Hello, you can call me Bork. I mostly write Sylus contents with a dash of Arknights, R1999, any AU content basically. You can find all of my fics here for easier navigation.
If you want to be tagged on any ongoing works, just let me know!
SERIES
Take Your Time, Miss Deer [75.7 words || Complete || AO3]
Deer Hybrid! Reader x Dragon Hybrid! Sylus, Hybrid AU
In a tailor shop tucked in the calmer side of the N109 zone is a little room where all clothes of many different designs come together under the delicate hands of an unassuming deer living in the den of all sorts of beasts and sitting on them is the dragon who wears your clothes.
Your many interactions with Skye, Mr. Sylus’ messenger or-
-Sylus is waiting for you to finally figure out he is playing his own messenger.
Where the Vernal Wind Blows [Ongoing || AO3]
Banshee! Reader x Vampire! Sylus, Arknights AU
Lost in the Kazdelian desert, Sylus was close to accepting his fate of meeting his end in a desolate region until he met a certain banshee who finds amusement in his misfortune.
In which Sylus believes your first meeting should have been the last then you and him keep meeting again and again until-
-He ended up replacing the role of your previous guard.
Luke & Kieran's Bakery Attack(s) [Ongoing || AO3]
Sheep Hybrid! Reader x Wolf Hybrid! Luke & Kieran, Hybrid AU, Coming of Age
Running around the N109 zone takes energy and what is the best way to deal with that? Buying pastries and paying for them later, of course! (They are not stealing if you plan to pay.)
Yet, that is only half the fun because what they really come for in that little bakery is that cute sheep hybrid who holds a grudge on them till kingdom come.
Siúil a Rúin [On Hold || AO3]
Sylus x Reader, Reverse 1999 AU set in WW1
The war has taken fathers, mothers, daughters, and sons and in your little sparrow's home, the seats reserved for her mother and father in the dining table will now forever be vacant.
Yet, the winged seraphs can only look away for so long.
From the pieces of her broken dreams, you and Sylus will help her make a new one.
Upon the Will of My Devotion [On Hold || AO3]
Bear Hybrid/Ursine! Reader x Vampire! Sylus, Arknights AU
You, an immigrant and former soldier from Ursus, has finally reached Columbia, the country where dreams come true and the perfect place for an early retirement.
A mundane job, a normal house with normal rooms, good neighborhood. The checkboxes are all ticked.
So, imagine the twist of fate when you ended up working for one of the most dangerous men in the country, Sylus.
Three years should past by fast but Sylus wouldn't allow that as apparently, working for him as a bodyguard is not enough. He already made it his personal mission to include himself in your personal life and he is quite dedicated at it too.
Chaos ensues.
MINI SERIES
Wonder Cat Rosmontis [Ongoing]
Cat Hybrid! Reader x Dragon Hybrid! Sylus, Found Family
A police lieutenant and a crime boss her CI with unproven crimes looks after a little cat hybrid suffering from amnesia with telekinetic abilities she can't control just yet.
Ordinary Days [Ongoing]
Deer Hybrid! Reader x Dragon Hybrid! Sylus
Away from the capital, Sylus leads the insurgency movement from the northern regions of the country with the help of a deer hybrid.
Your presence made him all more convicted to his cause and when the war ends, he looks forward to the day you don't have to dig up sweet potatoes for breakfast anymore.
The Nine Colored Deer God [Complete]
Deer Hybrid! Reader x Multiple LIs (Everyone is platonic except Sylus)
Sylus, the Wandering God
Caleb, the Two-Tailed Tiger God
Rafayel, the Grim Reaper
Zayne, the Keeper of the Shrine
Xavier, the Grand Prince
Miss Deer Can't Communicate [Ongoing]
Deer Hybrid! Reader x Dragon Hybrid! Sylus
Basically collection of drabbles of a Deer Hybrid! Reader with social anxiety. May become a long fic in the future.
Miss Deer Can't Communicate
Miss Deer is Trying to Communicate
Big brother! Caleb Headcanons Part 1
Big brother! Caleb Headcanons Part 2
Mister Dragon Wants to Communicate
Mister Dragon Is Trying to Impress
Mister Fish Is Trying to Match Make
See you Tomorrow, Sylus [Ongoing]
Dragon! Sylus x Deaf! Reader
A collection of drabbles of Sylus and Reader's friendship and his eventual relationship with her. Will become a long fic in the future.
Sylus and Reader meeting for the first time
Reader meeting Sylus on their field of wild datura flowers
Sylus dancing for reader
Reader braiding Sylus' hair
Reader cooking all the prey that Sylus caught for her
Reader looking after Luke and Kieran
Bonus:
Playing Hide-And-Seek (Sylus x Deaf! Reader)
ONE SHOT
April Showers Bring May Flowers
Deer Hybrid! Reader x Dragon Hybrid! Sylus (Birthday Fic)
You pray for good weather on your beloved dragon's birthday. Will the heavens turn an ear on your well wishes?
DRABBLES
Mandalorian! Sylus x Reader
The Eye of Aldhani (Mandalorian! Sylus x Reader)
Injury (Mandalorian! Sylus x Reader)
[ I do not know why I love writing about hybrids so much. (I blame Arknights for this.) Dividers by @cafekitsune.]
Not a rant but more of an introspective since my work is calling for me again and there are deadlines I need to meet 🥀
I originally took writing as a hobby since I am now pursuing a career in illustration despite the threat of being replaced by robots. Funny enough, I am making it work and through it, I met new peers who also made the same jump that I did.
Anyways, I am 1.5 years into writing if I did my math correctly. I like to believe I am becoming better in it and while I am not a popular author, I am happy to meet new people here with principles I like to follow, principles such as supporting fellow writers and artists no matter how many engagements they have.
I supposed I am writing this because I am beginning to feel the challenges of working with Stay A Little Longer, Miss Witch. Maybe I am just being a perfectionist, and partially because I don't want people to come for my head if I can't write the story properly considering Reader is deaf.
I asked myself why am I going up and beyond for my fics again and this question becomes louder when people asked if I am being paid to do this yet, I find myself telling them that I enjoy the hard work I put in for this.
Although, the answer I tend to omit is that I am writing for someone out there. It is a weird thought in my head but a little voice is telling me I need to keep writing since these words need to reach someone out there who is looking for it.
Anyways, I apologize for the tangent. I think I am just a little tired. I still need to draw and prepare social media announcements and other stuff.
Not that I need to weigh in on this topic, as I’m sure everyone has read and talked about it ad nauseam atp. But I would like to say that this will become even more of an excuse for people not to reblog things.
Creating anything and sharing it here is a slippery slope, one I’m personally tired of sliding on, because let’s be honest, likes are nice, but they’re not moving a post at all. And it sucks when you spend days, weeks, months, sometimes years working on something to share and discuss, and it maybe gets 20 reblogs (mostly fast reblogs) versus 300 likes.
Fandom engagement is shit as is, and no one truly interacts with macaroni art unless it’s to shame and demonize the person responsible for creating it. Or if you’re another creative supporting the girlies because you know these streets are brutal (edit: and the handful of people truly seeking to fellowship). But now, we have this added excuse of, “I don’t want to reblog this thing because now I’m afraid it’ll take traction away from you,” and it becomes an even bigger de-motivator.
Essentially, you were already hiding and avoiding participating in fandom spaces. Now, you have an added line of defense. An even bigger crutch to lean on when creatives implore you to participate in communities, even the smallest fraction.
And I’m not sorry if this offends anyone, because it’s been weighing on my mind for a while. Do as you will with this rant, but remember that you have just as much influence over the state of fandom as those who create. With that said…
It is sad how Tumblr seemed to be following the features Twitter is using that harms creatives on their reach, cutting off attempts to interact with a fandom they love and make it feel like you are simply throwing all the works that took time for you to make down to the void.
Sometimes, I wish I can see the same community set-up I witnessed when internet lives in a room but everything felt so different now.
I finally have time to sit down and continue "The Taste of Apple and Pomegranate." It's been a lot lately, but I ’m feeling renewed and hope to wrap up the story next week by writing the final three chapters together. Chapter 18 has been aging like cheese, so it's definitely time to get it out there.
Summary: You just wanted to survive university, not fall for either of them—let alone both. Two handsome idiots who somehow made your apartment their second home. You, Sylus, and Caleb were supposed to be just friends. So why does everything feel like their is more going on?
Character: Sylus x f!reader x Caleb // AU - College, Student
Genre: romantic, fluff, intimacy, humor, friends to lovers, polycule, slow burn, sexual content, alcohol, tabaco.
Summary: A righteous hero who owns nothing meets an immortal who owns everything. Xuanyu City will teach her that even virtue has a price.
Trope: Xianxia AU! Sylus x F! reader
Content Warning: This is a Xianxia AU. There will be Xianxia themes that are problematic. Warnings will be added specific to chapters. Poverty, scams, hunger, moral dilemmas, and mentions of blood.
Author's note: In this fic, his name is going to be his Chinese name, Qin Che because it fits the theme. Just FYI. Would you want me to create a taglist for just this fic?
If you enjoy my writing and want to support me, you can buy me a Ko-fi! ☕
⮘ PROLOGUE 🏮 CHAPTER LIST 🏮 CHAPTER TWO ⮚
The Cost of Wanting Nothing
By mid-afternoon, the refugees were settled into the lower harbor district. Xuanyu City had a strange system: instead of charging entrance fees or taxes for living and surviving, it taxed transactions. The more deals you made, the more the city profited. For the poor, this meant safety so long as they did not try to buy the impossible.
You walked the canals alone after seeing them off.
Without the weight of responsibility, the city felt even larger. More overwhelming. The buildings rose higher the closer you moved toward the inner districts, their upper levels vanishing into thin veils of drifting mist. Some rooftops were not rooftops at all, but floating platforms tethered to towers by chains of light.
At one canal crossing, you saw a cultivator step onto the water as if it were solid ground. A faint circle of qi bloomed beneath his feet with every step.
Further down the street, a woman with fox ears bartered openly for spirit pearls, her tails swishing lazily behind her.
No one stared.
No one whispered.
In Xuanyu City, the strange was ordinary.
Your sect had always taught that the world was divided cleanly.
Righteous and demonic.
Virtuous and corrupt.
Just and unjust.
But here… everything blurred.
A demon child tugged at her mother’s sleeve, pointing excitedly at a toy stall. A scarred swordsman knelt to feed a stray cat. A merchant with the faint scent of blood talismans around him laughed warmly with a group of dockworkers.
Your steps slowed.
If the world was truly this complicated… then where did that leave the teachings you had devoted your life to?
“Hey, Hero.”
You turned.
Three men stood near a side alley. Their robes were cheap but clean, their smiles too friendly.
“You’re from one of the righteous sects, aren’t you?” one asked. “We could use some help.”
Your instincts told you to be cautious. But the teachings of the Qinglian Yixin Sect echoed in your mind.
A hero must not turn away from those in need.
“What kind of help?” you asked.
“Just a small matter,” the man said. “Our friend was injured by a spirit beast. We can’t afford a proper healer.”
Your grip tightened on your sword. “Take me to him.”
They exchanged glances.
You sympathized despite your instincts screaming at you about the oddity of this situation.
The alley was narrow and damp, the air heavy with the scent of stale water and incense ash. The sounds of the main street faded behind you, replaced by the faint drip of moisture from overhead pipes.
“There,” one man said, pointing deeper inside.
