I love honkia impact 3rd/genshin/star rail and literally I’m in so many different fandoms..anime YOU NAME IT…Video games..yep in that too..and I love creepypasta/marble hornet content as well… SILVER MY HONEY🥹
DUDE TY FOR TALKING ABT THOSE PROBLEMS ESPECIALLY THE TEENAGERS💔💔 I find it sosoos super weird when they write for minors and say “minors do not interact!” You’re literally writing for a minor???? I recently saw this grown guy on ttk shipping his oc to sebek even if the oc is a teen it just feels weird for a grown ass man to make smth like that for a TEENAGER and kept saying “he’s just pixels!” Literally all of them are predators idc what ANYONE says
HELL NAH NOT SEBEK💔
That’s honestly one of the biggest issues I have with parts of the fandom too. A lot of people hide behind “it’s fictional” to excuse grown adults making romantic or sexual content involving teenage characters, but that doesn’t stop it uncomfortable or weird to see. Even if the OC is also a teen, it feels strange when an ADULT creator heavily inserts themselves into those dynamics.
I also think people dismiss criticism way too fast instead of understanding why others are uncomfortable. Calling everything “just pixels” ignores the fact that fandom spaces still reflect real people’s interests and boundaries. Nobody is saying people can’t enjoy fiction, but acting like nobody should question it all is part of why the fandom gets so toxic.
ohhhh my god shut up stop clogging up tags with shit noone cares about
The REASON I put so many tags was that hopefully my words could get through people like you and this is something you SHOULD care about, but obviously I can see that you don’t which makes me question where your morals are. If you didn’t like my post you did not have to comment about it literally just keep scrolling and I’ve made it clear multiple times that it is MY OPINION.😭
YOU’RE RIGHT BRO. I never see anyone saying shit to these writers. LIKE YOU CANT SAY MDNI THEN WRITE SMUT OF MINORS, IT JUST DOESNT WORK LIKE THAT 😭😭
THANK YOU FOR UNDERSTANDING!💗
So much of the fandom brushes MDNI for minors in TWST and it grosses me out. I don’t mind MDNI for third years bc of the simple fact that they are 18+ but for second and first years MDNI should not even be allowed for them bc they are 16-17. IK know that at the end of Book 7 some characters that are second years turn 18, but if a creator does make MDNI of a second year they should specify wether they are making it when the character is 18 to lessen confusion.
Also if you are going to make MDNI for either first or second year at least make it when they are adults or when they are third years bc it’s makes me sick when it’s content of them when they are 16-17 since they are STILL MINORS💔💔
MDNI literally stands for “MINORS DO NOT INTERACT” so people who make explicit content of second + first years(minors) are QUITE LITERALLY CONTRADICTING THEMSELVES😭
PLEASE DON’T SKIP THIS I AM GOING TO TALK ABOUT A MAJOR PROBLEM IN THE TWST X READER AND SHIPPING PART OF THE FANDOM!!(long yap session incoming)
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‼️WARNING THIS DISCUSSION WILL INCLUDE THE TOPICS OF THE FOLLOWING‼️
-Incest and incest coded relationships
- Harassment and fandom 
- Predatory or unhealthy age gaps.
- “Pro ship” VS “anti” discourse 
- Power imbalance in relationships
- Fetishization of taboo relationships 
- Sexualization of underage characters
- Obsessive or possessive relationship dynamics 
- Explicit fan content involving minors.
- Character misinterpretation/flattening personalities 
- Toxic shipping culture.
- Romanticization of unhealthy relationships 
- Toxic fandom behaviour and gatekeeping 
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As you may know the “x reader” side of the Twisted Wonderland fandom is PRETTY BIG in my opinion. As much as I love the x reader and shipping side there’s been a lot of disturbing stuff I have been seeing revolving around this part recently. A BIGGGG issue with the “x reader” + shipping side of the Twisted Wonderland fandom is how certain harmful dynamics become normalized or romanticized. While fanfiction is FICTIONAL and people can write what they what when they want, there is still a noticeable pattern of content involving incest-coded relationships, inappropriate age gaps, and unhealthy power dynamics being treated as “attractive” or “harmless” without much critical discussion.
One major example is the presence of incest or sibling-coded ships. Even when characters are canonically related, or in “x reader” case the reader is implied to have a familial relationship with that character, people still sexualize those dynamics for shock value or fetish content. Examples of incest in the fandom would definitely be Jade x Floyd and not that long ago I saw a Lilia x Reader where the reader WAS LILIAS CHILD(and it was a smut fic). These types of relationships make many fans uncomfortable, especially when these relationships are romanticized way rather than acknowledged as taboo along with that it’s genuinely just disgusting YES they are fictional characters but it’s DEFINITELY doesn’t excuse the fact that they are related. With x reader it’s truly up to the creator and it’s sick that they would even think to make reader related to the character of choice and then make them be romantic with each other.
Another issue is the amount of extreme age gap content. Since Twisted Wonderland characters are TEENAGERS, some content pairs them with much older adults, authority figures, or immortal characters in ways that feel predatory. A lot of these stories ignore the imbalance in maturity, power, and experience, instead portraying the relationship as an automatically romantic simply because the characters are attractive. Same with “x reader” the amount of age gap content for x readers NEEDS TO BE STUDIED. Examples of this would be shipping any first year with third years or adults, any minor with an adult, minors with immortal beings, (minor) reader with adults, AND any student x teacher relationship.
The fandom also has a problem with oversexualizing underage characters. Even though the cast is largely made up with high school students, there is a huge amount of explicit fan content involving them. Some fans defend this by saying “it’s fictional”, while simultaneously attacking other people’s ships as immoral, creating a very hypocritical environment. Although in my personal opinion if you have decided to age up a character and you have made it clear that you are not making NSFW content of a minor then I think it’s ok.
Another toxic aspect is fandom harassment. People are often attacked for disliking certain ships that are reasonable and this goes vice versa but more of disliking some ships. To be honest I have a hard time writing about this topic specifically because I don’t not want to get hated on or getting attacked for my opinions, although one thing is clear and that is people get attacked for disliking ships, preferring platonic interpretations, or criticizing problematic content. Discussions quickly turn into “pro ship vs anti” arguments instead of respectful conversations. This creates a hostile atmosphere where fans feel pressured to either stay silent or fully agree with the dominant side of the fandom.
There is ALSO the issue of flattening characters in MANY MANY “x readers” stories. Complex characters lose their original personalities and become overly possessive, obsessive, or unrealistically devoted to the reader(though some of these might be applicable to the yandere trope which would make more sense if these traits were used in that context). This can reduce nuanced characters into generic romantic archetypes designed purely for wish fulfillment at the cost of mischaracterizing them COMPLETELY.
Overall, the problem is not that people enjoy fanfiction or self insert stories. The problem is how parts of the fandom normalizes unhealthy dynamics, sexualize teenage characters, and create toxic discourse around shipping and morality while refusing meaningful criticism.
(Once again all of these are MY OPINIONS you do not have to agree with them)
A\N: A small silly drabble while I try to cook up something bigger:) Requests are open!
Dinner at Diasomnia should have been normal, but you suppose that was wishful thinking.
Nothing has been normal since you ended up in a different world.
You have grown close to Malleus over the months, he has become a close friend in your life. Thus leading you to meet not only Lilia but the two knights always by his side, Silver and Sebek.
Silver’s quiet fierceness had drawn you to him, the two of you had grown quite close.
So dinner was much anticipated, the five of you sat around the table. Malleus at the head, with Silver and Sebek seated at either side, Lilia had taken the seat next to Sebek, leaving you seated next to Silver.
The clinking of silverware echoed along with some quiet chatter.
Everything was normal, until Lilia’s voice cut through peace.
“So..you two are dating.” He states, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
Silver’s fork stills.
You choke on a sip of water.
A faint flush spreads across Silver’s face.
Lilia only looks amused.
Sebek’s brows furrow and Malleus tilts his head.
It’s quiet for a moment as you regain your composure, Silver gives you a small glance, checking if you're alright before speaking.
“You knew?” Silver asks, shifting in his seat.
“Well of course, the way you two look at each other isn’t exactly subtle.” Lilia responds, the amused smirk still on his face.
You only groan.
“We were going to tell you…” Silver starts.
“I get it, young love. You're both way more obvious than you realize.” He laughs.
Malleus smirks, he knew too of course (Lilia told him). Sebek only grumbles something under his breath, surprisingly quiet for once.
“Well at least we don’t have to hide it anymore…or make any announcements.” You sigh, glancing at Silver who gives you that soft smile that makes your heart flutter.
His knee brushes yours under the table—a quiet show of affection and reassurance.
You think that’s the end of this slightly mortifying conversation but that would be too easy.
“So who confessed first?” Lilia asks, his elbows propped up on the table, his food abandoned—far more interested in your relationship.
The two of you groan, before sharing another small affectionate glance.
Silver Twst x fem reader as our husband? Honeymoon trip and smut! Please and thank you!
Honeymoon
Silver Vanrouge x Female Reader
Warnings: porn no plot, unprotected sex, creampie, fingering, oral sex (silver receiving), p in v
The silk sheets slip against your skin as you shift beneath them, the cool fabric a welcome relief against the warmth pooling in your belly. The hotel suite is bathed in soft, golden lamplight, casting long shadows across the ornate furniture. Outside, the waves of the Coral Sea lap against the shore in a gentle, rhythmic whisper—a lullaby meant only for lovers.
You watch him from beneath half-lidded eyes, your husband. The word still feels thrillingly new on your tongue, like a secret you're only just learning to savor.
Silver stands by the tall windows, his back to you, silhouetted against the crescent moon. He’s removed his jacket, his shirt untucked and partially unbuttoned, revealing the pale expanse of his chest. His silver hair catches the light, falling in soft waves around his face. Even after all these years of courtship, of stolen glances and lingering touches, seeing him like this makes your breath catch.
He turns, and his eyes meet yours. They're soft, warm, yet carrying a flicker of something deeper. Nervousness? Anticipation? You know this is his first time too. For all his knightly composure, Silver has always been reserved, his body and heart a fortress he rarely let anyone enter. Until you.
"You're staring," he says, a faint blush staining his cheeks.
"And you're beautiful," you reply, sitting up slightly, letting the sheet fall to your waist. The nightgown you chose is delicate—lace and silk, a deep midnight blue that matches the ocean beyond. "Come here."
He crosses the room slowly, each step measured, as if he's afraid to break the spell. When he reaches the edge of the bed, he pauses, one knee pressing into the mattress. His hand reaches out, fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face with a tenderness that makes your heart ache.
"Are you sure?" he asks, his voice a low murmur. "We can wait. We can—"
You reach up, catching his hand and pressing a kiss to his palm. "I'm sure. I've never been more sure of anything in my life."
His breath hitches. Slowly, he climbs onto the bed, settling beside you, his body radiating a warmth that seeps through the thin fabric of your nightgown. He leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips.
But then you part your lips, your tongue tracing the seam of his, and the kiss deepens. His hand slides to the nape of your neck, fingers threading through your hair, pulling you closer. The taste of him is sweet, slightly smoky from the wine you shared at dinner. You moan against his mouth, and he answers with a low groan that vibrates through his chest.
His other hand finds your waist, fingers curling around the curve of your hip. He's hesitant at first, touching as if asking permission. You arch into him, pressing your body flush against his, and that's all the answer he needs.
"I want to see you," he breathes, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. "All of you."
You nod, and he eases you back against the pillows. His fingers find the straps of your nightgown, slipping them down your shoulders with excruciating slowness. The fabric pools at your waist, baring your breasts to the lamplight. His eyes travel over them, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows.
"You're exquisite," he whispers, more to himself than to you.
He lowers his head, pressing a kiss to the curve of your collarbone, then another just below your ear. His lips trail downward, hot and soft, leaving a path of fire across your skin. When his mouth closes around your nipple, you gasp, your fingers burying themselves in his hair. He sucks gently, his tongue flicking against the sensitive peak, and a jolt of pleasure shoots straight to your core.
"Yes," you breathe, pulling him tighter against you.
He switches to your other breast, giving it the same attention, his hand cupping the first as his thumb circles the wet peak. Your hips shift restlessly, a needy ache building between your thighs. You want more. You need more.
As if reading your thoughts, his hand slides down your stomach, fingers skimming over the lace edge of your panties. He pauses, looking up at you, seeking permission. You nod, biting your lip.
He dips his fingers beneath the fabric, finding you slick and ready. A shudder runs through him as he feels how wet you are. "For me?" he asks, his voice rough.
"Only for you." you manage, your voice barely a whisper.l
He slides one finger inside you, slowly, watching your face as he does. Your eyes flutter closed, a moan escaping your lips. He curls his finger, finding that spot deep within that makes your hips buck against his hand.
"Look at me," he says softly. "I want to see your eyes when I make you come."
You force your lids open, meeting his gaze. He adds a second finger, stretching you, preparing you. The stretch is just shy of too much, but you welcome it, your walls clenching around him. He pumps his fingers in a steady rhythm, his thumb circling your clit with just the right pressure.
The pleasure builds, coiling low in your belly, spreading through your limbs like molten honey. Your breath comes in short gasps, your hands fisting the sheets.
"Silver… I'm close…"
"Let go," he urges, his pace quickening. "I want to feel you."
The orgasm crashes over you, a wave of pure sensation that leaves you trembling and gasping his name. He rides you through it, his fingers slowing only when you finally collapse, spent, against the pillows.
He withdraws his hand, bringing his fingers to his lips. He tastes you, his eyes never leaving yours, and the sight sends another throb of desire through your still-sensitive core.
"My turn," you say, pushing yourself up. You shift, guiding him onto his back. He goes willingly, his silver hair splaying across the white pillows. He looks like a fallen angel, his chest rising and falling with quickened breaths.
Your hands go to his belt, working the buckle with trembling fingers. He lifts his hips to help you slide his trousers and briefs down his legs. His cock springs free, hard and thick, the tip glistening with precum. You wrap your fingers around him, feeling the heat of his skin, the rigid length of him.
He hisses through his teeth as you stroke him, your thumb sweeping over the head. You lean down, taking him into your mouth, and his entire body tenses. His hand finds your hair, not pulling, just resting there, as if grounding himself.
You suck him slowly, taking as much as you can, your tongue swirling around his shaft. His moans grow louder, his hips thrusting in small, involuntary movements. He's trying to hold back, you can tell, but you want to push him over the edge.
"Stop," he gasps, tugging gently at your hair. "If you keep going, I won't last."
You release him with a wet pop, licking your lips. "That's the idea."
He shakes his head, a strained laugh escaping him. "Not yet. I want to be inside you when I come."
