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flowercrowngods · 11 months

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yearning hours (hidden track)

🤍 also on ao3

The city is quiet tonight, dormant long before midnight; weary at its very core, just allowing November’s cold to settle without much of a fight.

Steve should be asleep, too, but he doesn’t want to break the spell he’s under, doesn’t want the heaviness of his eyelids to become something deeper, something stronger, something that will bring an end to this feeling that’s come over him.

Sprawled on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, he just breathes. A steady in and out that‘s been effortless for a few hours now.

The breathes in the gentle dimness of his bedside lamp, inhales the sound of electro pop playing from beside him, playing from another lifetime altogether. He exhales the present, lets go of the thoughts of sleep, of leaving this moment, of moving anytime soon.

I saw your eyes. And you made me smile.

It’s been forever since he listened to this tape. So long, in fact, that he didn’t even know he still had it. Lifetimes passed since last he heard these songs, the synthesisers and guitars, the beat of his heart in tune with the drum of the snare.

Four years. It’s a lifetime. Everything’s a lifetime when the world ends, and ends, and ends. Everything’s a lifetime if you leave parts of yourself behind, unreachable for yourself, but far from untouchable for others.

Everything’s a lifetime if you live in Hawkins, Indiana.

And though it took a while, I was falling in love.

The song washes over him the same way it did four years ago, and yet it settles inside his chest, his gut, his lungs in a way it never did before. It fills him with each inhale, as if daring him to forget again. As if daring him to try.

There are three tapes spread out on the bed beside him, just within reach of his hand that’s hovering over the rewind button of his little radio that’s seen better days but still hasn’t ripped a tape in months.

Once the song begins to fade, he presses the button, the dim light now accompanied by the familiar clicking and whirring and the thoughts of seven, eight, nine, ten, as Steve is counting the seconds before he has to press play again to listen to Space Age Love Song again.

He exhales a drawn-out breath as, with another definitive click, the song starts over. Gentle snares fill his room. And Steve breathes.

I saw your eyes.

And he smiles.

And you made me smile.

Because somehow.

For a little while

He’s thinking about Eddie.

I was falling in love.

And for a moment, while he breathes and stares and listens, that’s okay. For a moment, for the duration of this song, for the lifetimes it survived and the ones yet to come, that’s okay. The waves of the music carry him through time and space, carry him to a world where it’s safe. Where the safest thing to do about your heart’s desires is not lying in bed and staring at the ceiling.

The phone rings. It’s midnight and the phone rings. Steve is floating, anchored and weighed down by his skin and bones, breathing himself back into reality, because the phone rings.

He looks up and reaches for the landline phone on his bedside table, the movement sluggish to his heavy limbs.

The words take a while to form, but he’s aware that the other person can hear the music playing, they’ll know he’s here, they’ll know he listens. They’ll know, hopefully, that he’ll talk soon. He just… He just needs a second.

But then it’s only silence that meets him, and Steve frowns. Just as he’s about to open his mouth and ask, he can hear a breathy little, “Oh. Shit.”

And he blinks. Swallows. Leans up on one arm to fight the floating.

“Eddie?”

“Uhh. Hi, Stevie.”

There’s a tremor to Eddie’s voice that Steve can make out even through the music he’s reaching out to turn down the volume now. Alarm shoots through him, accompanied by protectiveness and the readiness to take ok the world. For Eddie. Again.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“Yeah!” Too fast. Too breathy. Too frantic, and Steve can hear the clinking of his rings against the plastic of Wayne’s landline phone. He can see Eddie wrapping the cord around his fingers, can picture him chewing on it, too. “I just— uh, I… I cleaned my room? Rearranged it, too. I really like how… Look, ignore this, okay? I realised that this was kinda dumb the moment you picked up the phone.”

Steve leans back again, his head hitting the pillow as he lets Eddie’s voice wash over him. He sounds nice against the low music still coming from beside Steve. Eddie always sounds nice. Steve kinda wants to listen to him forever most days.

“What’s dumb, Ed?”

A snort, and Steve wants to feel that breath tingling his cheek, or neck, or throat. He wants to touch that smile of self-deprecation he knows spreads Eddie’s lips now, and wants to turn it into something more genuine. More vulnerable. More his.

“Calling you at midnight and telling you that i cleaned my room.”

“And rearranged it,” Steve adds, helpless against the gentleness of his voice as he says it.

“Yeah. That.”

He smiles, his eyes finding their spot on the ceiling again as he reaches for the radio again, pressing rewind, because his heart is a fluttery little thing tonight, and he wants to bask in it for a moment. Wants to be allowed to pretend.

Something old washing into something new. The feeling fits well with the others, a tenderness inside his chest where Eddie lives, surrounded now by the song, wave after wave, and with the memory and possibility and chance of different lifetimes, different phone calls, different Steves.

“I don’t think that’s dumb, Ed,” he says after a while. “I like it when you tell me things, midnight or not.“

“I… That’s cool.” Silence. But an Eddie kind of silence that it’s always only a prelude. Always. For bigger things the longer it is. And Steve’s counted all the way to seven before Eddie, quietly, secretly, says, “I like telling you things. Midnight or not.”

The smile that splits Steve’s face is almost one that needs to be hidden in the pillows, with the way the world sees it as a challenge when he smiles. But he doesn’t hide it. Midnight smiles don’t need hiding.

“So tell me about your room.”

Another silence, only five beats this time, but it leaves Steve yearning for Eddie to fill it nonetheless.

“Do…“ One, two, three, four, f— “Do you wanna come over and see?”

And now it’s Steve who’s silent. Steve whose heart is beating so loud he forgets to count the seconds, forgets to fill the silence, forgets just for a while that he’s still only pretending, he’s still only longing, not reaching.

And still, still still, he asks, “Right now?”

Eddie’s answer is no more than a breath. “Yeah?”

“Okay.”

Okay. He wants to stay in bed longer, wants to cradle the phone to his ear and listen to Eddie. To his breathy little voice, like he knows about midnight smiles, and even more about midnight whispers.

He’s still floating in the car, having grabbed one of the tapes from his bed, letting the more synthetic snares and guitars fill the air he breathes that’s beginning to smell vaguely of leather and tobacco and soil and Eddie.

The more you live, the more you love. Or so they say.

It settles in his arms the same way the car’s gentle thrumming does; this certainty. The longing. The love.