You took two steps forward.
Then the air shifted.
A blade flashed toward your side.
Your body moved before your mind did. Years of sect training snapped into place. You twisted, the blade grazing your sleeve instead of your ribs. Your hand shot to your sword.
Steel sang.
The narrow alley filled with the sharp ring of metal as you parried a second strike. The third man lunged from behind, but you spun low, sweeping his legs out from under him.
He crashed into a crate with a curse.
“You righteous dogs are always so predictable,” the first man spat. “Too soft to refuse.”
Anger flared hot in your chest.
Not just at them.
At yourself.
You should have known. Should have been wiser. But the sect teachings had been carved into you since childhood. Help first, question later.
Your sword struck the attacker’s wrist. His weapon clattered to the ground. You stepped back, breath steady, blade angled defensively.
“Leave,” you said. “Now.”
They hesitated. Something in your stance made them reconsider.
With a few muttered curses, they retreated into the shadows.
The alley fell silent again.
Your hands trembled.
Not from fear.
From shame.
You had been fooled so easily. A proper hero should have seen through the lie. Should have protected herself without hesitation.
But your sect did not teach suspicion.
It taught sacrifice.
And sacrifice was beginning to feel very close to foolishness.
“Well. That was disappointing.”
The voice came from the mouth of the alley.
You looked up.
He stood there again, as if he had always been there.
The late afternoon light framed him in gold, his silver hair catching the glow. He looked entirely unbothered, as though alleyway ambushes were just another part of the scenery.
“You were watching?” you asked, breath still uneven.
“Of course.” He tilted his head. “I was curious how long it would take before someone tried to exploit you.”
You flushed. “I wasn’t exploited. I handled it.”
“Mm. Barely.” His gaze flicked to the tear in your sleeve. “You bleed too easily for someone so righteous.”
You sheathed your sword sharply. “Why didn’t you help?”
“Because you didn’t need it.” He stepped closer. “And because lessons learned the hard way tend to stick longer.”
“You speak as if the world is nothing but tricks and bargains.”
His smile was faint. “In Xuanyu City, it usually is.”
He paused, studying you. “You still haven’t left.”
“My task isn’t finished yet.”
“Your refugees are safe.”
“That’s not what I meant.” You hesitated. “One of them… a child… he was coughing badly on the journey. I suspect spirit rot in the lungs. The harbor clinic said the medicine costs more than they could ever afford.”
Qin Che’s eyes darkened with interest. “And let me guess,” he said softly, “your noble sect forbids you from asking payment for your services.”
You said nothing.
“Which means,” he continued, “you’ll either beg the apothecary for a discount… or go hungry again trying to earn the money yourself.”
Your silence was answer enough.
He hummed. “How tragic.”
“I will find a way.”
“I’m sure you will, Little Hero.” He leaned closer, voice dropping. “But tell me… what if there was a faster way?”
You stiffened. “What kind of way?”
He gestured toward the inner city, where the buildings rose like layered mountains. “Xuanyu City runs on transactions. There are always people who need swords… escorts… problem-solvers.”
You frowned. “You mean mercenary work.”
“I mean paid work.” His smile sharpened. “Stay for a few days. Take a few commissions. Earn enough to buy the medicine.”
Your heart pounded.
Paid work.
For yourself.
For your needs.
It sounded dangerously appealing.
“But my sect—”
“Your sect isn’t here.” His voice softened, almost coaxing. “And that child will suffer while you cling to their rules.”
You swallowed.
Your sect master’s voice echoed in your mind.
Greed is corruption.
A hero must desire nothing for themselves.
But was it greed to save someone?
Or was it foolishness to let pride starve you both?
Qin Che watched the conflict flicker across your face.
“Stay a few days,” he murmured. “Just long enough to settle your business.”
His eyes gleamed, deep and knowing. “And who knows, Little Hero?” he added softly. “You might discover that desire isn’t such a terrible thing after all.”
The thought lingered like incense smoke, thin, curling, impossible to ignore.
Stay a few days.
Earn what you need.
Save the child.
The logic was simple. Brutally so.
And that was what made it dangerous.
You had been raised within the white stone courtyards of the Qinglian Yixin Sect, where lotus ponds reflected the sky and your elders spoke of purity as though it were a physical thing. There, desire was treated like mud on clean robes—something to be washed away before it stained the spirit.
But Xuanyu City was not a lotus pond.
It was a tide pool that was beautiful, treacherous, full of creatures that survived by biting first.
You studied the man in front of you.
He stood as though the alley belonged to him. Like someone who had never once in his life needed to ask permission to exist.
The late afternoon light slipped between the rooftops, catching in his silver hair. It was not the pale gray of age, nor the bright white of an immortal ascetic. It gleamed like polished moon steel, almost luminous. His features were refined but not soft, the lines of his face carrying a faint cruelty that only deepened his beauty.
And his eyes…
They were the color of dark garnets, like embers smoldering beneath ash. When he looked at you, it felt less like being observed and more like being weighed.
Measured.
As if he were deciding how much you were worth.
You hesitated.
“…Who are you?” you asked at last.
He arched a brow, as though the question amused him.
“Just a passerby,” he said lightly. “A curious one.”
“That’s not an answer.”
His smile tilted. “Then let’s make it a simple one. My name is Qin Che.”
The name landed in your mind like a dropped stone.
Qin Che.
His silver hair fell down his back like liquid moonlight, tied loosely, a few strands resting against his collarbone. He wore layered robes of deep wine-red and black, the fabric heavy and rich, embroidered with faint dragon-scale patterns that shimmered when the light struck them. The sleeves were wide, the cut elegant, and a dark sash bound his waist, from which hung jade ornaments and a long tassel that brushed against his thigh.
The hem of his robe was stitched with pale threads forming the silhouette of a coiling dragon rising through waves.
Not a sect symbol.
Not an imperial crest.
But something older.
You had heard it in whispers ever since you stepped into the city.
At the harbor.
In the markets.
Among the refugees.
A name spoken with fear, with respect, with the sort of reverence one usually reserved for immortals… or calamities.
Your gaze drifted again to his robes to the dragon-thread embroidery, the dark silk, the unmistakable air of authority that clung to him like a second skin.
And suddenly, everything made sense.
“You…” Your voice dropped to a whisper. “You’re the Autarch.”
He didn’t confirm it.
He didn’t deny it either.
But a pair of passing merchants caught sight of him and immediately lowered their heads, stepping aside as though the street itself belonged to him.
That was answer enough.
Heat rushed to your face. You had spoken so casually to him. Argued with him. Accused him.
He had bought you pancakes like it was nothing.
“You didn’t say,” you murmured.
“You didn’t ask,” he replied smoothly.
You shook your head, trying to steady yourself. “Why are you helping me?”
His gaze slid back to you, sharp but not unkind.
“Because I’m bored,” he said. “And because watching you struggle is mildly entertaining.”
“That’s a terrible reason.”
“I never claimed to be virtuous.”
The alley filled with the distant murmur of the market, the faint scent of incense and roasted meat drifting through the air. Somewhere above, a paper lantern floated slowly past, its light casting soft ripples over the walls.
Qin Che’s attention shifted again. “The child,” he said. “The one with spirit rot in his lungs.”
Your chest tightened. “Yes.”
“I could pay for his treatment.”
Your head snapped up. “You—what?”
“It would take less than a breath,” he said. “A vial of moon-pearled lung tonic. Refined properly, it would clear the rot within a day.”
You knew the medicine.
It was distilled from frost-lotus dew and ground pearl essence, refined under moonlight for seven nights. Rare. Precious. Worth more spirit stones than you had ever held in your life.
“You’d… just pay for it?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.
Qin Che’s smile returned, slow and knowing. “Of course not.”
Your hope faltered.
“There’s always a price,” he continued. “You already know that.”
Your fingers curled at your sides. “What do you want?”
His eyes moved over you thoughtfully. Like someone inspecting an object of interest.
“Your time,” he said at last.
“My… time?”
“Three weeks,” he clarified. “Stay in Xuanyu City. Accompany me when I ask. No vanishing into noble errands. No running off to rescue strangers. Just you… and me.”
Suspicion stirred immediately. “For what purpose?”
“Conversation. Entertainment. Observation.” His lips curved. “You’re surprisingly interesting, little hero.”
“That sounds like a poor bargain.”
“Does it?” His eyes gleamed. “One child’s life in exchange for three weeks of your presence. I’d say it’s quite generous.”
Your throat tightened.
Your sect master’s voice echoed in your mind.
Greed is corruption.
A hero must desire nothing for themselves.
Do not bind yourself to personal debts.
But then another image surfaced.
A small boy coughing into his sleeve.
His mother’s trembling hands.
The faint grayish aura clinging to his breath, spirit rot spreading slowly through his lungs.
If you refused…
You would spend days running from commission to commission. Fighting. Bleeding. Starving. And even then, there was no guarantee you would earn enough.
And the boy might not survive long enough to wait.
Qin Che watched the conflict flicker across your face. He did not rush you. Did not pressure you further.
He simply waited utterly certain of the outcome.
“You’re thinking too hard,” he murmured. “It’s not greed to want someone to live. I’m not asking for your life. Just your company.”
“That’s how bargains begin,” you replied quietly. “Small. Harmless. Then one day you realize you’ve lost everything you stood for.”
For a heartbeat, something old and distant passed through his eyes. A shadow of memory. Regret. Amusement. You couldn’t tell.
Then it was gone.
“So?” he asked. “Will you cling to your sect’s pride… or save the child?”
The alley felt smaller. The sky farther away. Your sect’s teachings—once a comforting shield—now felt like a cage.
For the first time, you wondered if purity meant anything when it left you too empty to help anyone at all.
You swallowed.
“…Three weeks,” you said quietly. “No more than that.”
Qin Che’s smile deepened, slow and satisfied.
“Of course,” he murmured. “I would never be so greedy, kitten.”
The nickname sent an unfamiliar warmth through your chest.
The nickname lingered in the air long after he spoke it.
Kitten.
No one in the Qinglian Yixin Sect used words like that. There, you were junior sister, disciple, Hero. Even affection had to be proper, restrained, unentangled from personal feeling.
But the way Qin Che said it, low, amused, almost indulgent. It felt different.
Dangerous.
You forced your thoughts back to the matter at hand.
“Three weeks.” you repeated, more firmly this time. “After that, I leave. No tricks. No hidden clauses.”
He placed a hand over his heart in mock solemnity. “I would never cheat you, little hero. Where’s the fun in that?”
You weren’t convinced.
Still… the image of the coughing child refused to leave your mind.
“When will you pay for the medicine?” you asked.
Qin Che glanced toward the mouth of the alley. “Now, if you like.”
“Just like that?”
“Mm.” He turned, already walking. “Try to keep up.”
You followed.
The alley spilled back into the main street, and Xuanyu City unfolded around you like a living scroll painting in motion. Lanterns ignited one by one as dusk deepened, each flame blooming with a soft hum of qi. The air carried layers of scent, roasted chestnuts, sandalwood incense, sea salt, and something faintly metallic beneath it all, like rain before a storm.
Qin Che did not walk like other men.
He did not hurry.
He did not yield.
The crowd parted without being told to. Conversations dimmed when he passed. Even the canal water seemed to still slightly near the bridges he crossed, as if aware of something older than tide and moon.
You kept a measured distance behind him at first.
Until he glanced back lazily. “If you lag any farther behind, kitten, people will assume I enslaved you.”