The words send a shiver down your spine. You crawl up his body, straddling his hips, your thighs brushing against his heated skin. The head of his cock presses against your entrance, and you both still.
"Ready?" he asks, cupping your face, his thumb tracing your cheekbone.
"I've been ready my whole life," you answer.
And then you sink down onto him.
The sensation is overwhelming—the stretch, the fullness, the incredible heat of him inside you. You both gasp, foreheads pressing together, breaths mingling. He fills you completely, hitting depths you didn't know you had.
"Fuck," he breathes, almost reverent. "You feel… incredible."
You begin to move, a slow, rocking rhythm. Your hips roll against his, each motion sending waves of pleasure through both of you. His hands find your hips, guiding you, his eyes locked on where your bodies join.
"You're so beautiful like this," he says, his voice strained. "Taking me so perfectly."
You lean forward, capturing his mouth in a hungry kiss. The new angle drives him deeper, and you break the kiss with a cry. He grips your hips tighter, meeting your thrusts with upward ones of his own.
The room fills with the sounds of your pleasure—the wet slap of skin against skin, the moans and gasps, the creak of the bed frame. The lamplight flickers, casting dancing shadows on the walls.
He shifts, rolling you onto your back without losing the connection. He lifts your legs, hooking your ankles over his shoulders, and drives into you with a renewed urgency. The new position hits your sweet spot with every thrust, and your nails dig into his shoulders.
"Look at me," he commands, his voice barely controlled. "I want to watch you come undone."
You can't hold back. The pressure builds, coiling tighter and tighter until it snaps. You arch off the bed, a scream of his name tearing from your throat as your climax rips through you. Your walls clench around him, and that's all it takes for him to lose control.
He buries himself deep, his body shuddering as he spills inside you, hot and thick. He cries out, his forehead pressing against yours as he rides out the aftershocks.
For a long moment, neither of you move. The only sounds are your harsh breathing and the distant whisper of the sea. He slowly lowers your legs, easing himself out of you with infinite care, and collapses beside you.
He pulls you into his arms, pressing a kiss to your damp forehead. You curl against his chest, feeling his heart pound in time with your own.
"Was that okay?" he asks, a hint of vulnerability in his voice.
You laugh softly, tilting your head to look at him. "It was perfect."
A smile spreads across his face—rare and genuine—lighting up his features. He brushes a strand of hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear.
"I love you," he says, the words simple but profound.
"I love you too, husband."
The word hangs in the air between them, beautiful and new. He kisses you again, soft and sweet, a promise of all the nights to come.
Outside, the moon continues its slow arc across the sky, casting silver light through the window. The waves keep their gentle rhythm, and in the warmth of each other's arms, you drift toward sleep, hearts entwined, bodies still humming with the echoes of your union.
Give Silver smoochies. The cuteness aggression kind. The kind where he is tackles, smothered, smoochied, and snuggled.
Require smoochies for my princess pwease.
*grabby hands*
(It’s almost 2:30 a.m. for me, please forgive me)
A kiss here, a kiss there
Silver x F! Siren Reader
Prompt- regular cute couple things with [Name] and Silver
She/her pronouns
(H/c)- hair color
(I thought it be fun to make [Name] a siren who is territorial)
A.n happy to obliged; hope you enjoy this one and don't worry you can request any time of the day. Sorry for the wait!! Kiss kiss (*≧ω≦)
Being Silver's girlfriend was quite literally the best thing that [Name] could have asked for, the young siren had the greatest gift: Sleepy beautiful boyfriend who she could hug and kiss to her heart's content.
Cuddling him in his room, or under a tree beneath the soft grass. Giving him an endless supply of kisses especially when they were together in his room.
“Silverrrr hold me tighter!” She'd whine on his bed “mmm I'm trying…to sleep, princess” yet he made a great effort to do as she asked.
Being a siren also makes it hard for the girl to resist him,Silver's scent would drive her to cling onto him most days, he can be doing nothing just half studying on his desk and [Name] would come up to Silver and bite his neck gently he always responded with a grumble, his hands placing themselves on her hip instinctively, the sneaky siren would then spend all afternoon on his lap going from sucking on his neck or laying her head on his shoulder while Silver wrote on his notebook or drifted off to sleep.
Oftentimes she has to shake him awake in the mornings which makes for a very funny scene “wake up Sil! Let me see those pretty eyessss” behind her Lilia dies laughing while Sebek yells at her to stop “[Name] STOP AT ONCE YOU CANNOT JUST SHAKE HIM AWAKE YOU WRETCHED GIRL” the funny thing was that this was truly the best way that Silver would wake up, plus after everyone left his room [Name] would pepper his face with kisses “I'm sorry my sweet prince” Silver smiled whilst he rubbed his eyes “no no; thanks for waking me, princess” his arms wrapped around her waist and he ducked his face onto the crook of her neck.
[Name] smiled and tugged him tight before pulling away “come on, get dressed” Silver sighed and nodded his head, getting off the bed to get dressed for the day. “Yes, princess”
Another thing that [Name] those is rub her scent on Silver, she constantly gives him extra shirts for him to sleep in. She sprays her perfume on him before they leave campus for their dates in the town. Octavinelle students are very aware of her territorial side; no one could say he was attractive for the fear of her challenging them in a fight.
Silver finds it flattering even when she gets a little cuckoo “honey! My little seahorse, we should wear this couple's shirt!” She lifts up a big shirt with two whole necks. Silver blinked tapping his chin “if we wear the same shirt. We share body heat, you won't be cold and I won't slip out of your hold in my sleep. "He looked at her eyes glimmering “this is genius, princess” [Name] bounced on her feet “hehehe thank youuu”
[Name] always walks alongside Silver, her arms wrapped around his pressing her bosom on him,she watches his sleepy eyes looking at her every once in a while as they make their way to class, drifting down to her chest before looking away with a blush.
In the classroom, the two were seated next to the other. Silver slightly dozed off which caught the siren's eye “Aw come on sleepy head, don't close your eyes now” the siren grabbed his chin and kissed his lips “mmm…I'll try” Silver leaned against her shoulder, his fingers gracing through her hair gently braiding. “What chapter are we in now, princess?” [Name] pushed the book towards him “45, learning about the Scalding lands history” Silver hummed “uh huh, and how long till school is done?” The siren chuckled “we literally just started the day” this made him sigh “very well”
During lunch before the two join the others, [Name] pulled Silver to the side into a secluded part of the hallway “we have to get to the others” the siren grinned “just one kiss~” Silver raised a brow but leaned closer “well i guess we can” he grabbed her waist and kissed her. [Name] wrapped her arms around his neck her hand grabbed onto his white hair Silver pressed her against the wall his hand hiked her leg on his side the siren couldn't help but feel excited but before she could do anything else, Silver detached himself from her making [Name] whine “awww don't play with me like that” Silver only shrugged “I'll make it up to you later, you can smother me till we fall asleep”
And that she did,as soon as the doors closed in Silver's room the siren immediately jumped on him causing them to crash into the bed. The white haired male wrapped his arms around her mid section and [Name] soon started kissing his face down to his neck. This girl's pink lipstick left one mark after the other “muaw muaw! Hehehe” [Name] lifted her upper body to admire her work, she met with Silver sleepy gaze his pupils dilated. Hands gently caressed her back and crept under her shirt making the siren shiver slightly “your cold” he murmured “i can fix that” [Name] blushed and buried her face in the crook of his neck, her legs kicked on the mattress
Silver chuckled and moved them so that he had [Name] beside him placing her head on his shoulder, he grabbed the blanket and covered them both. The siren placed her hand on his chest and traced invisible patterns “this is nice” she spoke softly “it is…you comfortable, princess?” [Name] nodded her head “good, now give me a kiss” the siren lit up and sat up slightly, grabbing his face with both hands she leaned in and kissed Silver he reciprocated holding onto her waist tighter. The siren's hand grabbed onto his white hair slightly pulling, one of Silver’s hands gently traced along her spine making [Name] slightly arched her back. Pulling away the two stared at each other's eyes “how was that?” [Name] took her spot once more beside him “just what i needed before our nap” the (h/c)nette nuzzled onto him a soft yawn escaping her lips “mmm good” Silver closed his eyes, his cheek landed atop of the sirens head. “sweet dreams, princess” [Name] hummed “sleep well, my prince”
❝ HEADMAGE, I DON'T WANT THIS ROMANCE MANHWA SLOP ! ︵﹒02.
💭: what's worse than being transmigrated into another world? being transmigrated into another world for a second time. you unceremoniously trip into crowley's painting that leads you to play the role of a "holy saint" and—what the hell is that silver as the "knight commander"?
you try to get out of this world by focusing your romance on the knight commander instead of the crown prince. now at this point, some might argue that you’re doing it for the love of the game, and not just treating it as a plan to get out, and—well, they're right.
pairing. silver vanrogue x gn! reader
wc. 12.9k
warnings. heavy slow burn, mutual pining, a substantial amount of profanity, mostly comedy, inaccurate or fictional depiction of religion, hopefully not ooc silver (havent reached b7), not proofread, reader is prefect
a/n. yes i speedrun this so i could post it by me and silver's birthday...
parts. 01. | 02. (here)
Ever since that morning, your daily routine has gone through a rather predictable route.
Wake up at an hour that hollows your soul, argue with yourself about it for approximately five minutes, lose the argument, and get up anyway.
Then, you’ll have to face whatever the system has in store for you once you’ve collected your bearing, and brace yourself for whatever daily quests and/or upcoming major quests are ahead.
✦ : SYSTEM NOTIFICATION — “We should discuss new plans for your quests with the Prince~♡ The management isn’t too happy with the deviation.~♡”
“Well, good morning to you, too,” you mutter to the ceiling, shoving the notification panel aside with a flick of your wrist, as if you could physically swat it away.
You roll out of bed, your feet hitting the cold stone floor, and begin the ritual of donning the layers of white and gold silk that go along with your title, all the while ignoring the irritating ding! of the system talking about some daily quests of praying and talking to the Prince, or something.
Ding!
A panel materializes itself in front of you.
✦ : SYSTEM NOTIFICATION — NEW QUEST UPDATED !
With the Harvest Festival around the corner, regional instability along the Southern Border has increased due to residual Miasma activity. The Saint is required to assist in containment and purification.
OBJECTIVE: Clear the appointed dungeon, and strengthen diplomatic rapport with the Crown Prince through “informal engagement activities”.
EXPECTED TIME BEFORE QUEST COMMENCEMENT: 42:00:00
You stare at the last line for a full second.
“Informal engagement activities?”
✦ : SYSTEM NOTIFICATION — “informal engagement activities translate to social outing / character bonding event / leisure interaction.”
You groan into your hands.
After that whole fiasco, your routine takes you to the barracks with Silver in tow. Most mornings are spent tending to knights returning from their morning patrol—and at times, those who have returned from dungeon dispatches—your mana easing away lingering traces of residual Miasma and the deep exhaustion left behind in its wake. The work becomes almost rhythmic after a while, with the golden light, tired soldiers, and the gradual thinning of whatever wears them down.
Somewhere along the way, the atmosphere has shifted into something more cordial and familiar. The knights no longer stiffen quite as much in your presence, conversations flowing more easily between treatments while briefings and patrol reports blur into casual exchanges.
You come to learn that Theo has a habit of making conversation mid-treatment until another knight pops in to physically shut him up. The captain, a woman whose stern expression could sharpen a dull blade, likes to maintain a stoic front—usually by burying her face in a set of patrol logs while her shoulders shake with the silent effort of not laughing at her subordinates’ antics.
Such changes also extend to Silver himself—despite insisting he is merely there to supervise, he has become such a constant fixture at your side that his presence has started to mold a place of his own that slots naturally in your routine.
Somewhere between reviewing patrol logs beside you, small talks that end with conversations that stretch longer than necessary, and the grounding familiarity of him appearing beside you before you even realize you were looking for him, the distance between you two begins to erode into something far closer than you anticipated.
Following the barracks is the morning assembly.
The Saint’s duties are, lamentably, much harder to escape.
White and gold silk drapes over your form, hands folded just right, expression softened into a textbook definition of something serene and untouchable—the image of holiness polished to perfection beneath the hall’s stained-glass light. It’s nothing short of prayers, blessings, and ceremonial appearances. The High Priest, as usual, watches through it all the while with the measured patience of a man who grasps divinity less as a faith and more as a chalice of control.
You’ve long since learned that the easiest way to deal with him is to give him exactly what he wants to see—a compliant, useful saint, and nothing more.
Thus, you smile when expected, speak when required, and never linger by his side too long enough for his probing observations to turn into something surgically sharper. It placates him, for the most part, keeping his attention from narrowing too deeply onto all the way you’ve already begun slipping outside the shape of your character.
Then, the Crown Prince—as pushed by the system—who you usually bump into sometimes, oftentimes after morning assembly. The system has taken advantage of the fact that the Prince will be staying quite some time within the walls of the Sanctuary for a complete rehabilitation.
Now, the system enthusiastically labels your visits as “relationship-building activities”, which is really just a deeply embarrassing way of saying the Prince keeps inviting you out—tea in the garden, engaging in strategy board games that he procured from somewhere, helping you taste-test sweets during the harvest festival preparation (that made you nearly want to walk directly into a fountain after the system practically screamed itself hoarse in your peripheral vision).
The worst part is that he is actually someone easy to get along with. It would be so much easier for you if he were insufferable and rottenly spoiled, but unfortunately, he is instead painfully decent, which makes the guilt sit differently than you would like.
You don’t forget to pepper every conversation with a very pointed “my friend” at every possible opportunity. You wield that word like a shield, relishing the way the system’s notification vibrates with indignation every time you friend-zone the literal heir to the throne.
It’s petty, perhaps, but it’s the only way to get some modicum of payback for the constant meddling.
✦ : SYSTEM NOTIFICATION — WARNING ! [NARRATIVE DIVERGENCE DETECTED]
The Saint’s deviation from the designated narrative track has created situations the character was not written to encounter. In response to unscripted stimuli, love interest [CROWN PRINCE] has begun operating outside his original characterization.
Love interest [CROWN PRINCE] has expressed feelings inconsistent with designated Male Lead parameters.
[!] URGENT ERROR: World-Logic instability is rising… current narrative integrity: 68%
Oh, this is so fun.
“He’s a great friend, isn’t he?” you mutter to the system, amusingly watching the box flicker into a frustrated, static-filled red. It’s even more rewarding seeing the narrative integrity continuously drop as you establish the great wall of friend-zone.
It all then inevitably leads back to Silver.