He’s not even sure when it happened, only that he can’t get rid of it now. Doesn’t want to get rid of it, most days. Not yet. He’ll spend the rest of his life letting it go, but he wants to keep it for a while yet.

Especially with Eddie calling him at midnight just… Just to tell him something that makes him happy. Obviously, obviously makes him happy. So happy he wants to tell Steve about it. Like Steve is worthy of that, like he is the obvious choice.

It makes him giddy. Makes him float. Makes him turn up the volume, letting it almost ruin the moment, fragile as it is — but only almost.

He makes it to the trailer park in no time, finding Eddie already outside. Waiting for him.

No amount of inhaling and exhaling is enough to save Steve now, not with Eddie approaching his car before he even comes to a stop. Not with Eddie reaching out to open his door, looking at him, face painted in the light and shadow of the little overhead light of the Beemer.

“Hi,” Eddie says. “I cleaned my room.”

“And rearranged it,” Steve adds, an echo of earlier, the same smile on his lips, but Eddie doesn’t smile. Eddie just nods, frantic.

“That, yeah. But… I cleaned my room. And you’re here. Because I told you. Because I cleaned my room.”

Steve blinks, loosening his seatbelt and slowly, so as not to spook Eddie, he gets out of the car. Comes to a stop in front of Eddie, the door still open behind him.

“Eddie, what—“

“You’re here,” Eddie says again. “You like it when I tell you things.”

Steve nods, the cold November air not enough to save him; he still inhales Eddie, still exhales a longing so deep his lungs feel like they’ll never fill again.

“And you like telling me things,” he says, because Eddie’s gone silent, his wide eyes still frantic, and Steve wants to help.

“You’re here,” Eddie repeats again, like it has a meaning that Steve’s not catching.

He nods, then, heart and mind racing alike. “Because you asked.”

But Eddie shakes his head, still rooted to the spot, still keeping his eyes on Steve like he’s afraid he might disappear if he so much as blinks. Steve wouldn’t think of it. Will stay as long as Eddie wants to look at him.

“Because you want to. Because you like it. Because… Because I cleaned my room. And the first thing I wanted to do was tell you. And you listened. And you told me it’s not dumb, because you like it when I tell you things, and— Steve. Steve.”

He can’t look at those wide eyes anymore, not when he’s been found out, not when the heaviness is returning, weighing on his limbs and his heart, telling him to panic and to run and—

“Steve.” A whisper. A hand on his cheek. Not to tip his head up. Just to rest there. Just to stay. “I wanna tell you things all the time. The stupidest, littlest things. I wanna tell you because you’ll listen and because you’ll— you’ll make me feel like… Like this. Because you’re here! You’re here when all I did was clean my room. At midnight. Way past midnight, actually. I’m… I… God, I just.” An exhale, and it sounds a lot like Steve’s. “I love you.”

Steve’s head snaps up, his eyes meeting Eddie’s again. Searching for the lie, searching for the dream, searching for one of those lifetimes that aren’t meant for him. But he finds none. He finds sincerity; scared, vulnerable sincerity, like Eddie is a little bit insane with it.

Like he’s faring no better than Steve.

“You… You do?” Eddie nods, frantic again, the hand falling from Steve’s cheek so he can pick and bite at his nails. Unthinkingly, Steve reaches for his hands to hold them in his own. “I— I’m…”

“It’s okay, you don’t— uh, you don’t have to say anything. Really. Please don’t, actually, I’m just… You’re here. I can’t believe you’re here. I can’t believe you—“

“Ed,” Steve whispers. “Eddie.” They sallow in unison, the air charged between them but clearing in Steve’s vision now, carrying him no longer like someone floating along the tides yearning.

He’s not floating, he’s not lifetimes away. He’s here. He’s here.

“Can I… Can I try something? Can I kiss you? Please?” he adds in a whisper.

And it is with that same whisper, with that same shared breath, that Eddie says, “Please.”

The kiss is chaste, but it’s enough. Enough to survive the night, enough to be not the beginning and not the end, but something comfortably settled in the in-between.

When they break apart, Steve doesn’t let Eddie go far as he pulls him into his arms rather immediately. Just to hold him there. To let his mind catch up. To bask.

And it’s only after a while of breathing each other in, their hands roaming over the other boy’s back in ways more gentle than they were ever allowed to before, that Eddie breaks the silence.

“I really do wanna show you my room, though, that wasn’t a ruse.” He mumbles the words against the side of Steve’s throat, and Steve — still unsure of his footing — laughs and brushes a careful kiss against Eddie’s temple that leaves him with goosebumps.

“Ready when you are,” he says, though it’s almost a sigh. An exhale. Exhaling Eddie, and inhaling his warm smile and the smell of his hair. Steve leans in for another kiss to Eddie’s forehead, lingering this time.

In and out. It’s all Eddie.

Ring-clad fingers find their ways in between his own, and then Eddie tugs him — gently, like he’s afraid Steve will break if he moves too quickly; or maybe it’s Eddie’s who’ll break — toward the trailer.

Inside it’s warm, the lights are low, and the only thing illuminating Eddie’s room down the hall is a black string of warm white lights wandering along his walls and in between photos and pictures and drawings and posters that litter his wall.

And in the middle of it all, there’s Eddie. Smiling at him, giddy and gentle and genuine and so, so pretty. And Steve knows, then. Eddie’s room has never looked better.

(the songs are space age love song, and the more you live, the more you love by a flock of seagulls)

#steddie fic #steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #dio words #this is an attempt to get my floaty back #though i must admit this thing took a different turn after each paragraph and maybe it shows? idk you tell me #it’s way past 3am i gotta stop with these but goddammit i couldn’t stop sorry #actually it’s almost 4 isn’t this great? :D i did this to myself and now it’s too late for even the americans to see it isn’t it? :p

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tact-and-impulse · 1 year

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Based on this ask, it’s the childhood friends AU that’s grabbed me by the throat! @shepherds-of-haven, I’ve been waiting to drop this. Below the cut and on AO3 as well!

simple charm

The village was nothing like home. The land was flat and unchanging as it stretched towards the horizon. Rope cordons were tied around the fields of barley and vegetables, struggling to remain green under the summer heat. The dusty wooden houses, clustered together, were giving a standoffish air. People had noticed their arrival, withdrawing into their doors and suspiciously eyeing their elk mounts. Only a slight majority of the locals had white hair; others sported lighter shades or multicolored locks indicating mixed blood. A very different welcome than usual.

