mention of magnollas almost squeezed a nervous giggle out of her. Priestess Rheata did not notice it, and she did not press further. Instead, she chattered joyfully, commenting Avelyn’s process the whole time, just like she always did. Even if she told her so, Avelyn did not want to add more force to her touch. She obeyed for stray moments, when the Priestess seemed to forget this aspect, but only for those.

As much as she focused on the chirping of her mentor, her eyes still caught the things she was afraid to see. Some patches on her skin that weren’t there before. Her skin itself, that more and more reminded her of the old parchments of books in the library.

Avelyn reached her neck, and her heart sank when she realized the Priestess lost some weight.

“How was lunch, niele?”

She did not intend her voice to sound slightly thick. If the Priestess noticed it, she did not mention it.

“Wonderful, I ate everything,” she said, pride lurking in her tone. “I am, however, not the biggest admirer of that sour meat. It was a nice plate, nevertheless. Not like my own cook, of course, but very decent.”

Avelyn smiled, giggling at her enthusiasm, yet her mirth did not feel right. She noticed more and more, from how Priestess Rheata’s skin hung heavy from her arms to how petit she seemed now without as much weight as she bore before. As if she wasn’t in her own body, and she was slowly shedding it away.

“There’s nothing better than your cook.” Oh yes, her voice grew thicker. She kept her smile on her face, nevertheless.

The Priestess glanced at her as Avelyn nearly finished patting her dry. She mirrored the gesture, her smile as gentle as ever, while she adjusted some locks on Avelyn’s shoulder, then caressed them tenderly.

“Your smile brings me so much joy, my dearest Lynni.”

Some muted laughter travelled to the bathroom from outside, echoing on the tiles. Avelyn swallowed hard, taking the Priestess’ hand in hers to let her play with her fingers as she always did.

“So does yours to me,” she said, deepening her smile.

[tryingtimi]

Listen

Basically the continuation of this scene. It's one of those that I started a long time ago and now I just wanted it done lol. When in the actual story there will be some things in the two scenes, and after it but yk. Anyway.

Context: Syonehlia tells Cronyl she need him because of the Proposal Performance. Cronyl does not know Syonehlia doesn't want to be the Princess, and will only find out after they performed. Until then, there is a tension, since she basically rejected him earlier. However, not as openly to crush all his hope.

DYNAMIC EXPLORATION | ARGUMENT EXPLORATION | WC: 841

“This was not part of the deal.”

Syonehlia did not look at Cronyl, while he slammed the carefully decorated piece of paper at the table as if it was no more than garbage. She calmly busied herself with her wrist bandages, not even flinching, nor acting as if she cared about any inch of his remarks.

Cronyl gritted his teeth.

“It is now,” Syonehlia answered, voice even. “I need your help to complete the performance. Furthermore, it’s a generous offer. Your fee is doubled,” she elegantly flipped the parchment and put a delicate finger at the top. “Supplemented with the newest medications you can find on the market, besides the fruit and vegetable stocks those were fermented and sealed properly to stay esculent for a fine amount of time…”

“So you give pickled food.” Cronyl finally earned a glance from the Dione heir, even if a rather piercing one. She did pull back her pragmatic mask real quickly.

“Yes. Also, I’ve sent Delion to our tailors where they make two pile-lined linen inexpressible with matching tunics and blouses, all coated with spider silk from our farms. There will be various sizes in the package.”

“So you also give pants and shirts.” Syonehlia didn’t seem necessarily proud of herself after listing all these, but Cronyl still crossed his arms before his chest. He wasn’t trying to hide the lack of amusement on his face, in contrast to this annoyance that nested in his nerves. “Great, in that case, we can finally prepare that summer ball we’ve been delaying for weeks now. The handful of half-ruined houses the people live in will serve well as a decorative touch.”

A short silence conquered the room. Cronyl held Syonehlia’s gaze which seemed unreadable. Until one, tiny little twitch of her lips.

“Mockery is something I was not expecting from you. I offer much, Rescuer. You should consider these at least.”