Sometimes you find him overseeing training in the courtyard below and end up lingering far longer than necessary under the excuse of “observing the knights’ progress”, only to spend most of the time watching how the slightly tussled hair of their Commander’s is quite an adorable addition on him as he spars. Other times it’s brief crossings in the Sanctuary halls, shared walk between duties, or you appearing beside him uninvited while he sharpens his blade because you were bored and decided that his patience looks particularly testable that day.
At some point, spending time around him stops feeling deliberate and starts becoming almost instinctive. You start seeking him without entirely meaning to, and Silver—despite the occasional look suggesting you are responsible for every trial the gods have inflicted upon his being—always makes room for your presence beside him.
Without either of you acknowledging it aloud, Silver steadily becomes the person you spend the most time with throughout the day.
Your days settle into that strange groove before you realize it has happened—at least, it does until the long-awaited Harvest Festival quest finally commences.
ʚ﹕CURRENT OBJECTIVE — MAIN QUEST UPDATED !
[MAIN QUEST: MAY CERCES BE WITH YOU !]
With the Harvest Festival around the corner, regional instability along the Southern Border has increased due to residual Miasma activity. The Saint is required to assist in containment and purification.
OBJECTIVE: Clear the appointed dungeon, and strengthen diplomatic rapport with the Crown Prince through “informal engagement activities”. ~♡
You blink at the notification panel. “Well, that’s kind of anti-climactic, system. I thought there’s gonna be some additional notes or something, but it’s the same exact notification you sent me.”
What the hell is even the point of setting that countdown for?
✦ : SYSTEM NOTIFICATION — “Your critique is much appreciated, Holy Saint. ~♡ This system merely wants to build up excitement. Well, think of it as a preparation period before the official start of the event arc! Anticipation is an important component of user engagement, after all. ~♡”
“How… thoughtful.” You suppose, you guess. There’s nothing much to say to the system at this point—you’ve rapped out all your barreling, creative insults enough as they are at it.
The notification panel flickers in a somewhat smugly note at the edge of your vision, as though it is deeply and thoroughly pleased with itself for inventing the concept of suspense.
You rub at your temple—an action that you discover you’ve been doing increasingly more often these past few weeks. “You know, every time you talk like that, I understand a little more why people are afraid of Artificial Intelligence.”
The system hums blithely in response, entirely immune to shame and its friends.
“What?! What about my annual candy apple ritual?!” The voice, distinctly Theo’s and loud enough to startle the nearby pigeons off, echoes across the courtyard. You drop your hand from your temple, looking up just in time to see the young knight dramatically flailing his arms with a tragic intensity near the center of the training grounds.
Someone immediately shoves a report into his chest in response, which he accepts only long enough to continue arguing over it.
“We’re leaving during the festival opening?!” Theo screeches, his voice cracking with the sheer injustice of it all.
“If it helps you feel better, the festival is a week long!” One of the nearby knights calls back without looking from their paperwork.
“You don’t get it… the opening is the prime candy apple’s time! That’s the only time the stall near the East Gate uses the extra cinnamon!”
The Captain, who is standing nearby reviewing a tactical map spread across a stone bench, doesn’t even look up, merely adjusting her grip on a charcoal pencil. “If you put half as much effort into your footwork as you do in your sugar intake, Theo, you might actually survive the first floor of an S-rank dungeon without losing your boots.”
“But Captain! This is for luck!”
Silver, who had been standing a few paces away discussing supply logistics with a quartermaster, instantly detaches himself from the conversation. He doesn’t even have to think about it; he simply pivots and stands beside you.
“Theo has certainly been looking forward to the festival.” Silver mutters, his voice low and for your ears only. “Though I suppose he isn’t entirely wrong, the timing of the dispatch is… inconvenient.”
You glance at him, a teasing tilt to your head. “Inconvenient for the candy apples, or inconvenient because we are to clear a dungeon while everyone else is celebrating?”
“Both,” he admits after a brief pause. “Logistically speaking, festival periods complicate movement, supply routes, and crowd control. Not to mention, civilian presence increases risk during containment operations.”
“And…” his eyes flick back to you for a fraction of a second before looking away again just as quickly. “...the knights are less focused as usual.”
He lightly clears his throat, his hand moving to adjust his leather gloves. “Some of the knights are fairly young, too. For many, the Harvest Festival is the only time they can properly unwind.”
You nod at his words, that makes sense—knights need to destress too. Imagine having to look at dead monster carcasses when you can have the time of your life eating seventeen variations of sweet bread.
The Slumbering Depth of Solemnity—a B-rank dungeon nestled deep down a gorge within the Southern Border. According to the reports you read over Silver’s shoulder, it houses a Hollow Heart—though it lies dormant, it is still effectively a ticking bomb.
Theo whistles low, the candy apple grief finally replaced by grim focus. “A Hollow Heart? Even when they’re sleeping, those things are still nasty. Give it two weeks, and it might corrupt that entire gorge and the forest nearby.”
“Exactly,” the Captain nods. “It’s a B-rank for now, but if it wakes up, it’s not going to be a pretty sight—it will likely jump to an A-rank localized disaster.”
How wonderful this world’s mother nature is.
“The gorge is approximately three days’ ride south. If we leave by tomorrow dawn, we’ll reach the dungeon by nightfall of the second day.” Silver adds in, his shoulder brushing against yours as he leans slightly to point at a location on the map.
He casts a sidelong glance at you, a ghost of a challenge in his eyes. “Don’t wake up late, Your Holiness.”
“Ha!” you huff, crossing your arms and meeting his gaze with a defiant spark in your narrowed eyes. “What am I, if not an early bird?”
Not to mention, you have a cheat code in the form of the (helpful, kind of) system! If you squint, it’s adequate enough to be utilized as an alarm clock.
Theo snorts somewhere near you two. “Your Holiness, with all due respect, you nearly fell asleep during the morning strategy briefing.”
“I was doing my daily meditation.”
“You were snoring.”
You whirl on him. “Don’t you have candy apples to mourn?”
Okay, so your personal alarm clock is giving you the silent treatment.
It is almost humiliating that you arrive five minutes before the designated departure, but barely early is early! You don’t dwell too much on it, however, given how your system has yet to answer at your beck and call—it’s weird enough that it doesn’t spam the living daylights of your sight the first thing you wake up.
System? You’ve tried calling it for what seems to be the nth time—hell, even calling it physically doesn’t elicit any response.
You feel like a desperate ex recounting the days before—combing through your memories, and scrutinizing every single word and behavioural pattern like there had to be some hidden sign that your floating parasite was planning to ghost you.
“You seem out of it, Your Holiness.”
The voice snaps you right out of your thoughts, nearly making you lose your grip on the reins. You blink, the world coming back into focus—the clop-clop of your horse’s hooves on the dirt road, the smell of pine and damp earth, and the cool morning air rush back into your senses.
You turn your head to see Theo riding alongside you, his expression housing a lingering of confusion and concern.
“Just thinking, don’t worry about it.” You reply, adjusting your seat.
Theo doesn’t look convinced—but to his credit, he doesn’t press further. For a moment, the only sounds are the steadfast rhythm of hooves against dirt and the distant call of birds somewhere in the treeline.
“...You know,” he says slowly. “I thought you and the Commander would be sharing one horse, with what the rumors are saying.”
Your eyes narrow. “What rumors?”
Theo chokes on air.
“...Uh,” Theo says weakly. “Nothing? Forget I said anything? Haha, there are no rumors.”
His face is pale, his eyes darting everywhere but your face—toward the road ahead, toward the pine trees lining the trail, toward Silver riding several lengths like he’s contemplating whether out of sight, out of mind is applicable in this type of scenario and save him from this conversation.
Still feeling your eyes on him, he abruptly straightens in his seat and points at a random spot ahead with startling urgency. “Oh shoot! Would you look at that, looks like Captain is calling to me! See ya later, Your Holiness!
“The Captain is on the opposite end—”
“See ya!”
He flees before you can finish your sentence, spurring his horse into a frantic gallop forward, leaving you with absolutely no answers. You’re left sitting there, reins slack in your hands, watching him disappear into a cloud of dust like a cartoon skit.
Man, what the hell, you can’t even ask these days.
The journey continues with normalcy (thank god) after that. For the next two days, the trail winds deeper into the southern stretch, carving through dense, ancient pine forests that progressively thin out as the elevation drops into the jagged rocky throat of the gorge. Without the system’s constant chime in your ear, the passage of time feels strangely elastic—it is right at this moment you realize that time has never flowed so slowly before.
Aside from the occasional stops, you spend most of the trip in a comfortable silence. Sometimes, you rein in your horse and catch up to Silver, brewing up small talks in hushed whispers; other times, you bask in the distant snippets of conversation between the knights, hearing Theo loudly munching on his snack, followed by another fellow knight telling him to close his mouth because they can hear him from three horses back.
The knights are spent in well-organized camps where the knights speak in low tones, the atmosphere easy in that quiet, road-worn way shared exhaustion tends to create. At night, the stars are brighter here, unfiltered by the city lights, and you find yourself staring up at them longer than necessary—it makes you miss home a little more desperately.
You wonder if you’ll ever feel that again—the feel of home.
The days blur together in fragments of hoofbeats, crackling campfires, and the cold morning air that bites at your cheeks before sunrise. It is only when the air grows dense, and the horse in front of you halts in its tracks, that you realize you’ve arrived at the site.
The gorge stretches before you like a massive scar etched directly into the earth, uneven cliffs plunging deep into layers of drifting mist below. Sparse trees cling desperately to the rocky terrain surrounding it, their bark darkened by residual corruption creeping through the land in vein-like fractures, and there, suspended above the ravine floor, is the dungeon gate.
“We’ll make camp here tonight,” Silver says calmly, his pale eyes remaining fixated on the spatial tear ahead. “Let’s rest first, we’ll go in tomorrow morning.”
The knights move quickly after that, years of routine settling over the camp with practiced ease. They divide the work among one another—tents are erected, perimeter wards established, supplies unmounted and unloaded, and watch rotations are assigned before the last traces of sunlight fully disappear behind the cliffs.
You help where you can—mostly by healing minor strain and residual fatigue from the long ride—though most of the knights insist you conserve strength for tomorrow. Theo still manages to somehow burn his hand trying to cook something over the campfire despite being explicitly told not to touch the pan.
Lord, this boy would fit in with the rest of the NRC students.
“Should I just ban you entirely from being near a campfire?” the Captain, in her unadulterated exasperation, asks him flatly while shoving a healing salve to his face.
“It’s just one accident!” He tries to defend himself.
“It’s been three, you brat.”
Night settles heavily over the gorge after that, the last ribbons of sunset bleeding deep into deep indigo before the sky is plunged into true darkness. The rift pulses brighter now in contrast, a beacon of violet light that casts eerie shadows across the terrain—it’s almost beautiful and enticing, in the same way poisonous things are.
The knights retreat to their tents one by one, drowsiness pulling them under despite the tension humming in the air.
Soon, it’s just you and Silver left by the fire.
“Not going to sleep, Commander?” You break the silence, your voice barely above a whisper.
Silver’s gaze remains fixed on the distant rift for a moment longer before shifting toward the fire between you both. The flames paint shifting amber across the sharp planes of his face, softening otherwise the strained lines of his expression.
“And you’re not, Your Holiness?” Damn, he’s really turning the question around.
“Hm, I don’t feel that tired, yet.” You pull your knees a little closer to your chest, staring into the crackling firewood. Beyond the camp, the gorge is eerily still—even the birds and insects seem reluctant to make a noise.
For a few beats of a second, neither of you spoke. The silence isn’t uncomfortable, per se, it’s the kind of silence that veils over people who have spent enough time together that words aren’t always necessary.
The temperature in the gorge had plummeted the moment the sun vanished over yonder, replaced by a biting chill that seeps into your very sinews. You suppress a small shiver—a small and quick involuntary reaction that is barely a tremor, but Silver notices it, regardless.
“You’re cold.” It isn’t even phrased as a question.
He moves before you realize he has stood up.
Before you can deny it out of sheer principle, he reaches for the dark cloak folded beside him and drapes it over your shoulders with careful ease. The weight of it settles over you like an embrace—it’s warm (his warmth), you realize (the cloak smells like him, the familiar scent of pine and leather, something that you’ve come to associate with his presence).
Silver, bless whoever raised you to be a gentleman—this one feels like they could cry from this action alone (a bit dramatic, but there’s the sentiment).
Your fingers curl into the fabric, pulling it tighter around yourself. “Thank you.”
Silver seems to realize what he’s done approximately one second afterward, his hand pausing briefly near your shoulder before he withdraws.
“...My apologies,” he says, quiet against the night. “I should have asked first.”
A gentleman, again, you stress.
You blink at him, genuinely baffled, before that trademark mischief ebbs in your countenance. “Mn, what if I don’t forgive you?”
“Say, what if I keep this cloak for compensation? For your transgression. Seems fair, don’t you think?”
Silver merely blinks back at you, the firelight flickering across his face, throwing shifting shadows beneath pale lashes as he looks at you.
“...Then I suppose it would already belong to you.” He murmurs, a faint, dusty rose colour creeping up the back of his neck, visible even in the dim light.
Oh!
That—
Honestly, you had expected flustered denial, maybe a resigned sigh, or perhaps another long-suffering “Your Holiness”.
You certainly did not expect him to actually let you keep it. “Oh… wow. Commander, if you keep saying things like that, I would think you have a cr—”
Ding!
✦ : SYSTEM NOTIFICATION — [MAINTENANCE UPDATE !]
The system is currently unavailable due to scheduled maintenance to optimize performance. During this period, certain features—including quest notifications, narrative integrity monitoring, and user assistance—will be temporarily inaccessible.
We apologize for any inconvenience. ~♡
ESTIMATED MAINTENANCE DURATION: 48 hours.
Well, turns out, it wasn’t sulking, after all!
“...Wait, so it won’t be supervising me for the next 48 hours?” Your eyes slowly widen; a horrifying number of possibilities instantly surge within your brain.
Holy fuck, holy fuck.
No incessant notifications? No aggressive matchmaking agenda? No corrective corrections? No system breathing down your neck every five seconds like a Victorian ghost cursed to you?
You smooth out your experience, but the bubbling feeling within you is a molten mix between disbelief and dangerously delighted hysteria.
Silver is still watching you, his expression shifting to genuine concern as your face undergoes a rapid-fire series of twitches. To him, you probably look like you’re contemplating a truly terrible decision.
“Your Holiness?” he asks, leaning in slightly. “Are you alright?—”
“I’m fine,” you blurt out. “I just… I just realized that the stars are particularly aligned tonight, an excellent, very good omen.”