“This is Maj?” Halek muttered. His father had told him and Naolin that this was a good opportunity to journey out of Uth Baryd, with a few elite fighters for protection on the road. Father was leading a diplomatic mission, to make contact with a gathering of refugees and reunite with their lost kin. For the future sol and sola, it was meant to be practice for leadership and negotiation.

Halek had taken it in stride, but Naolin was obviously unsettled, knuckles gripping their elk’s reins. They’d never left the Reach before, and Maj was in such stark contrast. Nakedly vulnerable, no defenses against demons, and shabbily built. But the villagers were surviving on their own means. Halek respected that.

From the front, their father called out in Uth, before announcing their small party. In response, one of the older folks indicated to a house, a little apart from the rest. Lothar and Hecathe lived there with their daughter, and they would speak for everyone in Maj.

As they approached, the door opened. The man was a full-blooded Hunter though his age could’ve been anywhere from twenty-five to forty-five. A weary expression and years of labor had aged him, and he walked with a slight hunch. He stiffly greeted Yerom, glancing at everyone with skepticism through the formal introductions.

Halek’s attention began to drift and he yawned. He rolled his shoulders, working out the soreness from travel. An elbow jabbed into his belly, as Naolin hissed.

“You shouldn’t be rude, diru.”

“Rude? I’m just tired.”

“So am I, but I’m not yawning!”

“Hey, calm down.”

They looked up, to Yerom’s disapproving gaze. Lothar, however, gave a wan smile. “I suppose you’ve had a long journey.” He invited them inside, calling out to Hecathe. A white-haired woman rushed from downstairs, her hands in a worn apron. She wasn’t fazed by their group, huddling in the cozy living room, but occasionally, she glanced to the upper floor.

“I understand that you mean well.” Lothar said. “But we’ve lived here for years and this is our home, for better or worse.”

Yerom pressed his lips together. “There is safety in Uth Baryd, and you wouldn’t have to fear the Autarchy. You would be with kin.”

“And where was kin, when my father’s generation was nearly wiped out?” He bitterly countered. “Or when my grandfather’s parents were driven out of Haven? We aren’t the only refugees, and we’ve long accepted that we could only help ourselves.”

“It doesn’t need to be that way. Yes, aid should have been provided time and time again, but I swear that we are here to make things right.”

Lothar stared at their entourage. “You didn’t bring many with you. Is the grace dwindling with you as well?”

“We have enough to endure.”

“But it is, and if you’re trying to recruit people, there are none here.”

Yerom tensed. As much as he tried to speak around the subject, the other man had already figured out their real purpose. It was true that they had less exorcists with each century, and the art couldn’t be lost.

Hecathe softly spoke up. “None of us are properly trained and too old to learn. The children are young, but not all of them are full-blooded.”

“It would be good for them to learn about their Hunter heritage though, and anyone eligible can be trained. Your daughter included.”

Now, this brought an odd reaction from the couple. Their expressions shuttered, and Hecathe abruptly stood. Lothar grabbed her hand, squeezing tightly. “You know we have a daughter?”

“One of your townspeople mentioned who lived in this house.”

“Did they say anything else? Who was it?”

Then, Hecathe gasped, looking into the foyer. “Oh, we must have woken her.”

Footsteps pattered. A little girl, younger than Halek and Naolin, dove into Hecathe’s skirt. Unlike her parents’, her hair was raven, except for a pure white streak. She buried her face into her mother’s lap, before sparing a glance to the room. Bright violet eyes glowed with power.

Lothar reached down, to pat her arm. “This is what I meant. Our daughter’s a Mage.”

***

In the Reach, all of the children were naturally Hunters, so Halek was intrigued by the girl. Since the grown-ups were still talking, she was told to give the twins a tour around the farm. That seemed to perk her up, and she opened the back door, looking over her shoulder to make sure they followed. Behind the house, there were fenced enclosures and a handful of other buildings, before the parched land led to the dense evergreen forests of the Shield Peaks. And it was quiet.

Their guide kept moving forward, but her eyes constantly darted to them and unlike their peers at home, she wasn’t awed. She seemed to be figuring them out, with equal measures of curiosity and caution. Naolin awkwardly cleared his throat and even that seemed to put her on edge; she took a hurried step away.

“So, your mom said your name’s Kalmia?” Halek asked.

She nodded, a jerky motion. Then, she veered towards one of the enclosures, setting the boundaries for a group of unruly yellow chicks. She hoisted a sack closer, digging her hands in and cupping what looked like the birds’ food. The chicks began to scream, and she spared an inquiring look at the twins before proceeding to deposit the meal. Given the small amounts, it was probably going to take a while.

Halek drew closer, an armspan away. “They definitely look hungry. Can I help you?”

“...Okay. But you have to do it like this.” She scattered the feed, spreading it evenly. She offered the sack to him, and he took it.

“Thanks.” He tossed a handful, though some of it landed in feathers instead. “Sorry, if I hit them.”

“It’s okay. They eat off each other too. See, over there.” She pointed to a cluster, where the poor target was desperately trying to shake off its siblings.

Halek laughed. “Well, I’ll try not to do that.”

Kalmia peered up at him, before offering a little smile. Her violet eyes were brighter in the sunshine.

“Can my brother join us? He’s dying to, he just doesn’t want to ask.”

“Diru!”

But Kalmia nodded and stepped aside, watching them feed the chicks before she said they had enough. “You can’t give them too much. Thank you!”

“Thanks.” They replied simultaneously, and Kalmia let out a startled giggle.

“That was funny.”

Halek inclined his head towards her. “Yeah, that happens sometimes. We look the same, don’t we?”

“Almost.”

“That’s because we’re twins.” Naolin explained. “Wait, almost?”

She readily said. “Halek’s hair is flat, and Naolin’s hair sticks up.”

Immediately, his hand went to the flyaway strands, while Halek laughed. “She got you there.”

“Diru…”

“Why do you call him that?” Kalmia tilted her head.

“Because he’s the older one.”

“By eight minutes.” Halek clarified. “It just means I’m his big brother. Unfortunately.”

Naolin sighed, an exhale that slumped his whole body. “You’re only saying that because you’re the future sol.”

Kalmia watched them with interest. “Is it fun being brothers? All I have is Zori.” Her earlier shyness was beginning to fall away. “Zori’s my best friend.”

“We can be your friends too.” Halek said and ignored Naolin’s elbow nudging his ribs. Maj didn’t have a council that dictated their schedules, or families jostling their children to get closer to them. It would be nice for once, to actually have a friend separate from that stifling grip.