Your spine stiffened. You stepped up beside him.
“I am not your—”
“Careful,” he murmured mildly. “You agreed to accompany me.”
You bit back your retort.
The apothecary he led you to was not one of the lower harbor shops. This one stood deeper within the inner district, where the paving stones were black marble veined with silver and faint formations pulsed beneath the ground like a heartbeat. Spiritual arrays were carved subtly into the eaves. Protective talismans shimmered in layered seals.
The sign above the door bore a regal name.
When you entered, the temperature dropped instantly. The interior was lined with floating shelves, each holding glass vessels filled with preserved organs, rare herbs, and crystalline powders that glowed softly from within. The entire space thrummed with restrained power.
The apothecary master emerged from behind a silk curtain.
He saw Qin Che.
He bowed so deeply you feared his spine might crack. “Autarch.”
There it was again.
That title.
Not spoken with fear alone, but with recognition. With submission. With acceptance.
Qin Che didn’t respond to the bow. He walked past him as if the entire establishment were his personal storage room.
“Moon-pearled lung tonic,” he said simply. “The highest refinement.”
“At once.”
No bargaining. No questioning.
The vial was produced within moments. It was crystal clear, filled with liquid silver that shimmered like captured moonlight. Tiny motes drifted within it like stars caught in a bottle. Even standing a few steps away, you could feel its purity. It sang faintly to your meridians, cool and soothing.
You swallowed.
That single vial cost more than your sect’s entire winter supply budget.
Qin Che took it between two fingers, examining the liquid as if assessing wine. “It will suffice,” he said.
The apothecary bowed again.
You reached instinctively for your coin pouch and then stopped.
You had nothing in it.
Heat crept up your neck.
Qin Che didn’t even look at the apothecary when he said, “Put it on my ledger.”
Your brows furrowed. “Ledger?”
He finally glanced at you, amused. “Xuanyu City runs on accounts, little hero. Some people pay in coin. Others pay in favors. Some…” His eyes darkened faintly. “…pay in time.”
A strange chill slid down your spine. You stepped closer as you exited, lowering your voice. “You didn’t even negotiate.”
“Why would I?”
“It’s… expensive.”
He gave you a look that was almost offended. “Do I look concerned about expense?”
You opened your mouth. Closed it.
Fair.
When you delivered the medicine, you watched the child swallow it carefully. The silver liquid glowed faintly as it slid down his throat. For a heartbeat, his skin shimmered with pale light. The gray miasma clinging to his lungs recoiled like smoke struck by wind. His breathing eased within minutes.
His mother sobbed openly, clutching your sleeves, calling you a savior.
You shook your head, embarrassed. “It wasn’t me. Lord Qin procured the medicine.”
Behind you, Qin Che leaned against the doorway, arms folded.
When the mother turned to bow to him as well, he stepped aside before she could complete it.
“I didn’t do anything,” he said flatly. “She did.”
You blinked. That wasn’t true.
But he looked almost irritated by the gratitude.
Outside, night had fully settled.
Lanterns floated along the canal like drifting constellations. Musicians played somewhere in the distance where stringed instruments resonated in harmony. The sea breeze carried warmth and salt and the faint scent of blooming nightflowers.
You felt… lighter.
For once, the sacrifice had not cost you blood or starvation.
It had cost you time.
Time you had already promised away.
As you walked beside him, you couldn’t help asking, “Why three weeks?”
He raised a brow. “Would you have preferred three months?”
“No.”
“Then you’re welcome.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
He stopped at the crest of a small bridge, leaning against the railing. Below, luminous fish glided through dark water, their scales flickering like scattered lanterns.
“Three weeks,” he repeated thoughtfully. “Long enough for you to stop glaring at me every five steps.”
“I am not glaring.”
“You are.”
“I am observing.”
He smirked faintly. “Adorable.”
You scowled.
He reached out suddenly and flicked your forehead.
You gasped. “What was that for?!”
“You were overthinking again. Stop.”
“That’s not your decision to make!”
“Everything in this city is my decision to make,” he said mildly.
You opened your mouth to argue and stopped.
The air around him had shifted.
Just slightly.
For the briefest heartbeat, you felt it: something vast and ancient coiled beneath his skin. Not demonic. Not heavenly. Something in between. Like the deep ocean trench where sunlight never reached.
A pressure. A presence.
The water beneath the bridge rippled once though there was no wind.
Then it was gone.
He looked perfectly relaxed again.
“You…” you murmured slowly. “You’re not just a cultivator.”
His gaze flicked to you, amused. “Congratulations.”
“Are you a fallen immortal?”
“Mm.”
“Are you a demon king?”
“Mm.”
“That’s not helpful.”
“Come,” he said suddenly.
“Where?”
“You look like someone about to collapse again. I refuse to have my investment faint in public.”
“I am not your investment.”
“Mm. Debatable.”
He guided you toward a narrow side street lit by floating lanterns shaped like crescent moons. The scent of crushed ice and ripe fruit filled the air.
At the end of the street was a small stall carved from pale driftwood. Bowls of shaved ice shimmered beneath a faint cooling talisman array, each topped with jewel-bright spiritfruit star-berries, cloud-peaches, frost-plums, sun-mangoes.
“I don’t need—”
He ordered two without asking.
When the vendor tried to bow, Qin Che flicked a finger.
The man straightened instantly, as if pulled by invisible strings.
“No theatrics,” Qin Che said. “Just the usual.”
You stared at the bowl handed to you.
The ice sparkled faintly, infused with low-level spiritual energy. The fruit atop it glowed like gemstones in lantern light.
“This is extravagant,” you murmured.
“It’s dessert.” He points to the bowl.
“It’s unnecessary.”
“So is half the suffering you put yourself through.” He chuckles.
You hesitated… then took a small spoonful.
The ice melted instantly on your tongue, cool and sweet. The sun-mango burst with flavor, sweet, bright, slightly tart, impossibly fresh.
Your eyes widened before you could stop them.
Qin Che smirked. “There it is again,” he said softly. “That look.”
“I do not have a look.” You huffed at him.
“You absolutely do.” He leaned closer, voice low and teasing. “You look like someone discovering she’s allowed to enjoy being alive.”
Heat flooded your cheeks. “You’re very presumptuous.”
“And you’re very repressed.”
You sputtered. He laughed a quiet, rich sound that sent an unexpected flutter through your chest.
It wasn’t cruel. It wasn’t mocking. It was… warm.
“You know,” he added casually, scooping a bite of his own dessert, “virtue doesn’t require starvation.”
“My sect—”
“Your sect,” he interrupted smoothly, “does not live in Xuanyu City.” He gestured lazily toward the skyline. “Here, demons drink tea beside monks. Immortals gamble with mortals. The underworld trades with the heavens when it suits them.”
“The underworld?” you echoed.
He glanced at you sidelong. “Did no one tell you? Xuanyu City stands on a fault line.” The wind shifted.
For just a second, the canal water darkened, deeper than night. You could swear you saw something massive coil beneath the surface. A ripple like the curve of a scaled body vanishing into shadow.
Then it was gone.
You swallowed.
“What are you?” you asked quietly.
He tilted his head, amused.
“Does it matter?”
“Yes.”
A fallen immortal. A dragon cast from heaven. A calamity. A demon king. The stories whispered themselves in your mind. But he only smiled.
“Careful, little hero,” he murmured. “If you stare too long, you might start wanting answers.”
“And if I do?”
He leaned closer. “Then you’ll have to pay for them.”
Your heart skipped.
You looked down at your half-finished bowl of sun-mango ice.
Three weeks.
In Xuanyu City.
With an immortal who could obtain anything—so long as the price pleased him.
You had come here as a dirt-poor disciple bound by doctrine.
And already… the world felt wider.
He stepped closer, lowering his voice.
“Does it matter who I am?” he murmured. “You made a bargain with me anyway.”
You swallowed.
It should have terrified you. Instead, you felt something else. A strange, rebellious thrill. For the first time in your life, you had stepped outside your sect’s rigid path. You had chosen. Not because you were ordered to. Not because you were obligated. But because you wanted to save someone.
And because part of you, however small, wanted to see what would happen next.
Qin Che watched it happen.
You saw it in the way his gaze sharpened. As if he had just nudged a stone at the edge of a cliff and was curious how far it would fall.
“You’re overthinking again,” he said lightly, tapping the edge of your empty bowl with his spoon.
“I am allowed to think.”
“Mm. Debatable.” His lips curved. “You usually look like you’re reciting sect rules in your head when you do.”
You frowned at him, clutching your bowl defensively. “I am not reciting anything.”
“You furrow your brows exactly like this.” He reached up and pressed two fingers between your eyebrows, mimicking the expression. “As if you’re trying to calculate karma.”
You slapped his hand away.
He laughed soft, low, amused. It rolled from him easily, like he wasn’t used to laughing often, but found it unexpectedly pleasant.
“You’re very bold,” you muttered.
“You’re very reactive,” he countered smoothly.
He leaned back against the stall, one ankle crossing over the other. The lantern light caught the dragon-thread embroidery at the hem of his robe, the faint outline of scales shimmering as if stirred by an unseen tide.
“You asked what I am…” he said lazily.
You stiffened slightly. “I did.”
“And you seem very determined to categorize me. Fallen immortal. Demon king. Something from the underworld.” He tilted his head. “Do you always need things labeled before you can interact with them?”
“That’s not fair,” you said. “Names matter.”
“Do they?” His gaze slid to the canal, then back to you. “In your sect, perhaps. Titles, ranks, proper addresses. Here…” His mouth curved faintly. “Things are less rigid.”
“Because identity determines intention.” You forced the words out evenly. “A demon king bargains differently than a righteous immortal. A fallen immortal seeks something different from a human cultivator.”
“And what do you think I seek?” he asked softly.
The question struck deeper than you expected.
You hesitated.
The scent of crushed frost-plum and sea salt lingered in the night air. Somewhere distant, temple bells rang faintly from a shrine dedicated to Mazu, the sea goddess. “I don’t know.”
He huffed a quiet laugh, almost under his breath. “How very sect-trained of you.”
“I was raised to be cautious.”
“No,” he corrected gently, tapping the rim of your dessert bowl with his spoon. “You were raised to be obedient.”
The words struck more sharply than you expected. You look away from him.
Across the canal, a group of demon-blooded youths were arguing over a game of spirit tiles. A monk with prayer beads woven from black coral laughed loudly at something one of them said. Further down, two women in elaborate silk robes haggled cheerfully over talisman prices.
None of them looked ashamed. None of them looked starved. None of them looked like they were waiting for permission to exist.
You swallowed.
He leaned back against the railing of the bridge, sleeves sliding down slightly to reveal his wrists. For a fleeting second, you thought you saw faint iridescent lines beneath his skin that looked like scales glimpsed through clear water.
You blinked.
Gone.
“I’ll make you a proposal,” he said lazily.
Your eyes narrowed. “Another one?”
His lips curved faintly. “You agreed to three weeks.”
“I did.” You nod.
“Then use them.” He said, almost sounding bored.
“For what?”
“To figure me out.” His eyes met yours.
You stared. “What?”
The lanternlight caught in his garnet-dark eyes as he leaned forward slightly. “If, by the end of your three weeks,” he said, each word slow and deliberate, “you can correctly name what I am… I will grant you one wish.”
The world seemed to still around you.
“One wish?” you echoed.