Silver looks up to the sky, his brows furrowed in confusion to what exactly do you see in it. He clearly doesn’t see the “omen”, but he doesn’t push it—he’s used to your eccentricities by now, even if he doesn’t always understand them.
“...I see,” he says at last, though his tone suggests he absolutely does not see.
You cough once, decisively, and shift your expression into something much controlled—carefully neutral, or at least what passes for it in your case.
“Actually,” you say. “I noticed something about, um, your shoulder.”
“You were tensing it earlier while we were riding. I didn’t get to come to you before, and it would be better if we could get it over with before heading to the dungeon tomorrow.”
Silver stiffens. “No need, you’ve already done enough for the knights. It’s better to conserve your strength for tomorrow—”
“Nonsense,” you cut him off, your hand already reaching out. “Now let me help you, please.”
He lets out a slow breath and turns his back to you slightly, allowing you to access. You place your hands on the cold metal of his spaulder, pressing your palm against the base of his neck, and channel a tiny, controlled pulse of mana.
Now, where’s that pesky little crack you found last time?
“Silver,” you murmur, your thumbs tracing the line of his tendons. “Tell me if anything feels strange, I’m going to check things out deeper than usual.”
“Deeper?”
“To make sure nothing’s lodged where it shouldn’t be.” The lies come out smoothly—to be fair, it is partly true. “The journey was long, and you’ve been running yourself ragged for weeks.”
Silver doesn’t respond—or maybe he did, but it doesn’t really matter when you’re too focused on finding that sharp, elusive thing again—the faint “something” below the surface.
You let your mana sink deeper and push into the psychic weight, a frostlike resistance that pricks at the tip of your fingertips. Finding that no notifications pop up after a few seconds, you exhale slowly through your nose and graze at it more firmly.
The crack is fainter now—or maybe you’re just getting better at finding it. A thin, almost imperceptible structure, like invisible glass laid over reality itself. You have enough fundamental understanding of your power that this… something is neither a part of his body nor his mana system. If you have to illustrate it, it’s something more of a patchwork layered on top.
You push gently against the crack, and to your fascination, it subtly shifts the moment you touch it. Though hearing Silver inhale sharply in return makes you halt in your tracks.
“Sorry—”
“No, it’s fine.” He sighs through his nose, the sound controlled, but tighter than usual. “Just… unexpected.”
Strange, perhaps, is the word he wishes to convey.
His shoulders are still, but not relaxed—like he’s holding himself in place rather than naturally resting. You can feel it through your hands too, the faint resistance in the framework beneath your mana, as though your presence there is being acknowledged in real time.
Silver’s voice lowers slightly. “Continue, if it helps determine the issue.”
You nod, not trusting your voice, and press your palms more firmly against his neck and shoulder. The metal of his armour is chilling beneath your fingers, a stark contrast to the warmth of his skin where your thumbs brush against the juncture between his shoulder blade and his neck.
The crack resists at first—that gnawing prickle of prodding against something that does not want to be seen, like pushing against the edge of a thought that isn’t fully formed yet.
Your mana flows against the fault line like water finding its way through stone, wearing down the edges without breaking them. It is only until you are satisfied, that you send a concentrated spike of mana directly into what you believe to be the center of the crack.
By the moment this “something” gives out, warmth floods through the opening like a dam breaking—an amorphous sensation that is a ubiquitous and almost overwhelming sense of everything—a wholeness that rests beneath your fingertips.
You are pulled right out of that feeling when, for a split second, a high-pitched, silent ring echoes in your mind—like a glass vase breaking in another room. Silver’s entire body jolts beneath your hands, a violent tremor racking his frame from his neck down to his boots.
“What the—”
Then, he simply stops.
It happens so fast, you don’t have time to catch him. One moment he’s sitting beside you, shoulders tense but upright; the next, his body slackens all at once, like something inside him has been switched off. His weight drags forward, and he starts to collapse out of your hands.
“Silver?”
Panic, cold and sharp, slams against your ribcage as you scramble around to his side. Your arms hook around his shoulders on instinct, trying to keep him upright, but his head merely lolls helplessly against your chest.
For one terrifying second, your mind goes completely blank.
“Holy—Silver? Hey! Silver, wake up! Shit!” You’re practically shrieking in a whisper, your mind racing through every worst-case scenario. Holy shit, oh my god, Did I—God forbid—just kill the Commander?
What the fuck, what the fuck. Shit, if you had known this was what’s going to happen, you wouldn’t have even bothered to think about it. Your grip tightens around his shoulders like sheer force alone can undo whatever you just did.
It’s honestly a miracle no one has come out of the tent to check.
“Oh my god, what did I do? What did I do?” You fumble for his neck, your fingers frantically searching for the carotid artery through the gaps of his armour.
Your heart is hammering against your ribs like a drum, sweat beads forming on your brow despite the chill of the gorge. You’re ready for the headlines, ready for the firing squad—
You find it.
His pulse—it’s a steady and infuriatingly normal beat beneath your fingertips, as though he has only fallen into a sudden slumber out of sheer exhaustion. You freeze so hard it feels like your soul briefly leaves your body and ascends to greet the heavenly officials.
“Oh, thank fuck,” you breath, your forehead dropping against his shoulder. The cool surface of the metal presses against your skin, grounding you, reminding you that this is all real, that he’s real and alive.
You look down at his face—he looks so peaceful (looks just like the Silver who would sleep in every conspicuous space, whether it be out in the courtyard, the stairs, or Crowley’s beloved library). His expression has softened in that familiar way, brows no longer held in that careful line of discipline, lips slightly parted—he looks like a very annoying, very handsome painting.
“...You’re going to give me an actual heart attack one day.” You mutter, half-laughing, half still recovering from spiritual damage.
You shift, adjusting his weight against you, and his head lolls further into the crook of your neck. His breath is warm against your skin, slow and even, and you can feel his heartbeat against your palm.
As much as you want to stay in this position until tomorrow morning, you know it’s better to move him than let him rest on you like a sack of vegetables.
With a grunt of effort, you manage to sling one of his arms over your shoulders, your other arm wrapped around his waist, and you’re pretty sure you’re doing more dragging than carrying.
As long as no one is watching, you grimace.
By some miracle (or perhaps sheer stubbornness), you make it to his tent, lowering him gently on his simple bedroll, which is to say you more or less drop him the last few inches.
Hell, he doesn’t even wake up, not even a stir.
“You’re lucky you’re pretty.” You inform his unconscious form, to which he does not respond. Rude.
After gingerly removing his armour and setting it aside, you make your way back by the fireplace and watch as the fiery crackles warm your body up, clutching the cloak around your form tighter.
You’re not sure you could sleep even if you wanted to, so you opt to just lie back on a stone and play I spy with my little eyes with no one but yourself and the gorge—well, you much prefer calling such an activity “keeping watch over the camp”.
You wonder what the system will say when it comes back.
The first thing you notice when you wake up is that you’re not where you fell asleep.
You blink groggily at the canvas before you, not the open sky you’d been staring at when drowsiness finally pulled you under. The second thing you notice is that someone has covered you with a blanket, tucked it around your shoulders with careful hands.
You sit up slowly, your body protesting every movement. The tent is dim, lit only by the pale light of early dawn filtering through the gaps in the tent. Your cloak—his cloak—is folded neatly beside your bedroll, and someone has placed a waterskin just within your reach.
How did I get here?
You push aside the blanket and crawl toward the tent flap, your heart pounding. The camp is quiet, and the sky is streaked with pale pink and gold as the sun begins to rise over the gorge.
Knights stand in loose formation near the edge of the camp, checking equipment in silence rather than chatter. Turning your head to the right, you can see Theo failing to sharpen a dagger correctly, and the smell of stew is beginning to waft through the air, kindling your hunger.
You stop in your tracks, however, when your eyes land on Silver’s back.
You step out of the tent, your boots crunching softly on the rocky ground, and his head snaps toward you. His eyes widen slightly before softening into something warmer.
“You’re awake,” he says, his voice softer and more grounded than you remember. You stare a bit warily at him—hell, even Theo curiously flicked his eyes up to where you both stand (nosy kid, just focus on your weapon.)
Uh, did you accidentally set off some kind of hidden trigger to his character or something?
“Yeah… how’s your shoulder?” you ask carefully, testing the waters as you watch for any signs that might indicate something had somehow gone wrong after what happened last night.
To your bewilderment, Silver unexpectedly lets out the faintest huff of laughter underneath his breath.
“I feel considerably better now,” he replies, lifting a hand to roll his shoulder once as if testing the movement himself. “I suspect the treatment may have been… more effective than anticipated.”
Oh, thank god there are no repercussions.
“That’s a relief.” Relief is an understatement, honestly. The knot lodged somewhere between your lungs and stomach finally loosens for the first time since last night, tension draining out of your body so abruptly you nearly sway where you stand.
You had half expected Silver to wake up with brain damage, memory loss, or worse, some horrifying personality rewrite that would be entirely your fault.
Instead, he’s standing here perfectly fine, looking mildly amused, which frankly feels like divine mercy.
Your shoulders sag lightly as you admit, “You collapsed on me out of nowhere. I thought I accidentally killed the Commander of the Order and was about to get publicly executed before breakfast.”
From somewhere near you, Theo makes a strangled noise that sounds suspiciously like someone trying to not choke on air.
You ignore him, barely.
“There is…” He pauses, like he’s weighing the words before speaking them out loud. “Something I would like to tell you when we have privacy, possibly after this dispatch.”
The moment the sentence leaves his mouth, the atmosphere around the camp shifts in the most infinitesimal yet obvious way possible. It’s as if every single knight in earshot suddenly developed superhuman hearing—one knight suddenly becomes deeply invested in fastening a strap that has already been secured three times, another nearly fumbles an entire pot of stew while pretending not to listen, and Theo looks like he’s about to fall off his seat from how far he’s blatantly leaning in your direction, not even bothered to appear inconspicuous.
Your eyes narrow slightly. “That sounds… ominous.”
“It is not meant to be,” Silver replies immediately. “It’s better if we speak when there are no distractions.”
Uh. Talk about being even more ominous than before.
From the corner of your eye, you can see that Theo has practically folded himself in half, torso craned at an angle that can’t possibly be comfortable, his dagger forgotten in his lap. He looks like a meerkat who has spotted a predator on the horizon—except the predator is gossip, and he has absolutely no survival instincts.
Unfortunately for your rapidly deteriorating sanity, Silver refuses to elaborate further after that. You stare back at Silver and think, Oh wow, I definitely sure like being edged like this!
So, with your curiosity left to slowly rot in real time, the expedition finally descends into the dungeon—and it surely lives up to its name in the worst possible way.
The moment your group crosses through the spatial tear, the air changes into something stale and heavy with a pressure that settles against your skin like a damp cloth. The cavern stretches endlessly downward in layers of jagged stone and black crystalline growths, veins of Miasma pulsing faintly through the walls like a heartbeat beneath flesh. Here, every sound reverberates strangely—footsteps bounce back delayed, distant drips sound almost like crazed whispers, and the deeper you venture, the more the dungeon itself feels aware of your presence.
You shiver, it’s not as though it’s your first time going inside a dungeon, but it never fails to make your skin crawl in unease.
Thankfully, the operation itself proceeds smoothly.
Silver cuts through corrupted beasts with terrifying efficiency and accuracy, his blade flashing silver-white in the darkness. The knights maintain formation behind him, while your divine power keeps the Miasma from encroaching too closely, and heal when it’s needed—it’s a nice work division that makes the whole thing work.
Still, throughout the entire descent, your attention keeps drifting to Silver.
Something is different about him—it’s subtle enough that no one else seems to notice, but impossible for you to ignore now that you’re looking for it.
You notice how his gaze lingers on you a second longer than before, more thoughtful than it is attentive. You notice how he occasionally looks like he’s about to say something, only to stop himself at the last second whenever another knight approaches. You notice how his composure now feels less like rigid duty and more like someone actively holding too many words behind his teeth, torn in between the seams of his own thoughts.
You notice, and notice, and notice, because for the first time since you’ve met him, this Commander doesn’t feel like a fixed point you can neatly categorize in your head—he feels… layered.
Even as you purify another patch of Miasma, as you watch Silver’s sword curve through the darkness like it personally offended him, you can’t quite stop your thoughts from circling back to him.
By the time your group reaches the lower level of the dungeon, your brain has already constructed twelve increasingly catastrophic theories.
Is it a confession? Some sort of selective memory loss? An existential crisis (you can’t really blame him, since he lives inside a literal painting)? A secret terminal illness that he has kept a secret for the course of his life, and now he wishes to tell you about it? Tax fraud?
At one point, you become so distracted trying to psychoanalyze Silver’s entire existence that you nearly walk directly into a wall full of booby traps.
A hand catches your wrist instantly before you can stupidly do so. “Careful.”
You glance up, only to find Silver’s face inches from yours, his silver eyes sharp with concern.
“You’ve been distracted since we came here,” He says quietly, his voice low and close—too close, you realize.
Oh, you think, I wonder why.
“I’m not distracted,” you lie, you know, like a liar. It’s not like you can just plain out say, I’m thinking about you, Commander. “I’m just thinking about… this whole dungeon.”
He eyes your slightly grumbled expression, noting the furrow of your eyebrows. Then, unexpectedly, the corner of his eyes crinkles. A soft, airy sound escapes him—a faint, genuine laugh that sounds entirely too light for a man currently standing in the literal heart of a dark abyss.
You blink, momentarily stunned.
“...What?” you ask immediately, because nothing about someone laughing in a dungeon is remotely normal. “What’s so funny, Commander?”
Silver’s gaze softens into something impossibly nostalgic. He doesn’t let go of your wrist—instead, he leans in, his voice dropping to a whisper that barely skims the shell of your ear.
“No,” he murmurs, his eyes locking onto yours with a clarity that makes your breath hitch. “It’s just… I’m relieved I found you here, Prefect.”
…What.
“What.”
What the fuck. You swear your heart dropped right to your ass when you heard it.
The word echoes in your skull, bouncing off the walls of your suddenly very empty brain. The air in the dungeon, previously thick with the stench of rot and ancient stone, suddenly feels like it’s been vacuumed out of the room. You freeze, your jaw going slack as the realization slowly seeps in your brain cells.
What the hell did he just say?
“Wait—Silver, what did you just—”
You open your mouth to demand answers when a guttural snarl rips through the corridor ahead. The sound echoes off the stone walls, and every thought in your head scatters like disturbed birds.
Theo swears from somewhere behind you. “Yeah, okay, that’s new.”
Cracks split open along the stone like veins being torn apart, black light peeking through in uneven pulses. Something scrapes on the other side—too many limbs, too hungry—and then the first wave of Voidborne pushes through, shrieking in overlapping distortions that make your teeth ache.