“Will you come back to visit?”

“I think so. Our father’s planning more visits. Naolin might be a crybaby and stay home, but I’ll go.”

“That’s mean.” Naolin complained.

But Kalmia gave a smile. “Next time, I’ll wake up earlier from my nap.”

“You really shouldn't.” Halek cracked a grin. “At your age, you should nap all you can.”

They talked for a while longer, meandering past the rows of root vegetables and vegetable patches. The barn housed a pair of cows and ten sheep, which Halek requested to see. Kalmia slid the door aside and headed in, with Halek immediately following. Naolin trailed behind, reluctant to pass the threshold.

It was smaller than the elk stables he was used to, but the interior was clean. The animals were resting in their pens, flicking their ears occasionally. Hay was piled about and scattered across the floorboards. Towards the back, there was a ladder leading to an alcove with a window. Halek surveyed everything, asking. “Did you name the cows and sheep?”

“Mama and Dad said I can’t name them. But…” She pointed to the cows in turn. “I think of her as Clover and her as Rosy. Because of their spots.”

“Oh, I get it. Clover has three on her side, and Rosy’s got one round patch on her forehead.”

“Yup! The big sheep I can’t tell apart, but we have one baby who was just born. Here he is.” She went to the edge of the pen, and Halek peered over to see the suckling lamb.

“Cute. Thanks for showing them off.”

“We have cats too, to keep out the mice. I’m not allowed to bring any inside.” She gave a longing look to the alcove.

Halek suppressed a laugh. “Well, we don’t have pets either, if it makes you feel better. Maybe, someday.”

“Maybe. The rest is storage, so we can go back.” When they arrived at the front, Kalmia pointed to the steps. “That’s where my parents found me.”

“So they adopted you?” Naolin mused. “But your birth parents must have been Mages. Do you know anything about them?”

“No.” The word rang with finality, and perhaps, a touch of discontent.

Then, a figure sprinted to them, a blur that leapt for Kalmia in a crushing hug. “Sun above, there you are!”

“Hi, Zori.”

Zori was about a year older than Kalmia, with pale hair pulled into a thin braid, and her dark eyes narrowed at the twins. “Who are you?” She loudly demanded, squeezing Kalmia tighter.

“Zori, you’re hurting me.”

“Oh, sorry!” She let go, but maintained her glare even as introductions were made. “So, how long are you staying?”

“We’ll have to ask our father, but not more than a week.” Naolin replied.

“Huh. Okay.” A dismissive sound escaped her, before she scowled. “Are you sleeping over at Kalmia’s house?”

“Why?” Halek boldly shot back. “Want to join us if we do?”

“I’m asking because you’re both huge! You’ll take up too much space!”

At that, Naolin spluttered and Halek wheezed. Simultaneously, they said. “We’re probably camping.”

“But it’s not safe to sleep outside.” Kalmia seriously said, like she was repeating an adult’s warning. “Lots of people travel on the road, and it’s dangerous.”

“Yeah, and they came from the road, didn’t they? It’d be dangerous if they stayed at your house.” Zori countered.

“It’s okay, they’re nice.” The sentiment was warming.

“We’ll see about that.” Another evil eye was thrown in their direction. “Anyway, I wanted to ask if you’d pick berries with me. The blackberries are ripe now, and my mom said she’ll make pie.”

“I’ll get some for my mama too. Halek and Naolin, will you come with us?” Her violet gaze was expectant, while Zori made a scrunched face behind her.

“Yeah, sure.” Halek smiled back at Kalmia. “Let’s go.”

The girls grabbed woven baskets, handing one each to the twins, before darting ahead and having a rapid, high-pitched conversation. Naolin muttered in his ear. “Are you sure about tagging along? Zori’s kinda…hostile.”

“I think it’s funny, we’ve never been hated on sight before. Kalmia doesn’t care about whether we’re going to be sol and sola. I’m having fun, and besides, we’ve never gone berry picking before.” He spun the basket in his hands, starting to whistle.

They arrived at the base of a slope, the brambles overgrown and heavy with fruit. Zori and Kalmia immediately began plucking off the blackberries, dropping them into the baskets. Halek imitated them, trying to steer clear of the thorns. One large berry split between his fingers, and he popped it into his mouth. Warm from the sun, the tart sweet flesh easily melted in his mouth.

He wasn’t the only one either. In his periphery, Zori had just crammed a handful past her teeth, and Kalmia was quietly chewing as she filled her basket. The latter met his casual glance, a splotch of purple on one cheek. “Have you eaten blackberries before?”

“The ones that grow in the Reach are smaller, not even half the size. And these taste much better.” He indulged in another. “How else do you eat them?”

“Mama makes jam but I like eating them this way best.”

It was true, there was something addictive about fresh berries. He could have spent the rest of the afternoon here.

“Ouch!” Naolin’s hiss drew his attention, and he turned to see his brother cradling his finger, blood welling up. Tears soon followed, along with a shriek from Zori, and that put an end to their little adventure. The Black Shield scrutinized the twins’ juice-stained hands, but Yerom was only concerned about the thorn prick. A bandage and salve from Hecathe sufficed, though Naolin’s eyes remained red and he held his hand at a delicate angle.

By now, the rest of Maj was accustomed to their presence, and dinner was held outdoors. Not a banquet by any means, but every household placed a dish among the variety of wooden tables. A bonfire was lit to keep away the biting summer insects, and as the stars peeked into view, friendly conversations rose. Laughter soared, and calls for dancing to journeying songs. There were games that the twins had never played, to Zori’s smug superiority, and she roundly declared she’d teach them. It was fun, but Halek preferred to try a bite of everything. Pastries stuffed with cheese, greens sprinkled with herbs, other entrees he’d never seen before and had to ask Kalmia what was in them. The pie, of course, was excellent.

All of it was amazingly new. Celebrations at home were repetitive and predictable, but this…he’d remember this forever.

***

Returning home was awful. The Black Shield must have said something, because word quickly spread about the twins spending time with children who weren’t full-blooded. At the end of another boring meeting, the council scrutinized them; Naolin visibly squirmed but Halek glared back. The old people droned on and on, about how it wasn’t proper or whatever to associate with outsiders.

So what? Halek thought. Kalmia and Zori were more honest about wanting to play with them, instead of loitering and whispering and waiting for the future sol to choose them.