“Anything you desire.” His voice dropped lower, silk over steel. “A lost cultivation manual sealed beneath Kunlun’s glaciers. A spirit weapon forged from dragonbone and underworld fire. Gold enough to feed your sect for generations. Freedom from your vows. A name erased from the Book of Life and Death.”
Your breath caught.
“The Book of Life and Death?” you whispered.
He watched you carefully now. “Yes.”
The way he said it so casually. As if he had read it. As if he had turned its pages with his own hands.
“You speak as though the underworld answers to you,” you said slowly.
He smiled. “I speak as someone who knows its bureaucracy very well.”
A faint chill slid down your spine.
In the old myths, the Dragon Kings of the Four Seas were said to control not only rain and storm but also currents between realms. Rivers that flowed to the underworld. Springs that connected mortal soil to the halls of Yama.
Some dragons served Heaven.
Some were imprisoned beneath mountains.
And some… fell.
Your eyes drifted again to the embroidery at the hem of his robe, the coiling dragon rising through waves.
Not ascending.
Rising.
As though climbing from below.
“If I guess wrong?” you asked carefully.
“Then you get nothing.” His lips twitched. “And I get to enjoy watching you try.”
“That’s hardly fair.” You frowned at him.
“When has fairness been part of your cultivation path?” he countered gently.
You fell silent. He wasn’t wrong. You had been taught endurance. Sacrifice. Self-denial. Not fairness.
He reached out suddenly and plucked a piece of sun-mango from your bowl.
“Hey—”
He popped it into his mouth without breaking eye contact.
You stared at him, scandalized.
“That was mine.” You whined.
“You hesitated.” He said with a shrug.
“I was thinking!”
“Exactly.”
“You ordered your own bowl!”
“And I finished it.”
You sputtered. “You’re insufferable.”
“And you’re indecisive, little hero.”
Your glare sharpened.
He leaned closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “In Xuanyu City, kitten, if you want something, you take it before someone else does.”
“That’s greed.”
“That’s survival.”
The words lingered between you.
“Why offer the challenge at all?” you demanded. “Why not just keep your secrets?”
He began walking again, forcing you to follow.
“Because,” he said over his shoulder, “watching you think is entertaining.”
“That’s not a real reason.”
He stopped abruptly.
You nearly collided with him.
He turned, and you had to tilt your head slightly to meet his eyes. “For someone raised on rigid doctrine,” he said quietly, “you are dangerously curious.”
Your throat went dry. “I’m trying to understand the terms of our agreement.”
“Mm.” He stepped closer again, not touching you, but close enough that the warmth from his body reached you despite the sea breeze. “And what happens if you win?”
“You grant me anything I desire.”
“And what do you desire?” he asked softly.
You opened your mouth.
Nothing came out.
Your sect’s winter stores came to mind. The patched robes of junior disciples. Your own cracked sword hilt. The humiliation of empty coin pouches.
Then something else surfaced.
The taste of sun-mango. The feeling of not starving. The sound of him laughing.
You closed your mouth abruptly.
He noticed.
His lips curved.
“There,” he murmured. “That hesitation.”
He folded his arms slowly across his chest, tilting his head just slightly. His silver hair slid over one shoulder like poured mercury.
Your fingers curled at your sides. “You’re insufferably observant.”
“And you’re transparently conflicted.” He stepped closer, closing the space between you by half a pace. “It’s very endearing.”
Your heart gave an annoying, traitorous thump.
“I am not endearing.”
He leaned down just slightly, as though inspecting something delicate. “You are,” he said calmly, eyes flicking over your expression. “You just don’t know it yet.”
He reached out suddenly and tapped the center of your forehead lightly — not hard enough to hurt, just enough to startle.
“You’ve never been allowed to want,” he said quietly. “You’ve only been allowed to give.”
“That’s not true.”
He raised one brow. “You refused dried buns from refugees,” he said. “Not because they didn’t insist. But because accepting them would have made you feel… what?”
You hesitated.
He stepped back then, giving you space. “You mistake deprivation for virtue,” he said calmly. “Your sect confuses emptiness with purity.”
Anger flickered in your chest.
“Be careful,” you warned. “That is my sect you’re speaking of.”
“I am being careful.” His tone didn’t rise. It didn’t need to. “I’m not insulting them. I’m questioning their mathematics.”
“Mathematics?”
“Yes.” He gestured lightly with one hand. “If you give endlessly and never replenish… what happens?”
“You endure.” You repeated your sect’s teachings.
“You erode.” He corrected you without hesitation.
The word landed heavily.
The canal water lapped quietly beneath you.
In the distance, temple bells rang again, slower this time.
He watched your expression soften, just slightly.
“Three weeks,” he said gently. “Figure me out. Challenge me. Argue with me.” A faint smirk returned. “Steal your fruit back.”
You crossed your arms. “You stole it, but that doesn’t mean I will —.”
He shrugged. “And you let me.”
That petty, smug expression returned fully now.
You narrowed your eyes.
“Fine,” you said.
His brows lifted slightly. “Fine?” he echoed.
“I accept the challenge.” You bowed to him.
He tilted his head. “You already did.”
“No.” You stepped closer, matching his distance deliberately this time. “I accept it properly. I will discover what you are.”
His gaze darkened faintly, not threatening, but intent.
“And when you do?” he asked.
You inhaled slowly. “When I do,” you said evenly, “you will grant my wish.”
A slow smile spread across his face. “Good,” he murmured.
For a fleeting second, the wind shifted again. The canal darkened. Far below, something vast coiled once more patient and ancient.
And for the first time since leaving your sect’s white stone courtyards… You did not feel like a disciple. You felt like a challenger.
And Qin Che, Autarch of Xuanyu City, immortal or monster or God or fallen star, looked very pleased about it.
⮘ PROLOGUE 🏮 CHAPTER LIST 🏮 CHAPTER TWO ⮚
If you enjoy my writing and want to support me, you can buy me a Ko-fi! ☕
Summary: On a quiet train bound for the countryside, a young woman meets a stranger whose gaze she cannot forget. In a world ruled by propriety and silence, their hearts speak in glances, letters, and pauses between words.
Pair: Reader x Lord! Sylus
Tags: SFW, Slowburn, Yearning, Forced proximity , Edwardian era, Romance, Fluff, subtle affection, Friends to misunderstanding to lovers. Mourning the death of a mother.
I think if you had gone to kindergarten with Sylus, he would have heard that stupid thing people say about little boys "if he annoys you, it's because he likes you", and he would have thought he should do that! Because he likes you!
So he waddles over to you (you're putting stickers on your face because why not) and just. Pushes you. You fall on your butt and immediately start crying.
It's the worst day of his toddler life. He kneels down and apologizes profusely, saying he didn't want you to cry, he just wanted to annoy you so you'd know he likes you! And he hugs you with his little arms to try to make amends.
He ends up in time out (one of the teachers saw the whole thing and is lowkey giggling, but isn't gonna let it fly), while you watch some cartoons to feel better.
please heed all of the authors' content warnings & check out their other amazing works too! show them some love; be kind!
.°•𝔽𝕝𝕦𝕗𝕗/ℂ𝕠𝕞𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕥ᯓ༊·˚
never will I let you go by @blessdunrest (mdni)
sylus x readers late night swim by @catbolt
best laid plans by @deepspacenova
sweetie by @deepspacenova
Crescendo by @dizzydaisychains
To See You Like This by @hopeyoufindalovelikethis
The Sound of Staying by @iraot
Cat-fe by @lorelei-larai
Little Flame by @maddamoiselle
Capture my heart and frame it, won't you? by @memephi
cherry wine by @mythblossoms
Your trash, my treasure. by @peascribbles
Love Letters, Sylus by @rcvcgers
I see you by @terriblesoup
.°•ℂ𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕜ᯓ༊·˚
how to accidentally catch feelings while baby-sitting a man-child by @shaiyasstuff
Broke Sylus??!!? by @thesylenttreatment01
.°•𝔸𝕟𝕘𝕤𝕥ᯓ༊·˚
the weight of the wind by @abyssyby
to be devoured, to be held by @abyssyby
Sylus - Five Years Later by @aleksatia
A Gentle Touch by @always-just-red
Under the wings of a dragon by @colonelkaboom
Blooming Daturas by @glitch-but-ya
through the fire by @shaiyasstuff (series; sylusxreaderxzayne)
into the flames... by @souliloqui
black velvet by @sysjuicebox
.°•𝕄𝔻ℕ𝕀 𝕊𝕞𝕦𝕥ᯓ༊·˚
YOUR LIPS, MY LIPS by @atxchiphxbix (mdni)
Power Play by @deepspacenova (mdni; sylusxcaleb)
Ma Meilleure Ennemie by @dijayeah (mdni)
sweet dreams by @fiendsgf (mdni)
runner's high by @humanjarvis (mdni)
A Practical Demonstration by @janumun (mdni)
third tempo by @knightjpg (mdni)
The Mate in the Mountains by @kissandtellus (mdni)
Dragon Tamer by @leighsartworks216 (mdni)
streetracer!sylus x streetracer!reader by @luvinbloom (mdni)
avoiding sylus' kisses prank...gone wrong by @wetforsylus (mdni)
calling him 'husband' during sex by @wetforsylus (mdni)
in your hand. from my heart by @sylure (mdni)
Sensuous Little Thing. by @sylure (mdni; suggestive)
The Marionette's Dance. by @sylure (mdni)
frenetic by @sysyjuicebox (mdni)
sylus when he can't stop kitten licking you... by @thewrldx (mdni)
.°•Miscᯓ༊·˚
coat by @blessdunrest
Take Your Time, Miss Deer by @borkunlimited (series; suggestive)
a soul cast in shadow by @deepspacenova
Error 404: (Self!Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) by @ittybittyfanblog (series; suggestive)
Only You, Darling (Only You, Babe) by @ittybittyfanblog
OUT OF BOUNDS by @novthirty (series ongoing)
blackjack by @peachylynnie (series ongoing)
Elysium by @starmocha (mdni)
Rinse, repeat. by @terriblesoup (series)
Silence is a Virtue by @thechaoticarchivist
ginny's note: this is definitely the biggest list yet 😭 a HUGE shoutout to @/blessdunrest, @/deepspacenova, and my other amazing moots who gave me so many wonderful recommendations!! this list would not be possible without you all 🫂💕
as always, if you have any recs and/or authors to share, pls let me know! i'll have to make a part two since the number of links maxed out on this post, but that is a-okay 🙂↕️ (just give me time LOL)
Stay A Little Longer, Miss Witch (Dragon! Sylus x Deaf! Reader) - Ch. 2
Every town needs a witch.
Yet, every witch turns their noses on a lonely and idyllic town sitting at the foot of the great mountain ranges rumored to house a ferocious mythical beast who makes terrible noises every night.
Then, you came along, a witch far away from home, and everything has quieted down since then.
The villagers are happy, the grumpy dragon is happy, and even the forest creatures are happy for their lone mountain king but just like the changing seasons, not everything is set into stone.
Especially when the lonesome ruler finds out there may be more of his kind.
A Deaf! Reader x Dragon! Sylus Fic
Summary: Under the hard shell, a warm soul shivers in anticipation upon the touch of your hand and his.
Tags: Sylus x Reader, Fantasy AU
Word Count: 4.3k
AO3
Ch. 1 / Ch. 2
2: Hearth, Carefully Tended
Luke and Kieran’s first taste of a cooked meal were scrambled eggs.