You drag your hands down your face. Apparently, the universe has decided you don’t get to have a single moment of clarity before everything goes to hell. “Oh, for fucks’ sake.”
The wave lasts for what feels like hours. In reality, it’s probably much less than an hour—the Captain says something about “standard void surge” and “dormant Heart response”—but time has lost all meaning in the depths of this place.
When the last creature falls, dissolving into a pool of shadow that slowly fades, the cavern falls silent. The only sounds pounding against your eardrums are the heavy breathing of exhausted knights and the distant, pulsing heartbeat of a Hollow Heart.
Theo slumps against the wall, clutching a gash on his arms. “I hate dungeons.”
A fellow knight nearby raises one of her eyebrows as she cleans her blade. “You love dungeons.”
“I love easy dungeons. There’s a difference.”
The Hollow Heart sits deeper than the rest of the dungeon, as if the entire structure has been built around the refusal to let it be reached. The closer you get, the more the air itself feels compressed, pressing against your lungs like an invisible hand.
When you surge Divine Aegis through it, the Heart resists at first, pulsing harder as if trying to anchor itself into the world through sheer refusal to die. The pressure in the chamber spikes so violently that your vision blurs at the edge, and it feels like it’s trying to reject your touch.
You push deeper, tightening the divine light before the organ fractures without sound, cracks of pale brilliance spiderwebbing across its impossible surface before it collapses in on itself entirely. There’s no explosion following it; rather, it leaves a quiet, final absence that has been erased from the world and forgotten mid-thought.
The walk back to the surface is a blur of exhaustion and relief. The dungeon, now cleansed of its corruption, feels different—lighter, somehow, considering how the walls no longer pulse with that sickly violet glow, and the air tastes clean instead of stagnant.
You stand at the entrance, taking in the boundless sky that is dyed in a pale, peaceful blue, before dragging Silver by his hand away to a more secluded corner near the gorge, away from the “ohh” and “ahh” of the knights.
The moment you’re far enough from the knights that their voices dissolve into background noise, you release Silver’s hand—but only just enough to point at him like you’re about to cross-examine a criminal.
“Okay,” you say. “Explain, uh, preferably as quick as you can. I’ve got less than an hour before the Divine Fever kicks me in the ass and I start hallucinating again, so I need the short version.”
Silver nods, “I was accompanying Fa—Lilia in the library at that time. He was researching some cookbooks, I believe, and I… must have fallen asleep somewhere along the way.”
“When I woke up, I was already here.”
So, Crowley, in fact, put that painting for anyone to fall in.
Upon waking in the painting, he was immediately bombarded by the system’s internal logic, which forcibly grafted the Commander’s identity into his own. He describes how the more he performed these “objectives”—leading the knights, reciting the oaths of the Order, upholding his virtues—the more his actual consciousness began to ebb away. He remembers resisting at first, holding onto the awareness that he was not originally meant for this world, but each moment spent fulfilling the Commander’s duties made that resistance harder to access, like trying to recall a dream while still being inside it.
It was a slow, terrifying erosion of self; he found himself slipping into a deep slumber where his true personality was being buried under the layers of the system’s influence.
The moment he finishes explaining, you feel a sudden, sharp spike in your body temperature—the first warning shot of the Divine Fever. Your vision slightly swims, the edge of the gorge blurring into a watercolour smear.
“Silver,” you croak with urgency. “Listen here, my fever is acting up already, but I have a plan that might get us the hell out of here.”
He steps closer without hesitation, and you’re grateful for the support he has on your arms. You barely manage to keep your thoughts straight as the Divine Fever creeps in—heat blooming under your skin in uneven waves, your vision threatening to smear at the edges again.
You force yourself to continue, anyway. The plan flows out of your mouth in messy but urgent words.
“Thing is, the system assigning us with these roles is also a matter of holding the entire world together with it through narrative consistency.”
You point vaguely at the air between you both, like the concept itself is floating there. “Commander Silver, Holy Saint, dungeon runs, all of it—they all count as story logic, aside from being some kind of structure. If things—if this story logic stays predictable, the system stays stable, in return.”
Silver seems to be following your logic. “And if they do not?”
“Then the story loses its integrity,” you continue. “And when the narrative integrity drops low enough, the painting can’t maintain cohesion. It starts rejecting these inconsistencies, all while it tries to maintain the script.”
Your finger curls slightly. “So we become an inconsistency—we’ll create a narrative correction.”
You gesture between you two. “Whatever this is—this dynamic, these interactions, we can create a new narrative thread that is strong enough to overwrite the existing structure’s expectations.”
“I’m suggesting we become such a problem that the story can’t continue without rewriting itself around us.”
“...And yeah,” you add, rubbing your temples as the fever spikes again. “In most systems like this, that usually means escalating intimacy bonds, emotional deviations, shared arcs—whatever you want to call it.”
Silver exhales slowly, like he’s absorbing something far too large to respond to immediately. “...That is not a guaranteed method, is it?”
You snort. “No shit, but it’s the only one I can think of.”
Silver is quiet for a moment longer, eyes fixed on you like he’s trying to map the logic of your plan. “Then, how do we do it?”
A grin tugs at your mouth. “Oh, listen closely.”
✦ : SYSTEM NOTIFICATION — [MAINTENANCE COMPLETE !]
All core system functions have been fully restored. All previously suspended notifications and guidance protocols are now active—you may resume normal saintly duties, dungeon coordinations, and designated social interaction scheduling.
We apologize for any inconvenience. ~♡
The harvest is in full swing.
Lanterns hang overhead in warm strands of gold and paper-red, swaying gently as crowds move through the decorated stalls. The air smells of roasted sweets, spiced cider, and something faintly floral that clings to everything like an etched memory, as lively music drifts between stalls.
Knights from the Order are scattered through the crowd, clearly trying very hard to look like this is all normal duty assignment and not a thinly veiled excuse for indulgement.
Somewhere nearby, you can hear Theo loudly insisting he is “absolutely not here for leisure, that is below me as a knight!” while buying three skewers of candied meat.
“...So this is happening,” you murmur.
Ding!
Another notification pops in your line of sight.
✦ : SYSTEM NOTIFICATION — “Congratulations for completing the first half of [MAY CERCES BE WITH YOU], Holy Saint! Please continue to be diligent from here on out! ~♡”
The second notification lingers longer than the first, as if it’s waiting for you to respond with enthusiasm you absolutely do not possess.
Ding!
✦ : SYSTEM NOTIFICATION — “...Holy Saint, did something happen while I was away?”
“Mm? Nothing happened,” you reply smoothly, offering the empty air a smile so saccharine it could cause cavities. You’re currently standing in the heart of the festival square, the smell of woodsmoke and sugar thick in the air, but your eyes are already scanning the crowd for a flash of silver hair.
“What happened?” The voice comes right beside you, and you nearly forgot that the Crown Prince has been accompanying you. Per the system’s original mission requirements, you’re supposed to be “hanging out” with him today to strengthen the Royal-Religion alliance or something.
“You seem distracted, Your Holiness.” He continues, brow arching.
“Oh—no, I’m not, I just… my lover is joining us.” you reply, though you’re already mid-scan of the crowd, still looking for that familiar form of the Commander.
“Oh?” The Crown Prince’s tone lifts slightly, interest sharpening just enough to be noticeable. “A lover?”
You nod immediately, committing before your brain can intervene. “Yeah, someone from the Order.”
The Crown Prince’s smile lingers just a fraction longer, like he’s already decided this is going to be an entertaining evening.
“I see,” he says. “The more, the merrier, I suppose. I look forward to meeting them.”
You’re about to respond when you finally spot him.
Silver is standing near a stall of painted masks, his snowy hair unmistakable even in the golden glow of the lanterns. He’s not in his full armor—just a simple blouse, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his sword still at his hips. A smile graces his lips at the sight of you, until his gaze shifts to the man beside you.
Something flickers across his expression—too fast to name—before it fades just as quickly, and he begins walking toward you.
“Ah,” the Crown Prince says, following your gaze. “Is that him? The Commander, isn’t he?”
“That’s him.” You confirm.
Silver reaches you in a few long strides, his posture formal as he inclines his head slightly in polite acknowledgement, expression calm and practiced.
“Your Highness,” he greets. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”
“Not at all,” The Crown Prince’s smile widens. “The Saint was just telling me about you.”
“I was?” you ask—I mean, sure, yeah, but also not really? You just mentioned him. To your confusion, The Crown Prince merely hums, entirely at ease.
“Oh?” He tilts his head slightly. “I assumed you were being modest.”
…?
What is he playing at? You immediately decide you hate diplomacy.
“...I see,” Silver’s gaze returns to the Prince, but there’s a subtle tightening at the edge of his expression now—something near-adjacent to restrain carefully kept under control. “I hope it is… accurate.”
You laugh nervously.
“Hm,” The Crown Prince turns to you, his smile dancing in barely concealed delight. “He’s very protective of you, Your Holiness. How admirable.”
“Anyway!” You cut in, stepping slightly between them like that will physically stop narrative escalation. “We should get some food first before doing anything—”
Ding!
✦ : SYSTEM NOTIFICATION — “Your Holiness! Would you like to use [SCENE PROMPTER] to accelerate the mission?~♡”
The what?
✦ : SYSTEM NOTIFICATION — “[SCENE PROMPTER] used ~♡”
You stupid system, I never said anything about using it! You hissed under your breath, muttering out curse words to that useless system. Why go through with the maintenance in the first place?!
Before you can start spitting another verse of curses, a sudden burst of music erupts nearby as a festival announcer’s voice booms across the square.
“And now… beginning our traditional couples game!”
You feel like ten years of your life has been shaved off in this very second.
“...I’m sorry,” you say out loud to no one in particular.
Contrary to your misery-ridden face, the Crown Prince looks delighted.
“Oh?” he says lightly, turning toward the center of the square where festival staff are already dragging bewildered civilians toward a decorated platform. “What fortunate timing.”
The announcer’s voice booms through the square with enthusiasm. “Couples participating in this year’s game may proceed to the stage! Winners will receive the Blessed Garland and premium festival prizes!”
Your ears instantly perk up at that—premium festival prizes? Boy, oh boy, why didn’t you mention that first?
A dangerously amused smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he watches your expression morph from existential despair into sudden, laser-focused interest.
“I believe,” The Prince starts smoothly, “this year’s rewards also include imported wines, festival vouchers, a buffet in Golden Apple Inn, enchanted artifacts, and—”
You don’t even let him finish, your hands already shooting out to grab Silver by the sleeve, eyes suddenly sparkling with a kind of unholy motivation.
“Silver,” you say with deadly seriousness, already tugging him toward the platform. “We’re winning this. We’ll show the rest what a real couple looks like.”
You mentally cringe at that, but at least Silver doesn’t offer any commentary. The Crown Prince, however, outright laughs.
Oh, the Prince thinks in delight, it seems the rumors are true!
✦ : SYSTEM NOTIFICATION — WARNING ! [NARRATIVE DIVERGENCE DETECTED]
[!] URGENT ERROR: World-Logic instability is rising… current narrative integrity: 63%
✦ : SYSTEM NOTIFICATION — “Guh…”
That is how you both end up on stage, fingers entwined, and awkwardly feigning ignorance to the indignant squawks of “the Commander and the Holy Saint?!” below (it’s all the more awkward when all the hooting and hollering belongs mostly to the Order’s knights).
“...Well, at least this aligns pretty well with our intentions.” Silver whispers from beside you, trying very hard to avoid eye contact with the knights present amidst the crowd.
“...Can’t say it’s not ideal.” You reply, though your voice comes out slightly strained as the sheer volume of cheering from below crashes against your ears.
Silver lets out a faint laugh—the lanternlight paints warm gold along the edges of his profile, softening the sharpness of his usual composure. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see that subtle pink beginning to crawl at the tips of his ears.
You can’t exactly tell if it’s embarrassment or something else, but it certainly prompts a warmth of your own that stirs within your chest.
It’s ridiculous—you’ve faced down Hollow Hearts, Voidborne creatures, and even the system’s nonsensical yaps. You shouldn’t be flustered by something as simple as holding Silver’s hand in public, by the soft curve of his smile, by the way his fingers clench against yours.
“We’re going to win this.” He says.
“Obviously.” You whisper back.
“Welcome lovely couples!” the announcer beams at the line of participants assembled on stage. “The first event shall test the trust and harmony between partners!”
You immediately don’t like where this is going.
The Crown Prince, seated far too comfortably among the judges, catches your eyes from across the square with his smile that is nothing short of complicit.
You really don’t like where this is going.
“Now then!” the announcer declares, gesturing grandly toward a lacquered box filled with folded slips of paper that is wheeled out by a festival staff, before dipping his hand in. “Let’s see which challenge our honourable couples are fortunate enough to get!”
#01. RIBBON BINDING RELAY
Partners must navigate through the course while connected by a single red ribbon tied around their dominant wrist. The ribbon may not be removed or broken.
Festival attendants waste absolutely no time. A long scarlet ribbon is promptly produced and tied around your wrist before you can even flee the country. The other end is secured around Silver’s wrist with ceremonial enthusiasm that feels deeply malicious.
“Participants must complete three cooperative tasks!” the announcer beams. “Lighting the painted lantern, carrying the ceremonial cups, and traversing the obstacle course without separating from your partner!”
This is going to be a disaster.
The first task is, predictably, the easiest on paper and the most humiliating in practice.
A pair of unlit lanterns hang at opposite ends of a narrow archway, suspended just high enough that neither of you can comfortably reach them without coordination. A single ember charm sits on a pedestal between you, clearly meant to be shared.
Silver glances up at the same time. “So, we need to light both of them at the same time?”
“With the same source, too,” you confirm, already regretting everything.
The ribbon between your wrists tightens slightly as you move in opposite directions, forcing an awkward correction as you instinctively resync your steps.
“...Left hand or right?” he asks.
“Does it matter?”
“It will if you burn yourself.”
Between the two of you, the ember charm ignites under shared divine energy, flaring briefly before splitting into twin streams of light that leap into both lanterns at once. As the archway flickers alive in warm gold, a cheer rises somewhere in the crowd.
The second task is worse.
A long table has been set with identical ceremonial cups, each filled with a shimmering liquid that smells faintly floral and suspiciously magical, probably. The rules are simple—both partners must carry their cups across a moving platform course without spilling a single drop—and without letting the ribbon slacken enough to lose synchronicity.
The moment you and Silver each take a cup, the platform beneath you shifts.
“Of course it moves,” you mutter—Coach Vargas would be so happy to see you exercise this much.
Silver steps slightly closer without hesitation, aligning his pace with yours before the ribbon can pull taut.