He held her gaze, his tension seeping into the brightly lit office area.

“The ridiculous offer is the least surrealistic among all the things you listed here,” he said, his tone as cold as hers. He could shield the painful disappointment well enough. “How do you plan to execute your plan, tell me, heiress. The Performance is not for pairs, there is no chance you can take me in with you. And if you could somehow manage to do it, I don’t see the appeal in helping you to marry off to the Prince. I’m not out here to fulfil all your whims.”

“Does that mean my idea could work?” Syonehlia stopped adjusting her bandages, looking at him from the corner of her eyes. “The fight scene. In disguise.”

There was a moment of pause in the room. Cronyl tried his hardest to process the sheer ignorance towards his words. It wasn’t the first time she did that, he slowly realized that. There were moments they would converse, and she would do it as subtly as a serpent would sneak into your bed unnoticed. Still, he didn’t really care about it. So far, anyway.

He released a deep breath, not loosening his posture.

“Only if you would want them to kick you out of the suitors. Even if the other nobles wouldn’t notice it, there is no doubt the Prince wouldn't miss how it’s actually fighting. That would be the most inappropriate performance in the history.”

The chandelier’s light made the room bright enough for him to see the most subtle smile creep onto her lips. It felt like a knowing one.

Confusion scattered into Cronyl’s chest.

“We’ll make it work.”

The use of the plural was the last thread of his patience. He closed his eyes, and he would have loved to turn on his heels to take his leave. Anger bubbled in his chest, towards her and himself as well. Yet, he found himself stuck in that room. No matter how much she seemed to tell him the exact thing he wasn’t expecting.

Helping her to get married to the Prince? Metal-cursed woman. She was playing with him, or he was a fool from the start.

Focus.

His feelings should have played very little part in his decision-making. And with that, a realization hit him on the face that made his heart crack further. Yet, it was more important like that pathetic thing.

His people were that, way more important.

“All right, listen,” Syonehlia started. She didn’t sound tender or apologetic. Her voice was of someone’s who knew what she wanted and what she needed to do to get it. “I need you because it would only work well if there are two people. And you are close to a master in this topic. Believe me, I wouldn’t ask for this if I’d know a better option.”

Cronyl left his gaze on her, none of them looking away.

The people.

He untangled his arms, his palms showing.

“I’m listening.”

[tryingtimi]

Another Challenge

[ WET ] : our muses find one another in a torrential downpour of rain, both soaking wet.

[ DANCE ] : our muses dance together in close quarters.

[ BRUSH ] : sender reaches forward to brush a strand of receiver’s hair from their eyes.

@bloodlessheirbyjacques ✨

If I Push Will You Pull?

Thank you for the challenge, my love! It was a fun exploration for Cronyl and Syon, since you know they were the first one to pop into my mind. Though, I took the liberty to translate dance to "their version" of dance lol. Also the song where I get the title and the vibe from is Push // Pull by Sam Sky, Lauren Babic.

Context: Syonehlia gets the news about that she her attendnce is required as one of the possible candidates of the Prince's bride. In the meantime, Cronyl's late from their martial art practice. Prompts from this list.

CRONYL AND SYON | BOOK I EXPLORATION | ANGST | WC: 1,119

He’s not coming, isn’t he?

Syonehlia spun on her heels, hitting her invisible enemy in the throat with the edge of her hand. Her palm and fingers were stiff enough to make the move lethal. However, there was no one to tell her if it was actually as accurate as she presumed.

She kicked into the air, her training pants rustling from the intense movement.

Have you seen the letter on the counter? It came soon after you left today.

An hour, two or more, she couldn’t say how long she was out here. Time slipped away, and she didn’t even try to catch it anymore. Her forehead soaked, pearls of her sweat hitting the stone when she sharpened her ankle spike for an attack.

The back of the garden has always been quiet around dawn.

It bore the royal seal.