The great horned owl once warned them to never go down to the foot of the mountains, to never follow you without your knowledge or any of the older forest creatures tagging along.
“But why?”, they asked.
“Because it is dangerous,” the great horned owl sighed but they continued to press him on.
If it's dangerous, then how come you live there?
If they are not allowed, then how is it fair that the humans can come here without being invited?
If it depends, then what is the reason they need so they can have a small looksie at the village with colorful lights?
It is the first rule they ever broke.
If you ask the two wolf cubs whose idea it was to sneak out of the great forest, both will take the fall for each other, if ever the wise owl finds out that they decided to go down the mountain before the sun rises because they just need to know where that delicious and wonderful aroma is coming from.
They love the taste of meat, the taste of animals they both worked hard to hunt by using their noses to track them down.
So, at first, they thought the scent came from an animal not from these mountains, an animal that the whiny villagers (His lord’s words, not theirs) are keeping within their tall fences, perhaps a gift from the wandering witches.
It was quite easy to find where it resides, its scent caressing the snouts of two wolf cubs pointing them high up in the air while they made sure to stay hidden by creeping through the shrubberies.
Until, the last obstacle blocking them from seeing the hiding place of this mysterious animal is a window belonging to a house with a blue roof, too high up for them to reach just by standing with their hind legs alone.
They have been a team for so long that they already know the solution for this.
“I want to go first!”
“No, I was born first so I go first!”
They bickered quietly, snapping at each other by pulling the other’s tail and ears until, as always, the younger brother gave way to the whims of the older.
One small wolf cub plus one small wolf cub is one big wolf cub, that’s what they always say.
“It is not an animal!”, Luke said in amazement, his hind legs standing on top of the back of his twin as he peeked inside the house, his tail wagging at the assortment of meat and eggs being cooked by a human boy.
“What is it then?”
“They are doing something with the eggs! They are cracking it on a metal plate over the fire and adding herbs!”
“I want to have a look!”
“Nuh-uh, not your turn yet-”, Luke said, sticking his tongue out down at his younger brother, and they were about to bicker again when the door beside the window opened.
Oh no.
They froze, their tails immediately puffing as they gazed back at the small human girl with curly hair still sticking out of places, a clear sign she just woke up to start her day, and her drowsy face turned to a wide smile when she finally took in their presence.
“Puppies!”
They didn’t have time to react, both of them being hugged by the young girl as she buried her face on their dark fur.
“You’re so cute!”, she cooed, pressing small kisses on their forehead and they were so used to receiving such gestures from you that their tails wagged as the strange girl continued to shower them with affection, all too happy about having puppies in her backyard.
“You must be hungry!”, she smiled widely at them before standing up, brushing the strands of their fur that stuck on her pajamas, “I’ll get you both something, alright? Wait here for me, puppies!”
Something.
They were certainly confused at her reaction, and they knew they shouldn’t wait for her to come back now that their cover is blown but the prospect of being able to try whatever the human boy inside the house cooked made it too hard for them to leave.
“Don’t be too loud,” the girl whispered to them as they began to gobble up everything she piled in the plate she put down for them, “Big brother might hear you two.”
They finished everything together in less than ten bites before scurrying off, the crumbs of freshly baked loaf with the taste of salt and pepper from eggs still lingering in their tongues.
Ever since then, food has never been the same and the hunt isn’t as fulfilling, not when they know they won’t be able to cook at all given that they have paws instead of hands.
“Are eggs supposed to be this large, my lord?”
Luke panted, he and his brother returning to Sylus’ side after successfully chasing away the humans who dared step inside his territory. They have seen treasures being attempted to be hidden here in the mountains, all shiny under the moonlight, but why go as far for an egg?
“It must be a very special egg!”, Kieran said, his tail wagging, “The ones humans reserve for a very important day!”
“That is true! It will certainly make for a good scrambled egg, right, your highness-”, Luke said, and his body vibrated in excitement just at the thought of you cooking it on their behalf but instead of the usual passive gaze the dragon they began to see as their one and only leader of the pack gives to them every time they pitch in their ideas, they both received a glare.
A glare.
“We are not cooking it,” Sylus scoffed, and they watched as he carefully gathered the egg on his arms, holding it close to him just as how he carried them or any of the forest creatures when they were wounded.
They both looked at each other, confused, then back at him, who is already walking down the path you always take when you return back to the foot of the mountain, the path leading to your lone hut.
“Then what are we going to do with it, my lord?”
“Do you think it belongs to Mephisto, your grace? Why would he leave that here? Dumb bird.”
“If it is, I am sure everyone here and their mother should know already. All birds from the capital are so snooty. If it weren’t for Miss Witch, I would have eaten him,” Luke answered instead, rolling his eyes as his brother nodded along, “You would have eaten him too, right, my lord?”
Usually, Sylus would indulge them, agreeing that what is keeping between them and eating your crow familiar for dinner is you but there were times he would reprimand them, knowing that it is the insolent bird who relays the grievances of all forest creatures to you. Grievances that Sylus knows they are too afraid to disclose to him for now.
Instead, he did not reply, his tail only flicking the slightest and the two wolf cubs, young as they can be, have already been under his care long enough to understand his silence.
It might be, indeed, a very special egg.
────────────────────
Sylus has a tendency to show up with an assortment of gifts based on his whims.
During the early days of your friendship with him, he does not choose the time of the day to make his appearance in front of your lone hut, always bringing along with him his tokens of gratitudes that take form in various beasts he caught himself.
At first, he is very straightforward with handing them over to you, making sure he catches your attention first before laying on your feet his latest hunt while wearing a proud expression.
Wild fowls.
Boars.
Fish.
“For you. Eat,” he told you, pointing at the animal, then at you, and finally at his mouth wide open, his fangs glinting against the afternoon sun.
It is one of the first words in a dictionary slowly building just for you and him alone.
So, of course, surreal as his presents can be, you never turned them down. Your professor at the Conservatory was very amused when you wrote him a letter once that you are acquiring a taste for wild game due to a certain hunter who always shares to you the bounties of the forest.
Then, at some point in time, Sylus has ingrained himself in your routine. He goes down the mountain whenever he fancies, simply so he can watch you plant vegetables, prepare your spells, or go about your day in your lone hut when you are there, always a silent observer.
A silent observer with no sense of personal space.
You supposed the last straw is a particular incident that almost set your home on fire, when he decided his new manner of observing is straining his head hard enough that his warm breath caressed your neck, curious to see the latest spell you have been putting together.
(It was originally supposed to be a spell that allows a hearth of a home to last throughout the winter without any need of adding new firewood. Who would have thought a single glyph with a stroke too long can turn it into a raging bonfire? Certainly you.)
It was then there that you realized that maybe he does not want to be a silent observer but an active participant.
When you hand him a feather or one of your older pens, his claws will attempt to hold them delicately, mimicking the spells you make by tracing over existing ones carefully.
(You find yourself smiling wide when you see him wear that look of satisfaction every time he finishes writing one. “Dragons sure are odd,” you always thought to yourself, yet happy he likes them as much as you do. It is amusing, considering he can move far-away objects and manifest dark red mist when threatened without him moving his lips to utter a spell.)
When you hand him a watering can, he will fly up in the air with it instead, creating a small rain shower using it just for your garden alone.
(It is also the same day you learn that his idea of drying you up comes in the form of licking your face and any skin exposed, an experience that still makes you blush to this day so you make sure to push his face away when he attempts to do it again, even when he glares down at you.)
When you tend to the sick or injured forest creatures he brings to you late at night, he sits close, always holding a tub of water or handing any item you point that is out of arm’s reach.
(Any herbs you used, will always be replenished by him the day after together with a gemstone or a trinket that forest creatures claim are part of his hoard hidden deep within the mountains, items apparently he doesn’t give away easily.)
Days, weeks, and months passed by, his gifts had become more assorted and so are the reasons for his visits. From handing you presents to seeking your help, you believe the grumpy dragon has grown to rely on you just like the villagers you are also fond of.
Feathers from various animals scattered across the peninsula.
Trinkets that look too valuable to be worn by a witch of your stature.
Flowers of various colors tied haphazardly with a bow but if looked closely, a certain someone is trying his best to make his bouquets presentable.
You are already used to the assortment of items he brings along, items that are always based on his whims and matters that fascinate him that he believes you will also enjoy as much as he did.
He is a good dragon, always so considerate of the items he assumed will be useful in your daily routine and had begun to understand he simply can’t barge in your lone hut whenever he pleases so his form of asking your invitation to visit you is by sending you his entourage of two wolf cubs first with a note hanging around their necks or by asking the great horned owl to relay to your familiar his words.
He is a very odd dragon.
At least, different from the little information written about them in books.
Yet, nothing could have prepared you for the sight in front of you.
There he is, standing in front of your doorstep with his entourage, and in his arms is no other than what you can only assume what he has been looking for every night.
These days, if Sylus does not seek your invitation, there is only one reason why he is standing in front of your lone hut.
You will always recognize his expression of quiet concern.
Is it really what you think it is?
You quickly ushered him inside together with the two wolf cubs who are both too happy to be here and you watched as Sylus carefully set the egg down on one of the cushions on the floor by the fireplace, his hand balancing it before letting it go slowly.
“Where did you find it?”, you signed, repeatedly looking back and forth between him and the egg.
“In the mountains.”
“And the parents?”
“Not here.”
His gesture can mean many things.
Could he mean that the parents abandoned it?
No, it couldn’t be. You have seen Sylus care after the forest creatures, always so careful when he is around them, especially the newborns. His kind certainly isn’t one to leave younglings alone.
Unfortunately, as of the moment, Mephisto isn’t here to serve as the middleman between you and Sylus as you have sent him away to send your report to your professor at the Conservatory.
You wanted to press him further, to ask how he came about it, especially when the forest creatures expressed several times that Sylus had flown across the peninsula several times to the point he had memorized the terrain by heart.
There is no way he could miss a spot and there is no way one of his kind is just under his nose this entire time.
Where on earth did he discover this?
Yet, you find yourself not asking these questions, especially when he reaches out to hold your wrist carefully so he can guide your palm against the shell of the egg.
Warm.
A warm and innocent soul beneath the casing seemed to shivered slightly on your touch. It seemed to be eager to break out soon, or maybe it senses it isn’t alone anymore, that it knows it is with its own kind.
Can dragon eggs do such?
“It needs a proper nest,” Sylus signed at you.
Yet, when you asked him how to build one, he went silent as he tilted his head thoughtfully towards you and you will always recognize this particular expression of his everywhere.
He assumes you should know the answer.
“His highness, we believe he is a young dragon,” the forest creatures have relayed to Mephisto once. Perhaps their assumptions are correct, for Sylus would not make his way here to your home anymore without first getting your approval.
Maybe he is as lost in this as you are.
So for tonight, you let him and the two wolf cubs settle in your lone hut, just this once, the three of them huddled against the egg while you figure out this latest request.
The Conservatory did its best to prepare you for the world outside of its glass walls, kind lecturers who took extra time for you to help you understand complex topics and you did your own leg work, planning ahead and reading every grimoire there is hidden deep in its library, writing, writing, writing, until your hands have become steady.
Yet, the witches before you, brilliant as they are when casting magic by voice alone, do not hold all the answers, for why would they bother to write it down when spells come easily when spoken?
It dawned on you then, that when you aren’t troubled by something, there are a lot of things you won’t notice if they are not a problem for you.