It isn’t dramatic in a romantic sense—at least, you tell yourself that—but there’s something disarmingly steady about the way he adjusts every step to match yours without needing to be told.
By the time you reach the end, neither cup has spilled.
The final course is—well, someshit you’d see straight from the UA festival or something.
A shifting obstacle field stretches ahead—moving platforms, narrowing bridges, and illusory walls that flicker in and out of existence.
When the first platform drops away, and you instinctively stumble, it’s his arms that steady you through the ribbon’s pull, and when he steps forward, you move with him before thinking, because anything else would send both of you tumbling off the course entirely.
By the time you both reach the end, you are placed in third out of the nine couples.
✦ : SYSTEM NOTIFICATION — WARNING ! [NARRATIVE DIVERGENCE DETECTED]
[!] URGENT ERROR: World-Logic instability is rising… current narrative integrity: 58%
“Well, third place is third place,” you sigh as the festival staff directs you and Silver off the platform. The ribbon has been removed—finally—and your wrist feels strangely bare without it. “At least we’re not last.”
“Mm.” Silver agrees from beside you, his voice is measured, but you can hear the faintest hint of disappointment beneath.
The festival continues around you in warm waves of lantern lights and cheery noise. Couples wander between stalls hand-in-hand, children run through the crowd with bobbing wreath crowns atop their heads, and the scent of spiced cider accompanied by roasted chestnuts drift through the air like a sweet promise.
For a little while, you and Silver simply walk, basking in the festive atmosphere as you visit from stall to stall—sampling honey-glazed pastries from elderly vendors who insist on giving the “lovely couple” extra portions (after you blatantly coo at a very flustered Silver about your made-up meet-cute story), getting ambushed by enthusiastic merchants trying to sell matching charms “for relationship prosperity” (you proceed to vent onto the merchant how your “forbidden” love prevails, despite how there are those in the Sanctuary who disapproves of your relationship to get an extra discount), and narrowly escaping a flower girl determined to weave both of you in the same ceremonial wreath (Silver drags you away in a flushed hurry when you offer the kid to be a flowergirl in their wedding instead).
“Wow, you’re so sweet toward children, Commander. How fortunate this Holy Saint is to claim you as mine.” You tease slightly as Silver kneels to return a dropped wreath crown to a little girl who immediately runs away in fits of giggles when she sees him.
Silver’s ears go pink—just faintly, barely noticeable beneath the lantern glow, but noticeable enough that you immediately feel spiritually vindicated. “Please stop, prefect.”
“Stop?” you repeat, your voice dropping into a playful register. “But I’m just being honest, Silver. Isn’t honesty a Saintly virtue?”
Silver lets out another one of those half-strangled sounds.
At some point, Silver wins you a tiny carved fox from a throwing game with terrifying accuracy on his very first try. In return, you drag him toward a painted mask stall and hold increasingly ridiculous masks up until the poor vendor nearly cries laughing.
The tension so far is strangely easy… which is probably why you don’t notice the next disaster until it’s already too late.
“Oh!” A festival worker lights up the moment they spot you both appreciating a decorated stall lined with ribbons and silk blindfolds. “Another couple! Perfect timing!”
Behind the attendant hangs a painted sign:
#02. TRUST BLINDFOLD GAME
One person must navigate the obstacle path while blindfolded, the other may only guide them verbally.
“Aha, actually, we were just leaving—”
“You’ll get double reward tokens if you clear it flawlessly!” The attendant chirps.
Five minutes later, you’re blindfolded.
“You’re quite predictable, aren’t you, prefect?” Silver asks, more amused than anything else.
This is the worst day of your life.
The silk tied over your eyes blocks out your sight completely, leaving you suspended in darkness while distant crowd noise blurs somewhere around you. You can vaguely hear the attendant explaining obstacle rules, but most of your focus is currently occupied by the fact that Silver is standing directly behind you.
Very directly behind you.
One of his hands lightly steadies your shoulder as the attendant positions you at the start of the course.
“Just a heads up, there are low obstacles ahead,” Silver says quietly near your ears.
His voice sounds different when you can’t see him—lower somehow, closer, every word brushing warm against the shell of your ear in a way that immediately short-circuits several critical functions in your brain.
“Take two small steps forward,” he continues calmly.
“There’s a narrow beam ahead, slightly to the left.” You nearly walk directly off the course anyway—not because of the obstacle, but because his breath brushes the side of your neck for half a second.
What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck—
“You’re distracted again.” he murmurs.
??? you wonder why.
You take a careful step forward, guided by his voice as the obstacle course shifts beneath you—wooden platforms adjusting, ropes swaying overhead, distant bells chiming to signal progress. Every instruction he gives is precise and incredibly calm, like he’s done this a hundred times.
Left, stop, half-step forward, wait.
“You’re doing well,” he says, and the words brush against your ear like a secret. His voice is low, almost intimate, as if the crowd around you has faded into nothingness and there’s only the two of you in this small pocket of darkness.
You swallow hard, your fingers clenching at the edge of the blindfold. “How much longer?”
“Almost there, there are three more steps straight ahead.”
You take them—one, two, three.
“Stop.” You stop in command. “There’s a rope at about chest height, duck under it.”
You duck—or you try to—considering how the rope catches on your shoulder instead, and you stumble backward straight into Silver.
His arms come around you instantly, catching you before you can fall. The blindfold slips, just enough for you to see the flash of his concerned face, his hands wrapped around your arms like he’s afraid you’d disappear.
Is this another one of those shitty scene prompter? You think distantly.
“Careful,” Silver says, his hand briefly catching your wrist before you can misstep off the final platform.
“You said chest height,” You argue.
“I said about chest height.”
“You and your abouts.”
You reach the final stretch without realizing it, the crowd noise swelling faintly as the exit bell chimes somewhere ahead. The blindfold comes off the moment you step past the final marker, the sudden return of color and noise almost disorienting after being guided through darkness and voice alone.
Applause rises from the crowd, but you can’t focus much on it when you can feel how Silver is still so close.
Fuck, you try to believe that the warmth that rushes to your cheekbones is only from pure adrenaline, and nothing more
✦ : SYSTEM NOTIFICATION — WARNING ! [NARRATIVE DIVERGENCE DETECTED]
[!] URGENT ERROR: World-Logic instability is rising… current narrative integrity: 50%
Ding!
✦ : SYSTEM NOTIFICATION — “Holy Saint, the Commander is not the designated as a romantic interest, please return to the intended narrative parameters.”
The notification suddenly flickers, as though the system itself is stuttering.
✦ : SYSTEM NOTIFICATION — WARNING ! [NARRATIVE DIVERGENCE DETECTED]
Crown Prince has been flagged as OOC, and romantic protocols for I Became the Crown Prince’s Saviour have failed to engage. No romantic data found in the Prince’s current neural path—he is officially removed from the ‘Romantic Interest’ registry.
[!] URGENT ERROR: World-Logic instability is rising… current narrative integrity: 47%
The blindfold game rewards are generous—a small pouch of silver coins, a pair of matching enamel pins shaped like crescent moons, and a voucher for a free desert at any festival stall.
You and Silver retreat to a quiet stone bench, slightly away from the main crowd, where the lantern lights spill more across the cobblestones. The noise of the festival becomes something distant and gentle here—laughter, music, the occasional burst of applause—it is as if the world has finally decided to stop demanding you anything for a moment.
After trading your voucher for a skewer of honey-roast apples, you settle back onto the bench with a quiet exhale, the warmth of the food grounding you in a way that the day hasn’t managed to. Silver sits beside you, seemingly content to simply watch the way your eyes light up with every bite of the honeyed fruit, a look of quiet, genuine peace settling over his features.
“It’s funny seeing the system losing its mind,” you mutter, gesturing with an apple slice at the empty air. “It literally just kicked the Crown Prince out of the story. I’ve never seen a narrative engine give up that fast.”
Silver lets out a faint, genuine huff of laughter. “I believe the Prince did help us, he looks far too amused every time he looks at us.”
You snort softly at that, tilting your head back against the stone bench as the warmth of the food lingers on your tongue. “Oh, he’s absolutely enjoying this too much; that man is not normal.”
Silver hums in agreement, though there’s a faint softness in his expression as he watches the festival lights. He reaches into the small pouch of rewards, pulling out one of the crescent moon pins and turns it over his palm. Without any warning, he leans in, carefully pinning the small moon to the lapel of your silks, leaving you to be startled by the sudden proximity.
“It suits you,” he says, “it would be a shame if we can’t bring it out of this painting.”
You look down at the little moon, then at the matching one still in the pouch. You take it out, and pin it to the dark fabric of his clothes. “For real, it would be nice if we could bring them out—you know, as a souvenir for this entire shitshow.”
Silver huffs another laugh. “A souvenir from a shitshow is certainly one way to commemorate a festival.”
“You’re welcome.” you say, entirely too pleased with yourself, before leaning back again as the last of the apple skewer disappears between you and your rapidly diminishing sense of emotional restraint.
For a couple of minutes, neither of you speak again.
The festival around you slowly shifts tone as the sun dips lower, painting the sky in deep amber and violet. Lantern sellers begin moving through the crowd, offering folded paper lights and ink brushes for wishes. The noise of the celebration softens into something much quieter and wistful.
“The lantern ceremony is starting soon,” he says after a while.
“I know.”
“Do you want to participate?”
You glance toward the riverbank, where the first lanterns are already beginning to lift into the sky. “Yeah, we might as well. It feels like the kind of thing the system would mark as a mandatory closure event.”
A lantern seller passes by and presses two folded paper lanterns into your hands again without waiting for consent, offering a brush dipped in ink that smells faintly of soot and flowers. Silver takes one without hesitation, turning it slightly in his hands as if inspecting it.
You sit down on the edge of the riverbank together.
“What are you going to wish for?” you ask, fiddling the folded paper in your hands.
“If I tell you my wish, wouldn't it mean it won’t come true?” He replies, eyes still on the lantern.
“...Not wrong.”
He laughs, a soft and genuine sound that makes your chest ache in something dangerously close to fondness. Around you, lanterns continue rising in slow waves, turning the river into a mirror of drifting luminescence.
“Fine,” you reply, turning your attention back to your own lantern. “I’ll keep my wish a secret too.”
The silence between you is comfortable and mundane, filled only by the rhythmic lapping of the river and the choral hum of the festival’s closing hymn in the distance. You dip your brush in ink, the tip trembling just slightly against the paper.
Beside you, Silver’s brush moves more elegantly, the ink flowing in smooth strokes as if he’s not writing a wish so much as committing something already decided to permanence. When you finally finish your own, you both stand up to light the wick.
The warmth of the lantern expands, and you watch in awe as the paper blooms with a lick of golden that illuminates Silver’s face.
“Ready?” He asks.
“Ready.”
As you hold the bottom of your lantern and prepare to lift it into the darkened sky, Silver’s hand shifts from his lantern and slides his fingers down until they cover yours, his palm warm and calloused against your skin.
“...Silver?”
✦ : SYSTEM NOTIFICATION — WARNING ! [NARRATIVE DIVERGENCE DETECTED]
Narrative integrity is currently below the safe operational threshold. Current romantic/branching variables are exceeding assigned route limits, and emotional coherence markers are no longer aligned with predesignated script structure. Please disengage unapproved relational escalation and return to approved interaction parameters immediately.
[!] URGENT ERROR: World-Logic instability is rising… current narrative integrity: 39%
“...I changed my mind,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible over the faint crackles of flame. “I don’t care much if the wish doesn’t come true because I said it. I want you to know it anyway.”
He leans in, his forehead coming to rest against yours. The lantern between your hands stutters once, casting golden light and shadow across both of your faces. His breath is close enough that you can feel it more than you can hear it, close enough that you can count each individual lash, close enough that the world outside this small bubble has ceased to exist.
“I wish,” he breathes out, “that I can stay by your side, just like this, for as long as I can—for as long as you let me.”
“Please forgive my boldness,” with a slow, almost reverent grace laced in his touch, he lifts your joined hands to his lips. His lips brush against your knuckles—a gesture so delicate and tender that the kiss feels like an unspoken oath.
✦ : SYSTEM NOTIFICATION — WARNING ! [NARRATIVE DIVERGENCE DETECTED]
Narrative integrity is currently below the safe operational threshold. Current romantic/branching variables are exceeding assigned route limits, and emotional coherence markers are no longer aligned with predesignated script structure. Please disengage unapproved relational escalation and return to approved interaction parameters immediately.
[!] URGENT ERROR: World-Logic instability is rising… current narrative integrity: 28%
The air between you is thick (in tension? In warmth? In everything you’ve both been too afraid to name? You’re not sure anymore, not when his lips are damningly soft against the skin of your knuckles), charged with a gravity that makes you conscious of every movement within the space that you both called your own.
Silver doesn’t pull away after that—he keeps his lips brushed against your skin for a heartbeat too long, his eyes searching yours with raw intensity.
“You…” Your voice hitches, the single word barely more than a breath that gets lost in the narrow space between you. You try to find the rest of the sentence, but your brain is currently a frantic mess of static and heat.
There’s too much to say—too many threads pulling in different directions at once, too many meanings colliding behind the grit of your teeth before they can become languages without branding themselves onto your lexicon as something that would change the shape of everything after it.
You can’t just say that, you think, it’s not good for my heart!
Perhaps he’ll never know, or maybe he will—maybe one day, he will come to know the devastating impact he leaves in his wake, one that effortlessly leaves you tracing the cords of the stars and likening them to the lines of his palms that have gently cradled the heart of yours.
Though that is a thought for another time, a confession in another lifetime, maybe.
Your free hand comes to cup his jaw—tentative at first, then firmer when he doesn’t withdraw from your touch. If anything, he leans into it, like he’s been waiting for this exact kind of certainty from you, even if neither of you said it out loud.
You lean in, your breath ghosting over his lips, the mingling scent of leftover honey apples with a note of something earthy making your head spin.
Silver’s eyes flutter shut, his hands shifting from your knuckles to the small of your back, pulling you closer until the gap between you isn’t quite distance anymore; rather a brief space of warmth that leaves just the frantic rhythm of two hearts thrumming in tandem.
Your lips are a hair’s breadth apart, so close and fragile—
✦ : SYSTEM NOTIFICATION — WARNING ! [NARRATIVE DIVERGENCE DETECTED]
Due to unsanctioned convergence exceeding predefined script parameters, narrative stability can no longer be maintained within current scene constraints. Initiating emergency world clean-up protocol.
[!] URGENT ERROR: World-Logic instability is rising… current narrative integrity: 10%
Your grip tightens for a second—did you just get cockblocked by this hack-ass system?