And that was exactly why on their next trip to Maj, he steered the elk towards the Metella house. Late autumn had given the town some color, in fallen leaves and the remnants of harvest. It was in a pumpkin patch, that dark hair was starkly visible, and Halek abruptly pulled the reins taut to Naolin’s chagrin.

“Ugh, I feel sick. Did we have to go so fast?”

“Yup.” He replied, sliding off the saddle. “Hey, Kalmia.”

Cradling a gold and green striped pumpkin, she beamed. “Hi! Halek and Naolin, are you here to help us?”

“That was the idea.” Another diplomatic outing, to convince the people in migrating to Uth Baryd. Honestly, with winter approaching, it was a hard sell to Halek. But he wouldn’t complain. It was his only chance to feel like a ten-year-old boy, not a title with the crushing weight of prophecy. And happily, he rolled up his sleeves and joined a Mage girl in the sun-warmed soil.

Gourds were separated from vines, sorted by ripeness and size. Mostly, they did what they were told to by the adults. But Kalmia was pleased by their company, especially because Zori was with her large family. She reintroduced them to the farm animals, including the latest additions. The chickens, now grown, crowded around her legs in a heap of feathers. Hecathe appeared to shoo them away, before offering that they come inside and lend a hand in making dumplings. By the way Kalmia cheered, it was something enjoyable.

The next thing Halek knew, they were in the Metellas’ kitchen, under bundles of dried herbs and flowers. They sat at a wooden table, a large bowl of orange pumpkin innards and stacked circles of rolled dough between them. Hecathe demonstrated how much filling was enough, before saying she’d return soon. It was certainly an interesting task; they’d never cooked before. Naolin was struggling, the dough tearing in his fingers. Kalmia was working patiently, crimping the edges of a dumpling with intense focus. But Halek found a rhythm to the scooping and wrapping, and it was actually fun. He began to fold the sealed sides of his, in his own personal twist. Those were his creations. Strange, he felt prouder about a pile of little dumplings than any test about demon knowledge or marksmanship. But it was a good feeling.

“How are you doing this so fast?” Naolin was in disbelief.

“It’s easy once you get the hang of it. Should I fix yours?”

“No!”

Kalmia noticed, taking one of his dumplings and placing it in the palm of her floured hand. Her face brightened. “They’re so cute! I want to eat them later.”

“How do we cook them?” He was very curious now.

“With butter and greens, or mushroom sauce. Oh, toasty pine nuts too. And cheese! But you can pick.”

“Then, I want to try all of those.”

That made her laugh, and he found himself looking forward to the whole process. With his folding pattern, he tracked his dumplings, through the boiling, sizzling, and plating. Once they were ready, he kept going back for small dishes of different sauces and seasonings, though in the end, he really couldn’t decide on what he liked best. But the ones he made were extra delicious, regardless of what they were enveloped in. He glanced at the others, watching their content expressions as they ate. As soon as they were home, he would make a batch for his mother.

In hindsight, that was probably the beginning of his love for cooking.

***

Years passed, and the diplomatic trips continued. Sure, the council was getting restless that no one from Maj was emigrating to the Reach, but Father insisted this was the right course of action. And once Halek dryly backed him up, everyone’s ears perked at the prophesied savior’s words.

It only made him more eager for these visits. Of course, Naolin never shared in the same enthusiasm, always a little hesitant and looking back at their home in trepidation. But even his straightlaced nature loosened when Halek dragged him over to the girls. Usually, they were found together, in the midst of a small task or the occasional spar with wooden batons. Kalmia always noticed first, stopping to cheerfully bound their way, while Zori trailed after, her hostility congealed into grudging acceptance.

And while the grownups chatted, they’d embark on an ‘adventure’, as Zori liked to call them. Past the edge of town, the trees found purchase amidst stone outcroppings and climbed the Shield Peaks. Rivulets of snowmelt wound between, like silvery threads. The air was clearer, and noise was absorbed by the dense underbrush. Occasionally, a flap of wings or a small bushy tail would rustle their surroundings, as they searched for just the right spot among the rocks and fallen branches.

“Alright, let’s stop here.” Zori puffed out, before launching into the setting of whatever they were going to play. The Castigation, and they were rebels gathering a stockpile. Pioneers to the west, lost after a storm. Mythic heroes, fighting demons. To her credit, her imagination transformed the gray terrain into a more exciting scene, of foreboding danger and heightened shadows.

Naolin, unable to resist, pointed out the little inconsistencies with a slight frown. So-and-so wasn’t alive during this era, actual demons would be scarier, things that would earn a flying kick from an irked Zori and he’d flinch. For Halek, it was easier to go along with the idea, at least until it became too complicated. Then, he’d volunteer to be the sick one they were trying to find a cure for, or the injured one left behind at camp. Kalmia would pat his shoulder, telling him not to die in the meantime; he’d have to stifle his laughter.

But most of the time, it was fun. A recurrent theme was slaying wyverns, to coordinate attacks against wings, fangs, and toxic breath. They called out to each other, darting among the rocks and trees. The boys mentioned a Hunter maneuver, tossing their smaller companions at the enemy. Zori absolutely hated it, wrestling away from Naolin’s timid attempt, while Kalmia’s glowing eyes widened as Halek seized her arms. They whirled around, gaining momentum and she gave a stunned cry when her feet lifted from the ground. Of course, he didn’t really throw her, setting her down neatly, but she took the next step, somersaulting and aiming with her miniature shortbow. Then, she beamed and ran to Halek.

“Can we practice it again?”

“Sure.” This time, he grabbed her by the armpits, and she expected it, miming a draw of her absent quiver. Already, her instincts were good.

A measly distraction came in the form of a blow to his side. “Let her go, you huge monster!” Zori was obviously jealous.

“Betraying me at last?” He drawled.

“Alright, no hitting each other.” Naolin sighed, trying to be responsible, as usual. He was forced to parry Zori’s sudden strike. “Hey! Come on, stop!”

Then, it dissolved into a grand mess without a story, and they inevitably grew tired. They’d return from the mountains with smooth rocks or wildflower bouquets, spoils from their invisible battles. Halek pocketed these souvenirs; he’d never recall the rules of each little game but these were enough to remind him of the ringing laughs and shouts.

Throughout one weeklong stay, Zori became obsessed with a new kind of game. If they had a race or competition, the winner could boss around the loser out of the quartet. Typically, this ended up being Zori, who declared herself as their queen, with Naolin or Kalmia as her servants. The latter didn’t act like this was beyond their usual dynamic, tagging after the older girl without fuss, but Naolin complained.