So, instead of going back to your bed, you find yourself opening the books you have brought along with you, recalling the pages that have mentions of dragons, any records of mythical beasts such as him that used to walk side by side with humans in this peninsula and piece each information together.
With every sentence written on paper, you turn around to glance back at Sylus, the great dragon, his ear against the shell of the egg. You wonder if the soul inside is speaking to him, perhaps telling him how it is enjoying the warmth of the hearth, how it can’t wait to see its colors soon.
Dragons are such wondrous creatures.
You would hate to see him sad, for harm to fall on the egg that managed to find its way to its kin.
So, it is up to you, to ensure that Sylus would no longer be the last of his kind.
────────────────────
How did his kind make a proper nest?
It is intrinsic for Sylus, his mind already telling him from the get go to make sure to keep his kin’s egg away from harm, to ensure it always stays warm, and to keep an eye on it at all times.
Yet, the answer to his question eluded him even if he stayed up all night with you, watching you flip through the pages of your books while he tried to shift through his memories.
It is during these moments he is confronted with the reality that he had spent more being alone than being with his kind.
“What did they tell you, xiǎo lóng? It seems you two are having a conversation.”
An older dragon chuckled once when he saw him pressed his ear against the shell of one of the eggs in the nursery and he blamed time for letting him forget what was his reply, or the details that make up the entire memory when he needed them the most.
So, when morning came, you two arrived at a solution.
A rather unconventional one resulting from all the answers you gathered from the townsfolk together with your little experience on looking after the cow they gifted to you and he from the forest creatures.
It is true that it takes a village to raise a child.
Yet, the results of your research are quite unusual, considering you two combined all of their inputs together.
“Is this needed?”, Sylus asked you, and you assumed he is referring to the mobile that came with the crib, or perhaps both.
“An egg is technically a baby.”
“It is silly.”
“Are the gems needed then?”
Impertinent. This is what he thinks of you sometimes when you throw him back his quips and that yes, it is needed, so that once the little dragon breaks out of its shell, it will have its own first hoard.
“Bigger humans leave those soft toys around the smaller humans,” he reasoned out, then gesturing at the little green dragon plushie you have beside the egg, “Same idea.”
The egg seemed to be content inside its crib by the hearth, not only it has soft pillows to cushion it but also leaves and hay brought by the forest creatures. The mobile of magical creatures spin slowly, the two great wolves chasing the sun and moon, the phoenix with its wings spread, the lone dragon following a witch, and the world serpent chasing after its tail.
Is this really how his kind looked after their young? It seemed absurd.
His tail flicked thoughtfully, the two wolf cubs batting their paws at it while he stood beside you, observing the sight before him.
This time, you seemed to pick up his doubt and he did not stop you when your warm hand circled his wrist, letting you place it on the siderail of the crib then guiding him to push it gently with you.
“Well then, I think our nest turned out just fine.”
At least, that’s what Sylus believes in what you told him as you pointed at the crib with a wide smile, and perhaps he had misunderstood your gestures but your signs already had an effect on him, the tips of his ears turning pink.
‘Our’.
Well, the egg is also under your care. You are the only one he can trust to look after it because you are a special witch who can understand him well, who can understand everyone well without having to speak.
Yes, it is not only just him now, he already knew that when you tended to him the first time.
You are here too.
“I’ll make sure no one comes near our nest.”
He made sure his gestures were delivered confidently, to let you know no harm will fall to you or the egg under his watch and he may have also spread his wings to you to emphasize his point.
This time, it was your turn to blush.
────────────────────
“You seemed to be not as fond of this particular hunter compared to her, Mephisto.”
If Mephisto does not adore you too much, he would have told your professor ahead of time the truth.
Yet, he never finds himself speaking about the closely guarded secret you asked him to keep, even when he told you multiple times out of worry that the Society of Pointed Hats of the Conservatory would find out eventually, or worse-
-The king and his pursuers.
So, in the eyes of your professor, he believes there is something beautiful taking root between you and this lonely hunter residing in the mountains, relieved that someone is making sure his student also eats her meals.
“Do you think she will want to stay there even if the test is over?”, your professor always asked Mephisto before he left. Of course, your familiar only shrugged his feathers at the thought of a talented witch such as you settling in a small town before taking off, your professor chuckling behind him.
It is already given that Mephisto will follow you wherever you choose to go, that’s what familiars are for since you two are bonded for life. Yet, he doesn’t find himself too excited if you choose to stay.
Especially since your little crow had to bear witness of the hardships you have gone through to prove everyone you can cast magic, despite your method being considered unconventional by the Conservatory, specifically by the living grimoire herself leading the society.
(It might be too grand of a dream for a small crow such as him, to see you take over and become the next head of the Conservatory. Yes, too grand, considering the living grimoire is an elf who shows no signs of aging. Yet.)
Although, he began to pick up your subtle doubt as your year of stay is slowly inching toward its end.
You have grown to love the townsfolk and the forest creatures.
You have grown to love the scent of the wind blending the seabreeze and the soil of the mountain.
You have also grown to love the very reason the townsfolk have trusted your abilities.
Mephisto already knows you will stay, and you will probably tell him that you only wanted to make sure that the dragon stays in his home undisturbed, for Sylus not be discovered and be moved out of his mountains where he is the king.
Your crow wanted to tell you then that the dragon he is sure is planning to eat him for supper does not need you to look after him, that the forest creatures are murmuring between themselves if their king would decide to fly away, for he only arrived in the great mountain ranges recently.
Yet, he is also picking up subtle doubts from the dragon himself, that he seemed hesitant to leave as well.
Is it because of you?
Your familiar pondered about it for a while. When you are flying, your mind tends to drift into topics such as this and in the case of the little crow that could, this is always filled with worries about you and the dragon who is affectionate of you.
Too affectionate.
(Suddenly, the image of a little dragon running around came to his head and he immediately shook his head to get rid of it. Is such even possible? Then again, no one knows much about dragons. Anything could happen.)
Yet, he is greeted with the most unusual sight.
When Mephisto arrived at your window sill, his gaze immediately landed at an egg thrice his size placed inside a crib, you and the cause of all of his distress pushing the crib together with the two wolf cubs who he is also sure are also planning to have him for supper.
He was only gone for two nights and this dragon-
All Mephisto could think back then was perhaps he should have asked you first instead of assuming Sylus had managed to find a way to no longer be the last of his kind through you but it is already too late, for he had already pulled tufts of his hair.
Your little crow also did not spare the two wolf cubs who attempted to defend his highness.
“Let’s eat him, your grace! Let’s eat him!”, Luke screamed while you tried to pull him off from taking more tufts of fur from the younger wolf and surprisingly, the dragon is also holding the two back from plucking his tail feathers.
Yes, Sylus will always be the cause of his distress.
Yet, that changes now.
It is only after Mephisto calmed down and you let him know about how the egg was discovered, how Sylus found it with no parents in sight, that he nuzzled you in relief.
All your little crow could think about is this egg is certainly special, alright.
He is also certain someone, someone is bound to look for it soon.
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Author’s Notes: Luke and Kieran’s biological father in this fic:
That fluffy wolf from Campfire Cooking
Also, I was meaning to post this last week but I was encumbered with responsibilities (I still am, sadly.) and I want to take my time writing this given I wanted to give Reader good representation.
I am incredibly grateful for everyone’s support in this fic and see you in the next update!
AO3
Ch. 1 / Ch. 2
Taglist (If you want to be added or removed, do let me know!):
I have been quite busy with work the entire day that when I opened my inbox in AO3 after 192380214 years, your comments @blessdunrest REALLY REALLY SURPRISED ME LIKE OMG, EACH CHAPTER!!?? I will be honest I started writing that work because I REALLY REALLY WANT A READER who initially wanted to 1v1 Sylus HAHAHAHA
I will be writing snippets here and there while I figure out how to rewrite that one! I miss writing banter so much
A long, long time ago (It was literally on 2024 the year of our lord), my first ever fanfic of Sylus is about a Reader who became his bodyguard (begrudgingly) for only a span of 3 years and he mostly spends his time off time trying to know her better by being in places she frequent too conveniently.
He isn't a yandere here or anything. He really just can't find anything about you (for a good reason) and it makes him frustrated HAHA
sorry to pop up on your tl like this but i need a little help. 🤏🏽 it's always awkward to ask because i don't like causing problems but unfortunately, we don't really have the means to eat and pay some bills like our electricity. also my mum needs her medication and it's a whole thing.
and before anyone asks if i work, i can't at the moment due to a multitude of reasons. i wish i could but i'm genuinely can't.
i have commissions open too so i'm always happy to write up something for you! you can see my writing via the tag #soliloquies~☆ on my blog. :) my dms are open if you'd like to commission anything!
we'd need about $200 but any little bit helps and i'd be grateful for even a reblog. 🫶🏾
i'll leave a link to my kofi below. :)
thank you for hearing me out! you guys are awesome. 🩷
summary: as a simple mechanic running a small shop in the N109 Zone, you don't expect much out of life. you're alone and you like it that way. too bad Sylus disagrees and works with the twins to show that you have people, even in the most unexpected of places.
tags: non!mc reader, f!reader, annoying big brother Sylus, some violence, general siblingisms.
notes: everyone looks at Sylus as sees a hot bad boy with a heart of gold. I see the most annoying big brother in the world who deserves an unimpressed little sister to pick fights with.
word count: 9.3k (goddamn...)
"What are you really here for?"
Sylus looks up from where he's been picking up random items on the workbench, twirling tools around his finger with his evol. You stare him down, unamused, as his very presence keeps the rest of the N109 zone away. It was so much easier to deal with him when he would send you the random message every once in a while, or have one of the twins pop by to annoy you with his latest request. At least then you could keep your usual customers.
"I would have thought you already knew," he replies, a teasing drawl pulling the vowels long as he speaks. "Isn't that what you're best at?"
You scowl. "Information doesn't come easy, and I don't give it away for free."
"Not even for me?"
"Especially not for you."
"What would you like then? You know money isn't an issue for me."
"Maybe some peace and quiet?" you snap, yanking the wrench from his hand. "I do have an actual job to do here." And it's the only one you've got, the official one, that keeps a roof over your head and food on your table.
You got lucky when you ran away to the N109 zone all those years ago, a scared kid desperate for a place to hide. Cerin had taken you in when he found you hiding behind the shop, then discovered your skill with engines and had you learning under him in no time. It's because of him that you're still alive, that you managed to reach adulthood at all, and you wanted to pay him back. That's what had you going out late at night, visiting bars and casinos and fighting rings to scrounge up information on all the ongoings that might affect the two of you.
Not that any information in the world would have kept him safe from being gunned down in the streets during a inheritance war with a big crime family.
Cerin wasn't a target at all, just an unlucky soul in the wrong place at the wrong time. You had to drag his still cooling corpse back to the autoshop and lock the place down until the gunshots went quiet.
And if you hunted down the identities of the people fighting on the street that day and quietly got them killed, well, that's no one's business but your own.
Point is, the autoshop is yours now and you don't want to see it shut down. Cerin would have wanted it up and running for as long as possible, a legacy in repairing vehicles that could be passed down for generations. He knew it was a pipe dream, but he told you once that far fetched dreams are necessary to push people into big changes. Even if you can't make that pipe dream come true, you can get as close as you can.
Sylus has never cared for this, evident in the way he keeps touching your things.
Yes, he's the undisputed crime lord of the N109 zone. He's also annoying as hell and you wish you could kick him out without risking the shop entirely.