You stare at the shimmering blue warning box hovering right where Silver’s lips were supposed to be—the sheer petty audacity of the timing hitting you like a bucket of cold water.
“Are you fucking kidding m—”
You don’t even get the chance to finish your words when you’re promptly swallowed by waves of white noise.
The smell of lilies and sweet incense is gone, replaced instantly by the nostalgic air of old parchment.
You gasp, your lungs burning as you pull in a breath of stale, library air. Your cheek is pressed against the cold, hard mahogany of a study table—yikes, you hope you don’t grant yourself a concussion.
“Ugh…”
A soft, pained groan echoes from the seat beside you.
You bolt upright, blinking back the dark spots in your vision. The library is silent and dark, bathed only by the several small, golden lamps. Beside you, Silver is slowly pushing himself up, his silver hair a tangled mess and his eyes wide with lingering alarm.
He freezes when his gaze meets yours, and for a long, breathless beat of silence, neither of you speaks—stil clearly in a daze from… what could have happened.
“...I’m going to burn that fucking painting in front of Crowley.”
Silver lets out a soft laugh, the sound shaky but amused, nonetheless. “I’ll help you light the torch, I suppose.”
His fingers graze yours, and slides his hand over yours, pinning it gently against the mahogany. The fresh memory by the riverbank, the amber light, and the breath fanning against your lips rushes back with such force it makes your head swim.
Violet eyes drop to your lips, and you find yourself unconsciously leaning forward with your heart doing that frenetic dance against the contours of your ribcage. You shut your eyes when the distance closes to a hair’s breadth for the second time tonight, finally ready to see if the real thing tastes as much like honey and promise as the painting did—
The library doors slam against the wall with a deafening crack. “Henchuman! Sniffs, I knew you’d be back!—”
“Oh, for fucks’ sake, I’m going to fucking burn this fucking school down—”
a/n: title is self explanatory… reader can be yuu or not yuu but they are kind of a loser (lovingly) please enjoy my delulu his birthday care is the cutest AUGHHH no bera as usual
Silver was almost asleep.
His head rested against the back of the settee, silver lashes fanned against his cheeks, chest rising and falling in that steady rhythm you'd come to recognize. Not quite gone yet, but drifting. He had just finished his birthday shoot and you both had decided to settle in Diasomnia’s common room.
You, on the other hand, were very much awake.
A small ceramic bowl sat in your lap, freshly washed strawberries piled in a neat little mound. Leftovers from making the birthday pies — or so as Trey says — You'd meant to share them. That had been the plan. A peaceful afternoon after his shoot, a sweet snack, maybe some quiet conversation.
But Silver looked so settled. And you were feeling just a little bit wicked.
You plucked a strawberry from the bowl, turning it between your fingers. It was perfectly ripe and deep red in color, almost jewel-bright.
"Silver," you said, keeping your voice light.
A slow blink. He was back, just barely. His eyes opened halfway, hazy with almost-sleep, and he turned his head toward you.
"Yes?"
"Want one?" You held up the strawberry.
He looked at the strawberry, then at you. "Sure."
You smiled.
“Come take a bite then.” Just as he leaned forward the smallest degree, you brought the strawberry to your own lips, keeping them there.
Silver stilled.
You expected flustered. You expected the tips of his ears to go pink, for him to sit back and look away, maybe clear his throat and ask quietly if he could take the ones in the bowl instead. That was the script you'd written in your head. You tease, he flusters, you laugh, you give him a proper one, everything stays soft and sweet and safe.
Silver did not follow the script.
He held your gaze for a moment that stretched just a little too long and then he leaned in until he was close enough that you could feel his warmth.
He took the other end of the strawberry between his lips.
You wanted to ascend. No, you were sure you were going to ascend over cloud nine and straight up to the heavens. Because he was so close and his eyelashes were so long and so pretty and the only thing keeping your lips from touching was a single piece of strawberry. You feel him linger slightly longer before taking a bite.
You felt his lips lightly graze against yours. Very slightly, but they definitely did. You closed your eyes. Just when you thought he was going to kiss you properly for real, he pulled back.
Silver sat back and chewed thoughtfully. For a moment his gaze seemed to land on your lips, the redness of the half-eaten strawberry against your lips seemed to make him feel a little warm. He shifted his gaze to compose himself. There was something in the line of his mouth, the faintest, most composed shadow of satisfaction, that made your brain go completely, spectacularly blank.
"...It's sweet," he said simply.
You stared at him.
He looked back at you, perfectly serene, and reached past you to take a whole strawberry from the bowl himself.
You almost forgot that you still had half a strawberry in your mouth. Not wanting to lose any more of your dignity you forced yourself to chew and swallow. It was sweet, but you could barely taste it as you immediately lurched forward after and grabbed his wrist to stop him from eating the whole strawberry in his hand.
"Did you want another?" he asked, surprised by your sudden gesture.
Your face was hot.
"I—" You stopped. Started again. "You— that was—"
"You offered." A soft smile crossed Silver’s face. "I only accepted."
Your heart was threatening to burst out of your chest and your knees felt weak — even though you were sitting — but you were not going to let this man get away. You shifted closer.
“You’ll indulge me again then?” The bright red of your face really betrayed the confidence you tried to put into your words as you pressed him.
Silver looked at you for a long moment. Something in his expression had shifted, His gaze dropped to your lips for just a fraction of a second before finding your eyes again.
"I did linger," he admitted like he was acknowledging something he'd been turning over since it happened, "I shouldn't have done that without asking."
"I'm not complaining," you said, a little breathless.
"I know." The almost-smile graced his lips again. "Your face was very honest."
You groaned, cursing yourself for being so weak for this man. He glanced down at the strawberry still in his hand. He lifted it towards you. You felt your breath catch, lips parting slightly, ready. And then he paused.
Something crossed his face. Not hesitation exactly. More like a realization. He set the strawberry down. Your eyes widened in slight surprise because you had expected him to stop, perhaps he had changed his mind, but then he leaned in slowly, giving you every opportunity to pull away, and you stayed perfectly still half in anticipation, half from your body going into a nervous crash out. His hand came up, gentle but certain, fingertips barely grazing your jaw.
And then his lips touched yours.
Soft. Tentative at first and then, when you didn't pull away, he was a little more certain. His lips press a little firmer against yours. There was warmth where his fingertips rested against your jaw. Warmth where his mouth met yours. The whole world went very quiet, narrowed down to the smell of strawberries and Silver, impossibly close, kissing you delicately, his own desires growing more and more apparent by the second. Your hands found the sofa cushions and held on for dear life.
When he pulled back it was only by a breath. forehead tipping gently against yours. "That was sweeter," he murmured. Quieter than before.
He smiled softly at you, cheeks tinted pink. You were sure however, the color of your face would rival the strawberries.
“We should get strawberries more often.” You coughed out, pulling away, trying to regain your composure.
Silver hummed in quiet agreement, reaching over to pick up the almost forgotten strawberries from the bowl. He held it out to you properly this time — no tricks, just an offering to you, his beloved.
a/n: title is self explanatory… reader can be yuu or not yuu but they are kind of a loser (lovingly) please enjoy my delulu his birthday care is the cutest AUGHHH no bera as usual
Silver was almost asleep.
His head rested against the back of the settee, silver lashes fanned against his cheeks, chest rising and falling in that steady rhythm you'd come to recognize. Not quite gone yet, but drifting. He had just finished his birthday shoot and you both had decided to settle in Diasomnia’s common room.
You, on the other hand, were very much awake.
A small ceramic bowl sat in your lap, freshly washed strawberries piled in a neat little mound. Leftovers from making the birthday pies — or so as Trey says — You'd meant to share them. That had been the plan. A peaceful afternoon after his shoot, a sweet snack, maybe some quiet conversation.
But Silver looked so settled. And you were feeling just a little bit wicked.
You plucked a strawberry from the bowl, turning it between your fingers. It was perfectly ripe and deep red in color, almost jewel-bright.
"Silver," you said, keeping your voice light.
A slow blink. He was back, just barely. His eyes opened halfway, hazy with almost-sleep, and he turned his head toward you.
"Yes?"
"Want one?" You held up the strawberry.
He looked at the strawberry, then at you. "Sure."
You smiled.
“Come take a bite then.” Just as he leaned forward the smallest degree, you brought the strawberry to your own lips, keeping them there.
Silver stilled.
You expected flustered. You expected the tips of his ears to go pink, for him to sit back and look away, maybe clear his throat and ask quietly if he could take the ones in the bowl instead. That was the script you'd written in your head. You tease, he flusters, you laugh, you give him a proper one, everything stays soft and sweet and safe.
Silver did not follow the script.
He held your gaze for a moment that stretched just a little too long and then he leaned in until he was close enough that you could feel his warmth.
He took the other end of the strawberry between his lips.
You wanted to ascend. No, you were sure you were going to ascend over cloud nine and straight up to the heavens. Because he was so close and his eyelashes were so long and so pretty and the only thing keeping your lips from touching was a single piece of strawberry. You feel him linger slightly longer before taking a bite.
You felt his lips lightly graze against yours. Very slightly, but they definitely did. You closed your eyes. Just when you thought he was going to kiss you properly for real, he pulled back.
Silver sat back and chewed thoughtfully. For a moment his gaze seemed to land on your lips, the redness of the half-eaten strawberry against your lips seemed to make him feel a little warm. He shifted his gaze to compose himself. There was something in the line of his mouth, the faintest, most composed shadow of satisfaction, that made your brain go completely, spectacularly blank.
"...It's sweet," he said simply.
You stared at him.
He looked back at you, perfectly serene, and reached past you to take a whole strawberry from the bowl himself.
You almost forgot that you still had half a strawberry in your mouth. Not wanting to lose any more of your dignity you forced yourself to chew and swallow. It was sweet, but you could barely taste it as you immediately lurched forward after and grabbed his wrist to stop him from eating the whole strawberry in his hand.
"Did you want another?" he asked, surprised by your sudden gesture.
Your face was hot.
"I—" You stopped. Started again. "You— that was—"
"You offered." A soft smile crossed Silver’s face. "I only accepted."
Your heart was threatening to burst out of your chest and your knees felt weak — even though you were sitting — but you were not going to let this man get away. You shifted closer.
“You’ll indulge me again then?” The bright red of your face really betrayed the confidence you tried to put into your words as you pressed him.
Silver looked at you for a long moment. Something in his expression had shifted, His gaze dropped to your lips for just a fraction of a second before finding your eyes again.
"I did linger," he admitted like he was acknowledging something he'd been turning over since it happened, "I shouldn't have done that without asking."
"I'm not complaining," you said, a little breathless.
"I know." The almost-smile graced his lips again. "Your face was very honest."
You groaned, cursing yourself for being so weak for this man. He glanced down at the strawberry still in his hand. He lifted it towards you. You felt your breath catch, lips parting slightly, ready. And then he paused.
Something crossed his face. Not hesitation exactly. More like a realization. He set the strawberry down. Your eyes widened in slight surprise because you had expected him to stop, perhaps he had changed his mind, but then he leaned in slowly, giving you every opportunity to pull away, and you stayed perfectly still half in anticipation, half from your body going into a nervous crash out. His hand came up, gentle but certain, fingertips barely grazing your jaw.
And then his lips touched yours.
Soft. Tentative at first and then, when you didn't pull away, he was a little more certain. His lips press a little firmer against yours. There was warmth where his fingertips rested against your jaw. Warmth where his mouth met yours. The whole world went very quiet, narrowed down to the smell of strawberries and Silver, impossibly close, kissing you delicately, his own desires growing more and more apparent by the second. Your hands found the sofa cushions and held on for dear life.
When he pulled back it was only by a breath. forehead tipping gently against yours. "That was sweeter," he murmured. Quieter than before.
He smiled softly at you, cheeks tinted pink. You were sure however, the color of your face would rival the strawberries.
“We should get strawberries more often.” You coughed out, pulling away, trying to regain your composure.
Silver hummed in quiet agreement, reaching over to pick up the almost forgotten strawberries from the bowl. He held it out to you properly this time — no tricks, just an offering to you, his beloved.
a/n: not rlly any plot… just reader keeps staring cuz silver pretty and he doesn’t know and it hurts. This is self indulgent no beta read.
Silver was, genuinely, a hazard.
You'd figured this out the hard way, making the mistake of looking at him a little too long multiple times. His eyes alone were enough to cause problems that soft aurora of pale blue bleeding into lavender. It reminded you of the dawn sky. His eyes alone were enough to make you understand why people wrote poetry about sunrises.
And that was just his eyes. You hadn't even gotten to his face yet. His face was a whole separate emergency.
It didn't help that he clearly spent half his waking hours training and his PE uniform was not doing a sufficient job of hiding the evidence. Silver had the build of someone raised by a knight and the face of a prince straight out of a fairy tale, a combination that turned out so perfect and perfectly lethal for your heart.
You were thinking about this with concentration when you realized he'd stopped talking.
"Are you alright?"
You blinked. Slowly, the field reassembled itself around you. Silver was watching you with that same composed, steady expression he always wore.
You had apparently been staring at him for the entire length of whatever conversation you'd been having. Your body, sensing you'd had a rough day, had decided that this was a perfectly acceptable coping mechanism.
"You're very pretty."
"Huh?"
"Huh." You pressed your hand over your mouth half a second too late.
Silver stared at you. You stared back at him over your own hand.
“…were you perhaps thinking about something else?” Silver questions you calmly, realizing your attention had dissolved mid conversation.
He was giving you an easy out. All you had to do was say yes, sorry, long day, and Silver would simply accept it, because that was the kind of person he was. Uncomplicated, earnest, devastatingly decent.
You should take it.
You were going to take it.
Except Silver was standing there completely unaware that he was the thing you'd been thinking about. That he had been for an embarrassingly long time now. That, currently, the gold of the afternoon light catching the silver of his hair makes him look straight out of a painting that would ruin you for every other art forever.
He didn't know any of that. Letting this man walk around unaware felt wrong. Felt like a public safety issue. There ought to be some kind of warning. You were practically doing him a service.
"I was thinking about you, actually."
A beat. Then two.
“Me? Was there something of concern?”
“Yeah… you’re— you look good. Always.”
"...I see," he said, after a moment. Then you saw it. The faint tint of pink that climbed his cheekbones. The way his gaze dropped quietly. You almost forgot to be embarrassed.
How. How was that allowed. He'd gotten just slightly shyer and somehow that made everything worse.
"...Thank you," Silver said, somehow managed to have regained enough composure to look at you. "Is that why you have a habit of looking at me?"
He was smiling softly now and you physically felt your cheeks burn.