Her panting and silent growl almost echoed through the backyard. It counted as one of the charms of the place, and the main reason why they chose this spot to practice. Not even the servants wandered here.

Your Majesty gave it to me personally during our last consultation.

Syonehlia was completely alone.

He said the time has come when the Prince shall find a bride.

She stepped further, ready to strike at her make-believe enemy. But then, she tripped. She could balance herself just in time to not land on the ground.

Syonehlia stopped, heaving. A massive wave of wind blew through the land, rustling every leaf, and carrying the bitter scent of dirt. Then, as a vague attempt of soothing the troubled, the smell of rain hit her nose.

Cronyl liked the rain. He said the best way to learn how to control your motions is when you train under rainfall. It felt as if he repeated a hundred times now.

Syonehlia leaned over on her knees, her sweat stinging her eyes. She closed one eye, looking at the gathering clouds up in the sky.

Grey.

The grey dullness always reminded her of Cronyl.

It’s an invitation, dear daughter. Dedicated to you.

She gritted her teeth, her bothersome panting not easing fast enough. It wasn’t enough. She wasn’t improving fast enough. She needed to do better. She needed to be better at this.

Working yourself to death out of spite will take you so far, heiress.

Cronyl’s voice resonated in the almost unhearable rumbling of the rainclouds. They silently sneaked upon the land, slowly blanketing it.

Then, without warning, it began to pour.

Syonehlia straightened, her face towards the sky. Father’s voice never left her mind, the way he addressed the letter and its content. Yet, it huddled in the back as Cronyl’s advices overshadowed it.

She closed her eyes, letting the eager raindrops wash over her face, soaking her entire body.

There was no denying; she knew a moment like this will come. A wealthier noble heir was her boldest assumption, but the Prince… no. He was something she never considered.

She shrugged, something crawling under her skin.

Unfortunately, it made sense, if she thought about it.

Her Father was the High Scribe of the King, they spent a considerably long time together every day. She was a fool.

Syonehlia listened to the rain. It washed over the land, like a wall of gentle disappointment. Her heated body slowly cooled down drop by drop, her hair stuck onto her face.

There was no point in waiting out here anymore.

She didn’t hear footsteps, nor heavy breathing, but she noticed the patting of the raindrops on the grass changing. She opened her eyes and turned around; perhaps a little too quickly even.

Cronyl’s soaking wet clothes stuck to his figure, bringing out his lean, muscled body as it never did before. His hair trapped into a ponytail completely drenched as well.

If soundlessly, but he was panting.

And he only stood before her, not nearing closer, nor trying to utter a million excuses any minute now.

He just frowned.

“What are you doing?” Cronyl’s eyes wandered from her gaze, down her body, then back to her face.

She didn’t answer. She could only watch him while listening to the melody of heavy rainfall. As it somehow convinced the Humming Oaks to hum in sync with its resonating drops.

Then, Syonehlia launched forward, spinning on her heels to kick toward his head.

Cronyl leaned back just in time, but still, she cut a tiny piece off of his hair, the strands falling quickly under the force of nature. It wasn’t a storm, yet it poured heavy enough. And it seemed to strengthen.

She saw his frown deepen before she aimed her wrist spike at his side.

Water splashed as he caught her arm in mid-air, then tried to twist it behind her back, while he gracefully leaped at the side and turned to get behind her. She could already feel his breath on her neck. She saw the motion coming, however.

With a quick twist of her wrist, she freed herself, turning with Cronyl in sync.

Only to find herself face to face with his wrist spike at her throat.

She lost once more.

It was quiet again. No one uttered a word as both panted slightly, rain still pouring at them from the grey dullness from up there. Faces inches away from each other, their breaths were wisps of air in the cooling weather, mixing and twirling away. They locked eyes and none of them was about to break it.

Her skin itched where the point of the spike almost touched it.

She could see flames in his eyes, but she couldn’t tell what summoned it exactly. Or what it meant.

Anger, confusion, desire.

She didn’t care. She didn’t, and so she let her guard down.