"I'd appreciate it if you stopped making it so obvious whenever you come by," you say, turning your attention back to the car your need to fix. The client drove it into the fucking ocean like an idiot and now it's your job to fix it. You can, obviously, but there's no helping the guy who decided that move was a good one and went with it. You'd think people wanting to be criminal masterminds would put some effort in using their brains, but apparently not!
"What, embarrassed to be seen with me?" Sylus says, following after you to lean against the car.
You roll your eyes. "Like it'd be for such a simple reason. Listen, you're making me a target. A bunch of people hate you and the more they see you coming here, the more likely they'll try to do something to my shop to get at you. Also you keep scaring away my customers, which is rude."
There's a long silence. You turn your focus entirely on the car and pop open the hood, wincing at wreck of an engine. How did they even manage this…?
"Dumbasses," you mutter under your breath, looking over everything to figure out the best place to start.
Sylus chuckles, leaning over you to take a peek at the engine as well. You don't think as you send an elbow back, catching him in the gut. He doesn't even react to it, which pisses you off more. But he does give you some space, so you decide not to escalate.
"Are you sure it's not your attitude that drives away customers?"
"They can deal with it. Not like they're any better than me. Why are you still here? If you want to discuss other business, then you'll have to wait until I close up shop for the day."
"Alright, I can tell when I'm not wanted," he says, stepping away. "I'll be in contact soon."
You don't hear him walk away, but when you look over your shoulder, the garage is empty and there's no sign of Sylus at all. You sigh, shake your head, then get back to work.
Few people come in that day. A few stalled engines, a popped tire, a brake replacement after a botched assassination attempt fucked up all the wiring. Normal things. The slow day allows you to make more progress on your bigger jobs: a complete upgrade for everything on an older model, making a car accessible after the client's kid lost a leg, and your own personal project of creating a new motorcycle completely from scratch.
There's been some tension on the streets around your shop. You know you're at the heart of it; Sylus is well known and well hated. Any association with him comes with a big risk.
But you can't deny his uses. You can't deny his protection, as small as it might be for such a forgettable person like you.
Overhead, a crow caws.
The sun has set, and you take that as your cue to close up. The garage doors slide down and lock with a simple push of a button. You flip the sign on the door to CLOSED and locked everything up, then hit the lights and go upstairs. So work-life balance doesn't really exist when you live above the shop, but it's convenient, and who really has any balance in the N109 zone?
You lock the door to the stairs behind you and flick on the lights, kicking off your shoes.
Luke is already in the kitchen, perched on the counter like a gremlin and you don't waste a second in throwing your work gloves at him.
"Off," you say with the tone of a particularly disgruntled cat owner. "You know the rules."
"Butts don't go where food goes," Luke recites dutifully, hopping down to the floor. "What've you got for me today?"
"My foot on your ass, how about that?" You push him aside to open the fridge, wondering what to have for dinner.
It's almost routine now to have one of the twins stop by for dinner. You once asked Sylus if he even bothers to feed them, with how they always come begging food from you. He just started wiring grocery money to your account every week.
So your fridge has been more full that it's ever been in your life, even while Cerin was alive, and you've learned to cook a few more dishes in order to keep the twins from getting too experimental while you're not keeping an eye on them.
You have the ingredients for the curry mac and cheese that Kieran sent you the recipe for, so you figure you might as well try your hand at it. Pasta never disappoints, after all.
Luke takes a seat at the dining table, laying against the table as you cook, entertaining himself on his phone.
Despite committing to the crow motif, you can't help but think of the twins as cats. Like the cat distribution system, they stumbled into you life and house and then refused to leave. That's what cats do, right? You saved them once, years ago, just by chance and with the right information, and now they've decided that you're friend shaped.
It's not like you mind. It's a welcome change from the constant, heavy silence after you buried Cerin. You just wonder when it'll end.
Surely they'll get bored of you eventually. They're the direct underlings of the most dangerous man in the N109 zone. There's no reason for them to stick around.
As soon as you finish cooking, turning the heat off the stove, Luke is there, bowl at the ready. You roll your eyes fondly, but obligingly fill it up. He holds out your bowl as well, because he can use manners sometimes, and carries both to the dining table, where spoons are already laid out. You didn't even hear him get them out the drawer.
He snaps a picture of his bowl, no doubt to send it to Kieran. A number of messages come in a minute later, making his phone buzz nonstop until he silences it.
Luke takes off his mask and begins eating like he's been starved. You follow in suit at a normal human pace with no risk of choking. The recipe is easy and delicious. Whoever thought of combining curry roux with mac and cheese is a genius and needs to be awarded. Maybe earn the Noble Peace Prize. You're not sure what that prize is for, exactly, but this recipe is both Noble and encourage Peace, it's so good. It should count.
You're drawn out of your nonsensical thoughts when Luke taps his spoon against his empty bowl three times. It's always a signal for when he needs to talk business and this time is no different.
"Any news on the weapons deal Kalmit had his eyes on?"
You lean back in your chair, considering Luke. "Not on Kalmit specifically, but on some weapons deal, yeah. How much is Onychinus offering for it?"
"Your own modified weapons, done by the boss man himself."
"Don't need them."
Luke frowns, then shrugs. "How about any info on protocore deals?"
That one you have a lot of new information about. Not all of it verified, but still worth a pretty penny. Having a foot in the door for multiple fields helps give you a broader net to cast when gathering information. Engineering folks like yourself hear plenty about powering vehicles and weapons with protocores. Maintenance shares all sorts of secrets on repairing damage from underground protocore labs, experimenting with new ways to use them.
"Sure, I got that. What are you willing to pay?"
"Absolutely anything if it has to do with EVER. Boss man himself said so."
It's not the first time he's offered you anything. That's a big word to throw around for information deals, especially when he doesn't know what you might give him. For the most part, you treat it as a joke, as Sylus poking fun at you from his position of power in the N109 zone. He never pushes when you refuse his anything and instead make him name something more tangible as payment, but this time feels different.
Most things are, when EVER is involved.
You know more about them than you should. You also know that this knowledge is dangerous and can't be shared carelessly.
If EVER hears about how much you know about them, they will take you out. They're not shy about using unsavory means to keep themselves safe. Sure, they have to put up an act in Linkon City so all the straight-laced, proper folks don't look at them twice, but the N109 Zone gives them more freedom to move and act as they please.
Guards working under EVER are always happy to resort to violence. Scientists and researchers never see other people as people, but as resources and experiments. The infighting between them, struggling to secure funding for their individual projects, makes them all the more cutthroat when it comes to deals in the N109 Zone.
Everything you know about them can cripple them if it gets to the right people. Not the Hunters Association, you've know that EVER has infiltrated them from the beginning, but plenty of groups in the N109 Zone have a reason to want EVER gone, even if it's just to get rid of some big competition.
Sylus, to your knowledge, tends to keep away from EVER. He doesn't need them to get what he wants and they know better than to provoke him. You know an associate of EVER got a hold of Luke and Kieran at one point in their lives, so they have a personal hatred for them.
You know a lot of people have vanished after dealing with EVER.
Anything is a big offer.
The tides are always shifting in the N109 Zone. Power comes and goes like the wind. It takes a lot to stay above others and very few manage it for long. There's been a change over the past few months, whispers on the streets, and it leaves you feeling uneasy. You, with all your information, are powerless. You're not associated with any group, purposefully neutral, purposefully alone. Sure, you hide your identity as an informant, go through a few hoops to make sure people wanting info from you never meet you, but you know you can't hide forever.
You certainly couldn't hide from Sylus.
You stand and leave Luke at the dining table. Hidden in the wall of your bedroom is your data laptop, used just for storing the information your gather. It helps to organize things, to see where the strings connect so you can put the pieces of the bigger picture together.
Here's what you know: EVER has been making bolder moves, snatching up protocores like there's no tomorrow. They've raided multiple underground labs, taking their protocores and torching their research. People have been disappearing, most notably the losers of underground fighting rings, evol users who weren't strong enough to win against the long time champions. Hunters are going after EVER scientists and a few of those chases have run through the outer edges of the N109 Zone.
Here's what all that says: there's something big they're hiding and it's making them desperate.
Desperate always means dangerous.
You've been on your own for a long time and you're happy that way. Well, maybe not happy, but safe. You keep your distance from everyone and keep your head down and this is how you survive.
Even so, you've gotten attached. Just a little. Sylus is annoying but you'd be a little sad if he stopped showing up. Dinner would be too quiet without one of the twins keeping you company. They've whittled down your defenses and you hate them for it.
You grab a spare flashdrive and transfer over copies of everything you've gathered on EVER's recent movements and your own speculations as to what they're up to.
Luke is still waiting, tapping his fingers against the table. He perks up when you walk in and raises a hand to effortlessly catch the flashdrive you toss at him.
"Three favors," you tell him, "No questions asked. Anything I need help for, if I ask him for help, he gives it."
"I'll let him know," Luke says, pocketing the flashdrive. He flashes you a smile, then puts his crow mask back on. "I'll catch you later, Wrench!"
Ah, you had thought they had given up on that stupid nickname.
Sure, you may have tried to concuss Luke with a wrench the first time he popped into your house without warning, but that doesn't mean you want to be known for that forever. Even if he justifies it by saying that you throw a wrench in people's plans, so it still fits.
He's gone before you can throw anything else at him and insist on him dropping the nickname. You sigh and resign yourself to being buried as Wrench, since apparently it's so much better than your name.
And when you're setting your alarm on your phone, getting ready to sleep, Sylus texts, You could have asked for more favors. The info is good. Thanks Wrench.
You send him back a dozen middle finger emojis and try to let go of the annoyance so you can actually sleep.
…
"Hi!" Kieran greets cheerfully. "We're here to kidnap you!"
You sigh deeply, then put your tools down. "Give me a second to lock up."
He gives you a thumbs up, then drops from the rafters of the garage, where he was hanging upside down. Outside, you can see Luke waiting outside a black car, a model just a few years old if you're remembering correctly. It must be one of Sylus's, since few people would be able to keep a car like that intact in the N109 Zone.
You're lucky there are no clients waiting for you today.
Well, it's probably luck. You wouldn't put it past the twins to subtly redirect anyone who was heading to your shop just to make sure their kidnapping went smoothly.
Everything is closed up and locked in no time and you shove your work gloves into one of the pockets of your overalls. Everything you own is already oil stained and messy, so a little more isn't going to hurt anyone.
Kieran opens the back door for you and waves you in. He slides in after you and Luke sits in the driver's seat, smoothly starting the engine that purrs to life then goes silent.
What you wouldn't give to take this car apart and see everything it has to offer. An engine sounding like that has to be an absolute beauty.
"Do I get to know what this is about?" you ask, putting on your seatbelt as Luke guides the car out onto the street and slams down on the gas. For your own peace of mind, you keep your gaze away from the windows; you have no interest in knowing how many times you'll casually brush by death with Luke driving the way he does.
"Boss man needs a favor," Kieran says.
"And he couldn't have just called?"
"Nah, it needs to be done in person. It's a small big thing for him!"
You stare at him. "I don't know what that means."
"It's a small thing, but to him it's big. He doesn't want to mess this up, and we don't want him to mess up either!"
"And do I get to know what this favor is…?"
"Fashion."
"Fashion," you repeat. That answer doesn't help you at all.
Kieran is smirking behind that mask, you can just tell, and it's annoying. You're not going to get a straight answer out of him and certainly no more details, so you shrug and resign yourself to finding out once you're delivered to Sylus. For this fashion favor, apparently.