"I don't— I wasn't—" You stopped. You had been. You absolutely had been, and he'd noticed. You should have known that Silver would have the awareness of a handsome coiled spring, he had clocked you long before you'd clocked yourself.
You decided this was, perhaps, the perfect time to dig a hole and disappear into it. Maybe forever.
summary: lilia vanrouge has reserved three important questions for his son, silver one in his childhood, the second in his adolescence, and the third in his teen years. but these questions all revolved around someone dear to silver.
starring. . . silver x reader
For years, Lilia has reserved three teasing, though pressing, questions for his adoptive son, Silver.
It started with 'how.'
His first question to his son was, "How would you feel having [Y/N] as your happily ever after?" Silver was around nine years old; his aurora-colored eyes were fully occupied with wonder and curiosity with the children's book he was currently rereading with much better comprehension than before as he relaxed himself by the Chesterfield sofa in the living room, his little feet dangling off the edge.
One that Lilia had given him for his birthday last year, where the story revolved around a princess who had been cursed for eternal slumber by an evil sorcerer and could only be saved by true love's kiss from an awaiting prince.
Then his awe-struck eyes immediately snapped back to his father, confusion etching across his young face. "What was the question again, Papa?" he asked, curiously tilting his head to the side, the one that his father would nearly combust from due to the sheer cuteness.
Lilia laughed, brushing the silver locks away from his forehead. "I said, how would you feel having [Y/N] as your happily ever after?" He rotated his hand as if to emphasize the importance of the question, his eyes sparkling with merriment. "After all, a brave knight like yourself deserves a royal to share his adventures with."
"But [Y/N] is not royalty, Papa," Silver replied, his eyebrows knitted together. And then, his confusion shifted to curiosity. "Wait, are they really part of royalty?"
Lilia laughed out loud, happy tears prickling around his ruby-red eyes as he shook his head. "No, my dear Silver, I was just emphasizing the idea."
"So, what say you?" he awaited his son's answer with his hand resting on his chin, his expression expectant yet playful.
A moment of silence hung in the air as Silver pondered his father's question. It wouldn't be a detrimental idea to have you as his happily ever after. After all, out of all the fae children he had attempted to befriend outside of the forest-heavy area, you were the one he felt most connected to.
You two find fondness in animals, be they small or big, and share a love for quiet moments in nature.
As friendships become fruitful, so do both of your imaginations. Almost every day, you two embark on new adventures, ones that are fictional in nature but feel incredibly real.
The forest had transformed into a magical realm of unlimited fantasies. With self-made costumes that were created by clumsy hands, you both transform into characters from your favorite stories.
You carry a presence you believed was befitting of a royal figure, your chest puffed out with confidence as your long, makeshift regal robe flows behind you. Your head is crowned with a delicate wreath of wildflowers, the petals functioning as glittering gems that catch the sunlight and reflect a rainbow of colors.
He, on the other hand, exudes a quiet testament to knightly honor, his eyes gleaming with determination as he brandishes a wooden sword and a shield carved out of a discarded cardboard box.
Thus, the young Silver, adorned with a toothy grin, would vanquish all forces of evil that dared to threaten the tranquility of his kingdom (or rather his humble cottage) and save you from harmless animals, mostly petrified squirrels, and imaginary foes constructed by your shared unworldly imagination with him.
Every time, you gave him a sweet peck on the cheek and a thankful smile, always praising "Silver is so cool!" or "Silver, you are my hero!" as he basked in your childlike admiration. It makes all the scraped knees and bruised elbows worth it.
Just the recollection of those sweet memories had burned his pale cheeks with a sudden, stinging warmth. His mouth involuntarily twitched upward as his aurora eyes sparkled with fondness that was reflected in the soft light of the room.
It seems like he already answered Lilia's first question.
If he continued to be the reason that you smile brightly at him, effortlessly trusting him with your heart wide open and
Silver would be delighted to have you as his happily ever after so that the two of you can never be apart. Forever.
It followed with "when."
His second question to his son was, "When will you and [Y/N] get married, hmm?" Silver was around fourteen years old, no longer radiating the usual innocence of childhood but instead exuding a sense of maturity beyond his years. The metallic practice sword wrapped loosely on his hip glinted in the sunlight; his breath came in sharp, shallow, ragged gasps from the long hours of rigorous training he had just completed with his teasing father.
"Father, please refrain from asking about such matters," Silver replied, his voice, now deep with maturity, tinged with a mix of annoyance and embarrassment. His eyes darted elsewhere but his father's probing gaze, increasing the heat flushing his pale cheeks.
From one of his pockets, his hand fished out a clean white handkerchief and gently dabbed the excess sweat from his forehead and then to his neck. He doesn't have to always entertain his father's peculiar questions, especially when the matters in question concern his romantic relationship with you.
You and Silver are finally dating. After years of separate realization of feelings and unspoken tension, there was no more of that gnawing anxiety of unrequited love between you two, and you had happily entered into a new chapter, reserving the tales of your budding romance for yourselves.
Of course, Lilia had his cheeky ways of entering the locked garden of his heart to search for the answers he wanted to acquire. After all, all the juicy, juicy details of your romantic escapades were now fair entertainment for the devious old bat.
The said old bat floated around his disinterested son, now suspended in the air while lying down on nothing and with both of his arms behind his shoulders as if he were lounging on an invisible chaise lounge.
He pouted, his ruby-red eyes glimmering with fake dejection, taunting his innocent gaze with a mischievous twinkle. "But my dear boooyyy, I'm just rather curious!"
He tossed himself in the air, now facing his belly in the airborne space, and his arms flailing uselessly as he pretended to be in distress. "I must know all the sordid details of your love life, pleaseeee?" His lower lip quivered dramatically in mock desperation, adding to the theatricality of his ridiculous antics.
His whining had now irked his son, who avoided both the question and his father's mundane shenanigans. It would seem all roads to escape are unfortunately blocked, as his father's persistence knew no bounds.
With a resigned sigh, Silver ran a weary hand over his face and finally relented, "Fine, fine…"
"I'll marry them when the time is right, Father," he replied, his distant gaze lingering on the near pond where the sun was setting, casting a golden glow over the water. Then a moment of a flash of pleasant memories rushed into his mind, but only the vague image of your adorable smile directed at him was the one stuck in his thoughts.
One that he held so dearly in his heart.
A tender smile swayed on his lips, followed by a breathless chuckle. Overlooked, or rather disregarded, the amusing gaze of his father upon witnessing the soft expression blooming on his face.
"Oooh, you're becoming a sap, my dear son," Lilia teased, nudging Silver's side with his slippery finger, topped off by a giggle, watching his son involuntarily twitch under his sudden touch, and dismissing the warning-like glare.
"Your fondness for fairytales had contributed fairly to your current state," the old bat humorously remarked, quirking a brow as he continued to float around his son just to raise his son's ire.
An involuntary surge of heat courses through his ears, Silver's expression was a message of denial and embarrassment, though it was betrayed by his flushed cheeks and trembling lips. "No… It's not like that, Father," he whispered, his head shying away from his father's knowing gaze.
As the sun bowed down on the horizon, casting a warm glow over the scene, the father-son dynamic ended with teasing banter, but one left the doors of possibilities awaiting being opened by just a mere question.
It ended with "do you?"
His third and final question to his son was, "Do you still want to marry [Y/N]?"
Silver was around seventeen years old, now shaped into a man sculpted by the stringent expectations imposed upon him by both his father and his liege.
Devoid of unnecessary sentimentality, he had already drilled his mentality to only focus on duty and honor that his guardians were expecting of him and... not other distractions such as fleeting love or personal desires.
He was courteously invited to the dark, grand halls of the Night Raven College with a humble invitation delivered by the ebony-trimmed horses. His name was inked on the envelope in elegant calligraphy, beckoning him to embark on a new chapter of his life that may be considered 'normal' for teenage boys like him, and formally acknowledging his magical potential, which is yet to be nurtured further.
A school life… What could be so different from the life he usually engaged in, drawing metallic swords and honing the lessons of combat and wisdom that his guardians had instilled in him since he was a child?
A radically different world, that's what.
A world away from you…
No more sweetness enriching his dull days; your mere presence was as if radiance were a bright light that only he could see because he was the only one who could see your beauty amidst the darkness.
There were no more days when someone would be behind him after training, shouting encouraging words to lift him up from his feet and reassuring him with a soft kiss on the lips when the world demanded too much from him, just your absence lingering like a shadow over his every move.
A bitter-flavored pill containing the hardest truth that he had to force himself to swallow is that you will no longer be by his side anymore.
Just another face in the crowd, another voice lost in the noise of the world.
All for the necessity of the paths carved out for both of you, leading in opposite directions.
Until… fate had extended a kind hand to cross your established paths with the same ending point, just to test its waters in search of another opportunity for reconciliation.
At the sorting ceremony, your unexpected presence brought shock yet relief to Silver's pounding heart after the Dark Mirror stated your name to come forth.
Now learning from the obvious that you were also granted a privilege to study in the same institution as him by the headmaster's graciously extended invitation. What remains to be done is to determine your permanent residence in the seven honorable dormitories by the sole judgment of the Dark Mirror.
Silver stood among the sea of new students in the grand hall, his posture straight and disciplined as always, yet his aurora-colored eyes remained fixed on the stage where you now stood.
You looked anxious, fingers fidgeting with the edge of your ceremonial robes, your gaze darting between the towering Dark Mirror and the crowd below.
The green flames inside the mirror flickered to life, casting an eerie glow across your face as it prepared to deliver its verdict.
A quiet wish stirred in his chest: that the mirror would declare you for Diasomnia. To have you close again, under the same roof, even if only as dormmates. But the thought felt too selfish, too indulgent for someone who had already chosen duty over everything else and turned oneself into a hypocrite.
Beside him, Lilia floated lazily in the air, arms crossed behind his head as though lounging on an invisible cushion. His ruby-red eyes sparkled with mischief the moment they landed on your familiar figure up on the stage.
"Oh ho~ Look at that," Lilia murmured, his voice low enough for only Silver to hear, yet dripping with teasing delight. "Fate really does enjoy playing its little games, doesn't it? Dragging the two of you back into such close proximity after all this time. How romantic~"
Silver's jaw tightened. He kept his gaze trained somewhere but on you. "Father," he said quietly, a note of warning in his tone, "please behave."
Lilia only chuckled softly, the sound light and unbothered, as the Dark Mirror's flames grew brighter, ready to announce its judgment.
"Do you still want to marry [Y/N]?"
"This soul shall reside in Diasomnia!"
The question and the announcement overlapped, accidentally or rather purposefully, like two threads of fate twisting together in one unexpected knot.
The words hung in the air for a brief, suspended moment, one spoken in Lilia’s playful lilt and the other booming from the ancient mirror’s soulless depths.
Silver’s head snapped toward his father, aurora eyes wide with surprise. The sudden question had struck him like a practice blade to the ribs, knocking the breath from his lungs. What did he just say?
But Lilia paid him no mind. The old fae simply watched you on the stage with open fondness, his ruby-red eyes crinkling at the corners at the aftermath of the Dark Mirror's verdict.
However, back to the matter at hand, Silver felt his heart stutter. You… here? Residing in Diasomnia. Under the same roof as him once more. The realization settled profoundly in his chest, yet at the same time, there was a heaviness of ineffable emotions that he couldn't quite put into words. Relief? Perhaps. A quiet longing? He'd rather not acknowledge that part.
"Father…" Silver’s voice came out quieter than intended, edged with disbelief. "Why did you ask that? Now, of all times?"
Lilia finally turned his gaze toward his son, offering nothing more than a light, innocent shrug. His fangs peeked out in a small, mischievous smile. "It just popped up in my head, dear boy. No deeper meaning~"
An exhale left Silver’s lips, long and weary. Of course…
He watched as you stepped down from the stage, your shoulders tense beneath the ceremonial robes, slowly making your way toward the cluster of Diasomnia students.
The sight of you moving closer stirred too many memories, like too many what-ifs he had long tried to bury beneath duty and training.
Without another word, Silver made a quiet effort to slip away from the crowd without his father noticing his abrupt absence. His movements were practiced and silent, the result of years learning to move like a shadow when needed.
He left the ceremony behind, the grand doors closing with a heavy thud that muffled the growing commotion inside.
Now he stood alone in the dimly lit hallway, the echoes of footsteps and distant voices fading into the background. His father's question repeated in his head like a stubborn refrain.
Do you still want to marry [Y/N]?
He wanted to chuckle out of bitterness.
Why bring up the possibility of marriage when the flames of your shared past had long since extinguished? Despite everything… despite the breakup years ago, despite the cold finality of his choice to walk away, despite the paths that had deliberately led you two in opposite directions.
Shit…
His cheeks warmed with a faint, traitorous flush. The thought refused to be ignored, lingering stubbornly even as he forced his feet to move again.
Silver started walking down the corridor, the cool night air brushing against his skin through the open arches. He needed to clear his head. He needed to push aside his father’s shenanigans and the unwelcome ache they stirred in his chest.
Do you still want to marry [Y/N]?
"...I do," he quietly admitted before he realized what he was saying. His sharp intake of breath echoed in the empty hallway, his heart pounding with uncertainty.
No... No... That can't be right.
Frustration slowly built up in his system as his heel was about to turn in the opposite direction until it abruptly halted by the sight before him, another familiar figure standing in the shadows.
He would be a fool not to recognize immediately your stature and ways of mannerisms that were unavoidably still perfectly etched in his stubborn memory, standing alone in the hallway all shivering and lost from the distance, and an even greater fool of himself if he dared to shy away now from your presence.
"You could've at least had your robes in the next size up."
He watched your figure tense at the sound of his monotone voice, like a springy cat ready to pounce at any moment, then slowly reveal itself to the latter, introducing a rather different version of yourself that he failed to witness during your time apart.
Your body obviously matured in ways he had not anticipated, the curves and angles more pronounced, the newfound grace in your stance undeniable.
Your youthful features had given way to a more refined beauty, but he still senses past memories of your laughter and carefree spirit twinkling in your eyes.
Nevertheless, regardless of the physical changes, you were still the same person his heart had long ached for, the one he had never truly stopped loving despite downplaying the obvious.
Am I even allowed to see them like this? He thought.
"[Y/N]." Heavens above, even pronouncing your name after all these years still sounded sweet to him, though his tone carried deep and unspoken emotions.
His eyes softened after uttering your name, gazing at you with familiarity and longing that should've been long buried, silently tracking your little movements of uncomfortability by his sheer audacity to address you after so long.
He doesn't know what to do next…
In the fairytale books he used to read, what was usually the next course of action? An ending possibly leading to happily ever after, or at least some sort of closure.