“She’s such a tyrant, diru.” He sighed after another demand for shoulder massages. “Can’t you win one of these contests?”

“That means I have to try.”

It wasn’t until the next day that the reign of terror ended. They hadn’t left Kalmia’s backyard; a recent trade with Norms had gone poorly and tensions were high. A set of old scarecrows became their targets to stave off boredom, and Zori picked up a slingshot.

“Whoever hits the farthest one gets to be our ruler.” She stuck her tongue out, a pebble pinched between her fingers. It flung wide, scraping the base of said scarecrow before skittering off.

Halek was next, falling short of the closest one. He passed the slingshot to Naolin who gave him a dirty look. His brother really did his best, the pebble cleanly rolling to a stop just in front of the desired target. The wind blew, the stitched face of the scarecrow wobbling. And then, Kalmia took her turn, her face determined. For a moment, it seemed like she’d miss too, but a faint thud and the puff of straw escaping threadbare cloth proved otherwise. A direct hit, right in the chest. She seemed stunned, dazedly accepting their round of congratulations.

“Now, Kalmia’s the Queen and Halek’s her servant.” Zori announced with a glint in her eyes. “So, you have to do whateeever she says for the whole day.”

“Fine by me.” He looked to her, folding his arms.

For a moment, she was stunned. Then, her lips pursed in deep consideration. “Um…can I ride the elk with you?”

“That’s a question, not an order. Your Highness.” He belatedly added, at Zori’s kick to his shin.

“I asked because I won’t be a mean queen.” Kalmia said. “And I still want you to play with me after today.”

Huh. How thoughtful of her. At least, power would never go to her head. “Wise words, Your Highness. Alright, your wish is my command.” He drawled and then lifted under her arms, setting her in the saddle. Ignoring her surprised gasp, he swung his body behind her, taking the reins. A click between his teeth, and they were off.

It was only a lap around the town, so he coaxed the elk into a canter. Kalmia’s wavy hair fluttered, and she tilted her head back to look at Halek. “He’s fast!”

“Too fast?”

She shook her head and gave a delighted laugh. In his periphery, he noted that some of the townsfolk were openly gawking at them. It was a relief to return to the Metella farm, and he dismounted, taking Kalmia with him. Despite her unsteadiness once she touched down, she smiled from ear to ear and he couldn’t help returning it in kind. Then, she asked if he could toss her, so she could actually somersault after her landing. After that fulfilled request, she would just look expectantly at him, and he’d oblige whatever she was indicating, making a show of dragging his feet. But then, her purple eyes would shine and he didn’t feel like it was a chore at all.

The last thing she wanted was a cup of fresh milk, but by the way she glanced towards her parents, it seemed like she didn’t want them to know. She didn’t drink it either, heading towards her room instead. Zori was occupied with the scarecrows, trying to improve her aim, while Naolin was being a good little boy and helping Father with packing. So, Halek shadowed Kalmia, his eyebrows raised.

“Are you hiding something?” He stopped at her threshold, peering inside. She had a neat bedroom, though her blanket was askew on her wooden bed. On the walls, dried laurel bouquets were strung on twine, and a subtle fragrance met his nose.

“It’s not bad. I think.” She lifted the blanket. From under her bed, she pulled out a trundle-like box, containing a heap of rags. A stirring movement, and the head of a gray kitten popped out.

“I should’ve guessed. Smuggled it into your room, huh?”

“She was the smallest one in her litter and she wasn’t eating enough. I thought I’d take care of her.” To her credit, the kitten didn’t look starved, eagerly lapping at the milk.

Halek knelt beside her. “You did a good job. Are you going to sneak her into the barn when she’s bigger?”

“Yeah, soon.” She fondly petted the gray fur. “Before, she was too weak to play, but she likes to cuddle now.”

“Sounds like you’re getting attached.” He teased.

With the milk gone, the kitten blinked sleepily and curled into a ball in Kalmia’s arm. She countered. “I don’t care.” She looked unusually unapologetic as she hugged the kitten.

He reached out to scratch the kitten’s head; it was softer than he expected. A vibration kicked under his touch, the purring startling both him and Kalmia before they exchanged grins. Humming under her breath, she tucked the kitten inside the makeshift bedding, and slid the box back. Then, they descended downstairs, about to return outside. Her gaze turned to him, suddenly wide and nervous. “You won’t tell my mama, will you?”

“Nope.” He ruffled her hair. The gesture surprised her, her own hands flying to the top of her head once he let go. Cute. “I can keep your secret.”

“Thank you!” And then, she sped off towards Zori.

On the way back home, Naolin pointed out. “I know you could’ve hit that scarecrow. Why’d you lose on purpose?”

“Maybe, I just wanted to see what it was like, doing things for other people instead. It’s nice.” It was also bitter, with the fact that such behavior would be discouraged in the future. In silent understanding, his brother nudged his shoulder against his.

***

The instructions had been clear. Venture into the Wastes, kill a demon, bring it back. The last step was currently evading him, but he was so tired. Fresh memories continued to taunt him. Bloody chains, crunching bone, that sinister voice. Half delirious, he picked a direction and kept going.

He didn’t even remember collapsing. He only registered feeling colder and colder, the urge to sleep becoming a heavy blanket. And then, something turned his face.

“Halek?”

Violet eyes stared down at him, as a gloved hand brushed the snow off his head. In a winter coat lined with rabbit fur and dark hair flying away from her hood, Kalmia gasped in disbelief. No, that wasn’t possible, she couldn’t be near the Wastes.

“I’ve got to be hallucinating.” He muttered.

“No, you’re not. Let me start a fire for you.” She shook his shoulder, and that kept him from nodding off until she lit a pile of dry kindling. Most likely, she used magic, but he was grateful, warmth returning to his tired body. She opened her pack, handing him a dry biscuit, which he scarfed down. Around them, the deep woods were eerily silent.

“What are you doing here?” His voice was rusty from disuse, and the uneven crack, growing frequent as the days passed, really wasn’t welcome in this moment.

“I want to ask you the same. Were you planning to visit us? We didn’t know.”

“This is near Maj?” Strange, his body must have gravitated to this place.

“A little deeper in the mountains, but yes.”

“So what are you doing here?”

“I set out a few traps. We’re running low on food, since the traders stopped coming.” She hesitated, and then, she rubbed her coat sleeve over her face. Over the fresh tears dampening her cheeks.