As if sensing this, Cronyl’s breath slowed as well, the tension in his muscles visibly easing while he lowered his hand. Only to evenly rose it to her face. His spikes pulled back, his eyes never leaving her’s as he carefully brushed a wet strand of hair behind her ear. It stuck to her face during their fight.

“Talk to me,” he whispered, watching after his delicate fingers.

Such a tender movement, a loving touch. There was an unsettling urge at her core to lean onto it. To lean closer. What would he say if Syonehlia just grabbed him by his tunic, crashing on his lips and dragging him into her bedroom? What would she see in his eyes?

Anger, confusion, or…

She snatched his hand away, turning on her heels.

“Your fee is on the table. Session’s over.”

[tryingtimi]

All the pieces I’ve posted so far, in chronological order. Trigger warnings and more details in the posts. I will also extend this list as I share more stuff.

Canon

Joy of Two | 953 ⥇ Avelyn helps her mentor bathe, while she is in poor condition. Grandma-granddaugther moment. If I Push Will You Pull? | 1,119 ⥇ Syonehlia processes the news that she needs to attend as a candidate for the Prince's possible bride. While Cronyl also late for their practice. Intents and Implications | 1,161 ⥇ Cronyl and Syonehlia practices, and Cronyl basically confesses in a subtle way. Listen | 841 ⥇The continuation of Intens and Implications, where Syon presents her wish towards Cronyl about wanting to make a Proposal Performance together. Dance of Deceit | 446 ⥇ Syonehlia shows Cronyl what she has in mind for the Proposal Performance, while he tries to figure out where they actually stand with each other. Bother | 843 ⥇ Syonehlia faces the results of her plan on ruling herself out among the Prince's bride's possible candidates. Old Times | 1,640 ⥇ Zheva, the villain surprises the worrying Darmon.

Non-Canon

A Monster for Hero | 601 ⥇ Avelyn struggles during a strange happening of the world, while she also comes to a conclusion of the newly met Rescuer, Cronyl Eldenwer.

[tryingtimi]

All the pieces I’ve posted so far, in chronological order. Trigger warnings and more details in the posts. I will also extend this list as I share more stuff.

By Books

Book 1: Turning Fates Book 2: The Lost Empire Book 3: Nohrinal's Legacy Book 4: Rise of The Onidael

Non-Canon

Fuck, Marry, Kill | 734 ⥇ A fun game night as a writing exercise.

Darmon's Interview | 776 ⥇ Fun little exercise to discover Darmon’s voice and get to know him better.

The Home She Brought | 1,330 ⥇ A cozy winter night and Cronyl’s confession ending with a mistletoe kiss. Holiday Special.

Scattered Confessions: Cronyl Eldenwer | 737 ⥇ Cronyl's random, unseen love letter to Avelyn.

Scattered Confessions: Avelyn Dione | 752 ⥇ Avelyn's random, unseen love letter to Cronyl.

Until It's Only Us | 1,136 ⥇ Avelyn and Cronyl's first time in bed. My first ever smut. It's soft as hell.

The Attraction of Quiet Violence: A Snip | 944 ⥇ Side Story snippet with Avelyn in the main POV

Metalsea AU's

Eye for an Eye | 217 ( not finished yet, it's only a short pieces so far) ⥇ Darmon turning into a villain AU, instead of taking a redemptive path. Syonehlia is ready to fight him for what he had done.

Hitman's Mistake | 2,128 ⥇ A Modern Hitman AU, where Cronyl comes upon a painful decision of his relationship with Syonehlia. Personal favorite so far.

Chained to Him | 1,282 ⥇ A Modern Kingpin AU, where Urien gets information out of Cronyl amd Avelyn in some painful ways.

We Have Just Met and Yet It Feels Like I Known You for a Lifetime | 1,441 ⥇ Modern AU, where a troubled Cronyl finds comfort in the quiet bartender called Avelyn. Fluff in a nightclub. Part I of a standalone, basically.

