#rip Pinecone you had a good run of being the biggest

[abirddogmoment]

Rory is officially both taller and heavier than Pike

[bladesurgence]

yodels five times kissed

i.

She can see Syndra shiver. The woolen sweater is thick, and the sleeves a little too long, but it might as well be a spider’s web against the wind coming in from the mountains. With a mitten-covered hand, Syndra turns a page of the book she’s been reading, the corners of her mouth scrunched in concentration.

Irelia walks over with two mugs of tea, the steam wafting through the air, and sets them down on the table in front of her.

“Oh.” Syndra looks up, a surprised smile on her face. “Thank you.”

Irelia sits down next to her, wrapping her arms around Syndra and kissing her cheek. “You’re welcome.”

ii.

A couple of pinecones whiz by Irelia’s head. She brings her hands together, holding them parallel to the ground, then raises a leg. It curves up, to her thigh, to her waist, and then kicks out. One, two, three-

“Look, Irie!”

It’s like a glass window breaking. Irelia nearly trips over herself, feet stumbling to keep her balance on the wooden stage. She turns around, and Syndra is calling the pinecones back to her and launching them off again. The trajectories start alternating: as one goes by, the other one returns.

Syndra looks like a little child opening up presents on Snowdown, and Irelia can’t help but mask her irritation. Her forms did not come as quickly. She would have to practice again.

Syndra walks over, the pinecones falling to the ground. “Did I interrupt? I’m… sorry about that.” The hints of a smirk cling to her lips. “I’m just so excited, you know?”

Irelia nods, shaking off some of her brittleness. “I know. I would be, too. That power is special. It’s amazing what you can learn to do.”

When Syndra comes within arms’ reach, she pulls Irelia in, a hand on the back of her head, and kisses her. Irelia blinks, eyes widening, but she manages to settle in. Syndra pulls away after a second, a spark of lightning in her gaze.

“I’ll be Ionia’s best mage someday,” Syndra swears. “And you’ll be dancing there next to me.”

iii.

The pain rips into her side like the edge of a sword plunging into her flesh. Irelia tries to get up, but her body refuses to answer. The sky towers above her, a gray vastness that seems impossible to navigate through.

A purple light emanates at the corners of her field of vision. Irelia sees one, two, three spheres hovering above her. Then there’s a headdress and familiar white locks.

Syndra looks down, and Irelia feels like she’s an insect underneath her heel. Instead of anger or contempt, Syndra’s eyes - what Irelia can make of them - are a dull gray, as if she wants to look through Irelia, not at her.

“You’re not my enemy.”

Irelia struggles to catch her breath to reply, but Syndra can read her lips all the same.

“What went wrong, Irelia? What made you so different from me?”

She lifts a dark sphere, and Irelia closes her eyes, calling for her blades. Where there should be a connection, between her spirit and the sword, there’s only a void. Clenching her teeth, she braces for an impact.

But instead she feels clawed fingers stroking her forehead, and soft lips that taste of ash and burnt incense.

iv.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Irelia takes another step into the foyer. The temple is huge, with walls over a hundred feet tall. She can imagine a younger Syndra exploring its hallways, running up and down its staircases. What had started out as a place of nurture became walls to shut her in.

“Why do you want to leave Ionia?” Irelia whispers.

Syndra doesn’t take her gaze away. “Do you not see what they are trying to do? The Order isn’t the enemy, trying to seal away magic. It’s the Council. I can feel it. The magic is being drained somewhere else, the leylines running dry. The vastaya aren’t pleased, either.”

Irelia wants to cry out, to tell Syndra she’s wrong, but she can’t summon the conviction to oppose her. Doubt continues to pile within her, stacking on top of itself like the snows in winter.

“You told me you would become the strongest mage in all of Ionia.’ Irelia’s throat is dry, and her words come out like crumbling stone. “I thought you meant that to help the country. Not tear it apart.”

“I don’t want to hear the Council’s guard dog,” Syndra spits out. She floats over to hover in front of her, a storm welling up in her irises. “I want to hear you.”

Irelia reaches out for Syndra’s arm, as if grabbing onto her would steady her on this tightrope she’s trying to balance on. When she looks at Syndra, she doesn’t want to see the Sovereign either. “I miss you.”

Syndra’s jaw quivers for a second, and then they lean in, hands both grabbing at bodies and pushing them away. Irelia doesn’t know who pulls away first, but they break like a rigid branch off a bamboo tree.

“Leave.”

v.

The first beams of morning light filter through the window blinds. Irelia feels a warmth next to her, like the comfort of a crackling campfire. When she opens her eyes further, she can see a sleeping form curled up against her, its chest slowly rising and falling with its breath. Irelia finds that her hand is curled around Syndra’s body, and she runs her fingers along her side.

Syndra shifts. “If it’s before nine…”

A recollection of the day looming before them comes to Irelia. “You would have to wake up, anyways. We’re getting on the 10:17 bus, else we’ll never make it to Busan on time.”

The protests come in the form of the blankets being pulled tighter over them. Irelia struggles against her holdings, eventually rolling out of the bed.

“Give me one good reason to come to the concert,” Syndra mumbles.

“I know you weren’t the biggest fan of the singles,” irelia explains, “but they always play their b-sides, too.”

“Two reasons.”

Irelia chuckles, leaning over the bed and bending down to kiss Syndra’s cheek.

“Come on, come on.”