“Kalmia, what’s wrong?”

“It’s the Gray Death. I don’t have it, neither does my dad, but…Mama got sick. And I want to find something that can help her too.”

In all this time, he had never seen her cry. The sight was unsettling, tying a knot under his sternum. He dug into his pocket, searching for whatever spare cloth he had, but the only scrap was spotted with dried blood. “Sorry, this is all I have.”

She gave a warped sound, between a choke and a laugh. “How did that happen? Are you hurt?”

“I was. A demon.” And then, he held his tongue; it was an awful tale, and he didn’t want to scare her. “Anyway, it’s dead now and since I forgot to get proof of the kill, I have to find another before going back to the Reach. If I want to.”

“If you want to?” She echoed, flashing him a concerned look. “Are the council elders that harsh?”

“It’s not just them, it’s everyone. They’re expecting me to bring a Cacophant or something that proves their future savior is destined to save the world, or whatever they believe. And afterwards, what else is there but the same? Just…more and more pressure, to make sure the prophecy is true.” He stared into the distance, the freshly fallen snow glittering in the morning. Shaking his head, he said. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter what I think, obviously. But I don’t have to go yet. Let’s find herbs for your mom.”

Hecathe had always been kind to him and Naolin, and courteous to their father. The Gray Death, however, spared no one, and despite the sinking feeling in his gut, he lifted his boots and began searching the underbrush.

Kalmia trudged beside him, explaining. “She has a fever and she keeps throwing up. I tried cooking soup and that worked for a few days.”

Those words should have been coming from a town elder, not a slip of a girl with a bow half her size to protect herself. “You sound like a grandma.”

“And you sound like a cranky grandpa.” She protested but her voice was amused. Her hood had slipped off; her hair was longer, past her shoulders.

He gave a quick tousle, ignoring the futile scrape of her gloves, and used his stride to his advantage in escaping. He drawled. “Then, if I’m that old, you better catch up.” And he took off, boots crushing the frozen ground.

Her startled bright laugh followed, then her softer footsteps. “Halek, wait!”

And he did have a brief lead, exhaling a cloud of vapor into the cold air. Exhilaration flooded his veins, cleaner and lighter than the survival-based response he was running on for the past few days. Then, the bruised spots on his body flared, his gait slowing. An arm linked through his, Kalmia peering up at him.

“Where are we going?”

“As far as we can.”

They hurtled down the slope, and time slowed. They were aloft, suspended in the air between each step. Pale sunshine spilled into the powdery snow ahead, and their breaths wove around their heads as they gasped. Two kids, running away from their fears. It lasted until they arrived at the bottom, of what looked like an old riverbed, and their footprints stamped divots in the hard ground.

He braced against a tree trunk, his sides aching, and that was why he noticed a hint of green amidst the rocks. He cleared the crust of snow, revealing a frosted cluster of serrated leaves. “Mint. It should help with your mom’s nausea.”

Her eyes sparkled in recognition, and she immediately knelt. “It will, thank you!”

One small leaf clung to his glove; he shoved it in his mouth, the cool burst welcome. As he chewed, he watched her finish gathering what she needed, then turn to search for other herbs. She must have found something because she straightened and worked on snapping the outer edges of a bush.

What if he never went home? What if he stayed here, content to live in Maj and explore the mountainsides with Kalmia? But inevitably, the elders would look for him, and the Black Shield knew about Maj. They’d sunder the village to recover their beloved savior, and the possibility weighed heavily on his heart.

Kalmia strode over, her pack full of mint and bark shavings. “This should be enough.” Then, she hesitated. “I’m going home; do you want to come along?”

“...I don’t think so. Glad you got what you were looking for, but I still have to kill a demon.”

To his surprise, she took his hand, pressing something within. “Here, this is for you.” The neatly folded cloth was better than what he had offered earlier.

“Thanks. I’ll see you later.” He promised.

She visibly relaxed, nodding. “Okay. Safe travels.” She spared a last glance at him before drawing her hood up and hurrying through the snowy trees.

Once she was out of sight, he opened the kerchief. A dented compass, clinging to its purpose. Wryly, he turned in the direction of the needle and headed north.

He did return to Uth Baryd, demon bounty in tow, and once he deposited it at the Mornhaven Gate, the first thing he asked was to send another diplomatic mission to Maj. To bring supplies or food, anything to help. The council argued back, a clamor of reedy voices, and the deep-set frowns didn’t waver. The city walls were barred, preventing even the merchants from entering. They were afraid. Think of the infection, they said, as if the village wasn’t living through it. Cowards and hypocrites. The roads froze over, and while the city seemed to exhale a private sigh of relief, Halek counted the days to spring.

However, the next letter from Maj came before the snow melted, and in smudged ink, Lothar’s handwriting flatly conveyed that Hecathe was dead.

***

Almost a year passed, after the old bats were replaced by slightly less old bats, when Yerom contacted Maj again. Halek noticed the flicker of surprise on his father’s face, at the response. But there was no argument, since they left by the end of the sennight.

The village was dustier and quieter, cloaked in twilight. At first, Halek wondered who the elderly man exiting the Metella house was, before he abruptly realized it was Lothar. The man was bowed under the weight of grief, shuffling with dull eyes. He swayed, looking at their procession without reacting. And then, the door opened, candlelight streaming around a silhouette.

Hurrying towards them, Kalmia carried a shawl. Her legs were longer, her skirt above her ankles, and her dark hair spilled past her shoulders, the white tress tucked behind her ear. She slowed to a stop, draping the fabric over Lothar before making the familiar Hunter greeting gesture. “Welcome.”

Then, Yerom spoke to Lothar, in the careful tone of their initial acquaintance while the Black Shield dispersed to give supplies. Halek gave the elk’s reins to Naolin, heading to Kalmia. She was standing rigidly, her head slightly bent. This formality was appropriate, she’d be like the daughter of a First Family according to his lessons, but he loathed it.

He closed the distance, ruffling her hair and grinning at the odd squeak in response. “Long time no see.”

And then, it was his turn to be surprised. She leaned in, clasping her hands behind his back in a full embrace. “Thank you for coming.” Just as swiftly, she let go and her face turned aside, before he could say anything more.