Lost in The Lights | 820 ⥇ Modern AU, where Cronyl and Avelyn conitnue their night which ends in tragedy. Part II of a standalone.

Too Old For My Hometown | 1,513 ⥇ Modern AU, where Uncle Eldnar tells the tale of how Cronyl and Avelyn met.

[tryingtimi]

66💕

His Tools

Land of All by Woodkid. The perfect one for another Urien scene from Darmons POV now.

Context: After the Turning of the Metalsea, Urien took over the capital and threw most people into prison. Darmon faced this fate too when they arrived back with Syon. She, however got capture by Urien, while Darmon eventually broke out. This is where Urien reveals his true nature and goals, close to the end of Book 2.

DARMON AND SYONEHLIA | BLOOD | VIOLANCE | WC: 655

It was dawn again.

The last time Darmon had seen anything but the dungeon’s walls, the Sun shone dimly over them and now, when he finally broke out of the prison, he’d been welcomed with the same pink-orange scenery. As if a day hadn’t gone by.

It was dawn again, but nothing was near the same as before.

Darmon carefully lifted himself with his crystal he was squatting on. The Eval palace’s hallway had been large enough to get lost in the heights of the ceiling. Slowly dying light brightened his pathway when he finally reached the prince’s room; its door yawning wide open before him.

“Look, Syonehlia.”

Darmon stopped for a moment. Prince Urien’s voice still made his muscles tighten whenever he heard it. The directness he was addressing Syonehlia only multiplied this rarely experienced feeling, however.

“Look out there, darling. Look at them,” he purred almost sweetly. His voice was not quite dripping from honey, but the thickness of venom.

Darmon set his jaw, and lifted himself, even more, blending into the darkness of the heights. Then, he carried himself inside the room.

It was vast, kingly with a large bed at one of the walls, baldachin hanging over it. And one end of the chain is attached to the wall.

The clinking links guided Darmon’s eyes to the balcony where Urien stood, facing the sitting Syonehlia and looking down at the captial. Darmon couldn’t see his face as the prince had his back to him, but he could see her. Heavy shackles hung upon Syonehlia’s ankles, her back straight, face stone cold. She still held her head high, piercing gaze not staring at the prince, but instead at the floor, however. Darmon gripped the crystal under him, his palm already heating up from the pressure. He never saw her like that.

And the tension only built in his muscles, when he realized her hands were free.

Urien suddenly grabbed Syonehlia’s face, forcefully turning it where he was looking at. Thin stream of blood trickled down her squashed cheeks when his sharpened nails dug into them.

“Look,” that bastard raised his voice, his ears sharpening as well. “What do you see, hm? Tell me.”

Rattling echoed through the room, as she steadied herself with her legs to not fall from the chair. She grabbed his hand, eyes flaming, nails clawing into his skin. Urien didn’t seem to care.

A crystal rose beside Darmon’s face, ready to aim and strike. His concentration didn’t falter, not even for a blink of an eye.

“Tell me,” Urien snarled, pulling her face farther outside.

Syonehlia visibly tensed up.

“People.”

So hoarse. Her voice sounded so painstakingly hoarse.

Pain struck from Darmon’s nails as he gripped his crystal even more, when Urien let her go by tossing her back at the chair. Darmon’s aim needed to be precise.

“People.” Half of the prince’s face revealed itself as he stared at her. He was sneering; mocking her. “Generous, are you? With those who need our guidance to live their life. Those that can execute only one thing in the shadow of perfection. Those who find one, single task to specialize at more than enough. People,” he scoffed. “Don’t you see, my darling? They’re no people. Not even close.”

He leaned closer, his smile widening at the side.

“I am the hand and they are my tools.”

One glance. Only one glance from Syonehlia should have been needed for Darmon to let his crystal loose. To let this madness end.

His crystals cracked ever so quietly under the force of his grip.

And so the dull grayness of early nightfall conquered the last ray of dying light, when instead of her, Darmon saw the prince’s piercing, pearl-white gaze jumping at him from the corner of his eyes.