Slowly, the rest of the town became aware of their return. While the Black Shield was forced to answer the torrent of questions, Halek and Naolin retreated. At least, Zori didn’t care about why they were gone; she had undergone a growth spurt, her pale hair shorn on one side. Still, her love for adventure hadn’t wavered at all, and her first demand was a scavenger hunt. But Kalmia had changed. She didn’t look as aged as her adoptive father, but her eyes contained a new depth, piercing through the make believe scenarios.

After the events of his trial, Halek wondered if that was also reflected in his face. Demons and death had taken their childhood innocence. These small games felt…hollow. But Zori was determined to distract Kalmia in her own way, and she beckoned the twins; so they played anyway, clinging to what remained of sweeter memories.

Fortunately, Maj was open to future visits. Unfortunately for Halek, the council decided it was time for him to delve into preparing for his destined role. Naolin was assigned to conduct diplomacy instead, while Halek remained in the Reach to study and spar.

…If they could tell the difference. Just like when they were kids, Halek coaxed and prodded his brother into swapping places.

“The council will notice, won’t they?!” Naolin protested. “Come on…”

“I’m going to sacrifice the rest of my life to serving them, so just let me go.”

Ultimately, he had his way. He had to restrain himself from whistling, his brother didn’t, but he was thrilled by the successful deception. The whole way to Maj, the Black Shield soldiers didn’t realize they had the wrong twin. However, upon their arrival, violet eyes seared into Halek. During a quiet moment, she murmured to him.

“Did you skip your training to be sol?”

“What are you talking about? I’m Naolin, the younger and more obedient brother.”

“If you say so.” But she knowingly smiled. “Then, you can help me with sorting the vegetables. I’ll show you how to pickle them.” And happily, he followed in her wake.

The peace of mundane routine was a magnetic force, drawing him again every time the delegation left. Naolin complained that the elders were bound to catch on, though they never did, and it continued until the summer before Kalmia’s Flower Day. Kalmia was born in deep winter, about a month following the twins’ birthday. Not that Halek was anticipating that year’s grandiose celebration, with the impending betrothal.

“You’re getting married?” A flower slipped between her fingers, and she hastily picked it from her lap. It was an idle afternoon, the two of them enjoying the crisp mountain air and watching the drifting puffy clouds. “What do you know about her?”

“Not much.” He shrugged. “She’s from another clan, somewhere with a lot of powerful families. She’s a few years older. Supposedly beautiful.”

“Is she nice?”

“Who knows?” He sourly retorted. He wasn’t thrilled to be married off for the sake of producing more full-blooded Hunters, more bodies to fight demons. The future was a bleak image of sitting on a pedestal, looking down on opaque silhouettes like salt pillars, their hands blindly grabbing for a savior.

Something ruffled his hair, and he glanced upwards, to find the circle of elm and edelweiss. It was a simple charm, evenly made and sweetly fragrant. What were the meanings again? Elm was for warding, especially against demons. Edelweiss was for strength, or devotion? In the corner of his eye, Kalmia was somber, but when he turned to her, a shy smile was on her face.

“You’re always welcome in Maj, whenever you want.” Then, she resumed crafting another flower wreath, a pink blush flooding her cheeks. “As long as you send a letter first, we'll know to prepare your room!”

The village was nothing like home. He could place his hands on the dark soil, watch the green things grow ripe, and work as an ordinary person. He’d learn to cook dishes from across Blest, and share them in a cozy kitchen adorned with dried herbs and flowers. If only he was born here, if he wasn’t the future sol-

All stupid and pointless, he berated himself. Out of reflex, he wanted to run away, to nip temptation in the bud. But the clouds shifted and sunlight beamed down as she perfunctorily crowned herself with violets. Staring at her happy face, he said instead. “I’ll bring you something for your birthday.”

She tilted her head, the blossoms catching. “Why though? You don’t have to. It’s enough if you’re at the party…and awake when the cake’s cut.”

“I might just take a nap under your table for that.” He tousled her hair, pulling away before her fingers futilely tried to stop him. While she hastily shook the petals out, he smirked. “Well, if it’s good cake, I’ll try to be there.”

Kalmia laughed and the image was burned into his memory. His hand still carried the aroma of violets when he left.

***

But a winter storm locked down the Reach, and when the sky was clear again, the messenger birds brought the terrible news. Demonkind had returned to Blest, rampant across the continent. Then, word came that it started in Maj. And it was completely massacred.

Halek ran.

He took only the essentials, a ration pack and his spear. He made for the stables and steered his elk on the familiar path. It was a hard ride, but he was numb to the bitter cold and winds. He was purely focused on the road to Maj.

And then, the destruction was laid bare in front of him.

He was dragged back to Uth Baryd without a struggle. He didn’t have the energy to fight off the Black Shield, and the elders’ chastisements washed over him. The first day of his confinement was hazy, as he cycled through horror, rage, and anguish.

Then, he opened the thick books of exorcisms and forced himself to read through the crackling pages. The mourning period had already begun, but he was allowed to attend the lighting of the pyre, a mass funeral in the name of Maj. He went through every name and face, and when a violet ribbon was tossed into the flames, his vision blurred.

“Diru.” Naolin pressed a handkerchief into his palm, but he ignored it, listening to Father’s words about the return of demonkind. The fallen would never be forgotten, as martyrs engraved in the annals of Hunter history. But it wouldn’t bring any of them back.

“I can’t promise anything.” He murmured, and he wasn’t even sure to whom. “But I’ll try not to let this happen again.”

Days turned to weeks, then to months and years. Their home expanded, with Hunter refugees and their families. The elders griped, but vacant houses were filled and there was no complaint regarding more fighters. Halek and Naolin came of age, and the engagement to Moonsilk was finalized, though any opportunity to delay the wedding was readily seized. He became sol, not the best one by any stretch, but he mustered the effort if there was an Endarkened. He owed that much, in the name of an obliterated town.

Sometimes, he looked out at the southern mountain peaks, until the shine of snow was too bright to endure. His attention would catch on the rare sight of purple fabric, but it was never the right shade. When the laurel bloomed, he’d take a flower and count how many days for the petals to brown, hating each time how short it was.

And deep within his chest of drawers, a locked box protected a simple charm of elm and edelweiss.

#shepherds of haven #yes it's a downer ending only because it stops before the game #not for long though 👀#the rest of the tags are my ranting/hinting so feel free to ignore #as i'm writing further along i realize this is the WORST au lmao #that shared past is just another dimension of angst and yearning #especially since she'll be drawn to familiarity given everything headed for her #kinda...makes him giving it all up more believable in a way...

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