You're not too sure where they're taking you, to be honest. They always come to you, not the other way around. It's smarter to avoid walking into any building owned by Onychinus, but since you've already got their attention, it's a bit too late to regret the way things are shaking out. At best, you just keep your eyes down so you don't know the actual location of whichever base you're being driven to. The best way to keep information from getting out is to not have it.
Still, you keep track of how many turns the car has made and the general length of the drive. It's always better to have some idea of how to get away if things go south.
Around twenty five minutes is your count when the car comes to a stop. Judging by how dark it's gotten, you're inside a building. Probably a garage.
"Let's get going," Luke says, cutting the engine.
Grateful to have survived the ride, you hurry out of the car. A quick glance around reveals a few other fancy cars and a motorcycle, no doubt all Sylus's, and your fingers twitch with the need to dig deep into them. Maybe you'll use a smaller favor to get a look at his vehicles and play around with them. He'd probably be willing to humor you and let you modify a lesser loved car to your heart's content.
"Come on, come on!" Kieran sings, hooking an arm around yours. Luke gets your other arm and the two walk you inside where bare concrete suddenly transform into dark wood and lush rugs lining the hallway.
You get the sinking feeling that this isn't just a base, but Sylus's primary residence.
I don't know anything, you tell yourself, Not a damn thing. I was never here. After I leave, I'll forget everything. Nothing happened here.
The twins take you around the building, past dark rooms; a lounge, a bar, a gym, even what looks like a mini theater because of course someone as rich as Sylus would have one. The office on the upper floor is more of what you expected from Sylus's tastes: dark and dramatic, cold and brutalist, more concrete and large windows, low lights and various decorations that speak to his wealth.
The man himself sits against his desk, staring out the window with his windows crossed.
"Delivery for you, boss man!" Kieran announces, pushing you forward.
You don't stumble only because you're used to this and cross the length of the office to stand before Sylus.
"So," you start, "What's this about a 'fashion favor' that you needed me for?"
Sylus looks at you, eyes narrowed in thought. "I simply needed the opinion of a woman."
"Need I remind you that this," you gesture to your oil stained overalls and old t-shirt, "is my fashion sense. I don't think I'll be much help."
"On the contrary, it's because you dress like you've never known luxury in your life that you're insight will be helpful." He reaches behind himself and grabs a piece of paper. "There is someone I need a dress made for. A Hunter. She'll appreciate it more if it's both functional and attractive. Look over this design and tell me what needs to be changed."
He holds it out to you and you take it slowly, eyeing it like it might bite you.
Sylus is clearly concussed if he thinks this is something you have any knowledge about. The rare times you've infiltrated high end events for information, you went in as staff, hiding in plain sight as a nameless employee. The people who would wear ballgowns and evening suits never acknowledged your existence, which made information gathering all the easier. What you observed from those events is that the women are always better dressed than the men, and nothing anyone wore looked easy to move in.
And if Sylus is taking a Hunter in, paired with his previous request for information on EVER…
Movement is a must. A tight dress that shows off a woman's figure is a death sentence if anything goes wrong and people have to evacuate. Or fight.
You finally look down at the paper and take in the designs Sylus has put together.
There are two options: a tight evening gown, backless and with a low bustline. There's a slit to one side, going up to the thigh, so it's not as restricting as it could be. The fabric on the other side of the slit drags on the ground, a dramatic look and a tripping hazard.
The other design is more toga-like, an off shoulder piece with lots of draped fabric and folds on the outside covering the shorter inner lining of the dress. It doesn't drag on the ground, which is a plus.
Neither have any pockets.
You scowl at Sylus. "You're giving a Hunter a dress, and you're not including pockets? What's wrong with you?"
He blinks. "Anything she needs to hold, I can carry for her."
"No. You need pockets added to these things. And I'm talking deep pockets. She needs to be able to fit a gun and a small bottle of tequila in those pockets at the very least."
"That's hardly necessary—"
You shove the paper into his face. "Shush. No. Shut up. You asked for my thoughts, here they are: Pockets. Also the first one is a tripping hazard. Give her the second dress with deep pockets. She'll love it."
He pulls the paper out of your hand and sets it down. "Pockets," he repeats dubiously.
You nod. "Trust me. The pockets will be a hit. Just do it. What's the point in kidnapping me for advice if you're not going to take it?"
Sylus sighs as if you're being unreasonable and you hold back the urge to kick him. This is why men can't be trusted with clothes. They're just given pockets so they can't appreciate how good they have it. If they had to deal with all the fake pockets or the ones that are only two inches deep on women's clothing, they'd understand why it's such a big deal.
"Oh!" you add, "Make sure the bust has some good padding. She'll have to go braless if the back is low cut and if she needs to run, you need to make sure her tits don't go all over."
"What a remarkably crude way to say that."
"Hey, do you have tits? No? Then you don't get to speak on this. You want your little miss Hunter to be happy and capable of kicking ass, you take my advice. End of story."
He rolls his eyes, but obligingly writes down your advice on the paper.
"Is that all you called me in for?" you ask.
The amusement leaves his eyes and his expression flattens. He holds out the paper and Luke snatches it out of his hand, and then the twins quickly vacate the room, leaving you alone with him.
"I don't like the look on your face," you tell him.
"Tough. EVER officials will be attending an auction in two weeks. I'll be there with the Hunter to see what they're selling off. I need you there as well to gather information from the other guests."
"You think they'll have an aether core up for auction," you realize, mouth moving before your mind can catch up.
The red glow in his eyes tells you that you hit the nail on the head. You really, really shouldn't have said that out loud.
"As always, I'm amazed by how much knowledge you keep close to your chest," Sylus says lightly. He's dangerous right now, dangerous in a way he hasn't been for a while now. Not to you, at least.
You scowl, biting back your instinctive fear. "I'm not going to be attending as a guest," you tell him, "I'll pull a few strings and take a position as one of the staff. I hope you realize how much this is going to cost you."
"Another favor?"
"A big one. Keep this up and you won't be able to say 'no' to me ever again."
The glow leaves Sylus's eyes and he's back to being the annoying crime lord you've gotten used to. The quick switch between his moods, from predator to something almost human, leaves you unnerved. You've made it a point of pride to be unphased by most things in the N109 Zone. You have to be; there's all sorts of terrible things happening at any given moment and you have to be able to stomach witnessing it all and walking away in order to sell information. You hate that there are still moments when Sylus is able to make feel almost afraid, tense and ready to run, feeling all too small.
At the same time, it always comes with the knowledge that for some reason, you have his favor. And from what you've learned of him, Sylus is not one to toss away those who have his favor so carelessly.
Maybe it's boredom. Maybe it's something else that you don't have the strength to name. Maybe he's a little too much like you for you to leave when this happens.
"You know," he starts, voice dropping into the usual teasing drawl he uses to piss you off, "You could always ask for a dress as well. With deep pockets and padding."
"I prefer knives!" you snap, spinning on your heel and walking out of his office. "And I'm raiding your kitchen while I'm here!"
You leave him chuckling to himself in his office and make your way through his residence. It's odd to be allowed to wander. Usually you have to sneak into places like these, masquerading as someone else or avoiding sight entirely. Just walking, unhindered, in plain sight, makes your skin crawl.
Luckily, the twins don't leave you alone too long. They catch you outside an armory and happily lead you to the kitchen where you make very good use of the fancy spices and good salmon Sylus has.
And if he had any plans to use those, then it sucks to be him.
…
A friend of a friend from man running a cleaning services, who you helped a few years back when his father's wheelchair was broken and no one was willing to fix it but you, hooks you up with a job for the auction.
It's nothing big, just filling an empty spot as a server. You've done a few jobs like these before, helping with set up for events and running supplies in the background, making sure trays were always filled with wine glasses and finger foods. There's a lot that goes into being a server for fancy events and working with the rest of the team is crucial.
High stress situations like the upcoming auction are a surefire way to create bonds. Nothing brings a group of people together like customer service.
You craft your identity for the job and get it as neatly prepared as possible. A little sister hoping to do a few odd jobs here and there to support her older sister, who took her in after she ran from neglectful parents. Timid, unused to the N109 Zone, unassuming. Weak and uninformed. Easy to manipulate and far too eager to work hard. The perfect person to be given the less desirable jobs and forced to run around the venue for hours on end, which is exactly what you want.
Sylus stops by only once before the auction, though the twins continue invading your home for dinner. He doesn't stay for long and doesn't ask for any information. He just hands you a little pin to add to your clothes.
"Just in case," he said. "Click the button twice and it'll send an alert. If I can't get to you, then Luke or Kieran will."
"I don't need this," you replied, ready to shove it back into his hand.
"Just in case," Sylus stressed, and the tension around his eyes made you hesitate, then ultimately accept it.
Better to have the strongest crime lord in the N109 Zone on your side than not, you figured. It's a trump card you'll do your best to keep hidden, but there's comfort in knowing you have someone to turn to when things go south.
So here you are now: changing into the uniform handed to you by the supervisor of the staff. The pin goes on the inside cuff of your uniform sleeve, easy to click when needed but out of the way enough that it won't be hit on accident.
The rest of the staff are still getting assembled, stashing their bags in a spare storage closet the venue decided to let them use. Caterers are already coming in to set up and furniture is being moved in teams, rolling in round tables and hauling in stacks of chairs, followed by piles and piles of tablecloths. There are a few hours left to go before the auction actually starts, and even that will begin with mingling and networking for the first hour before they get to the main event.
Sylus and Miss Hunter must be preparing for the auction right now. You have no idea what the twins are up to. Probably setting up chaos and getaway vehicles.
You've already seen a few crates marked with EVER's logo be carted in. Security is tight, the place swarming with hired guns to make sure nothing is stolen before the auction and the feeling of their eyes sliding over you makes you feel sick.
As long as you keep your cool, they have no reason to look twice at you. You keep your head down and make sure your uniform is as neat as it can be and your temporarily dyed hair is tied back. Depending on how things shake out, you may have to cut your hair short just to keep anyone from finding you. If they're looking for someone with longer, darker hair, they won't bother with someone with short hair.
"Hey, there you are!" You're shaken out of your thoughts as someone throws their arm around your shoulders. You blink up at the woman, older than you by a few decades and with the build of a heavy weight champion. "First time doing this kind of work, huh? Terry asked me to keep an eye out for ya."
It takes you a moment to place the name: Terry, the friend of a friend of your acquaintance, who got you this gig.
"Yeah," you give her a small, timid smile, "Um, who are you? I didn't know anyone was expecting me."
"You can call me Bes. I'm gonna be the one showing you the ropes. Since it's your first time working 'round these parts, we'll keep it simple." Bes guides you through the crowd of other servers, who are already getting to work like a well oiled machine. "For most of the night, you'll be keeping the plates and cutlery in stock. That means making sure clean ones are out for people to use, and hauling back used ones to be washed. Extra food is in the kitchen and you might need to bring some more out when the table starts getting empty, and we'll try to keep you from walking drinks around to the guests."
You glance around, acting nervous while taking the opportunity to get a look at who is working with you. The tasks you're given are easy enough and it gives you plenty of opportunities to walk the venue and eavesdrop. Taking on additional tasks from other people will help them view you favorably as well, and thus more likely to talk when you speak to them.
Bes pats your shoulder, then sends you off with a tray of clean plates. You follow a few other servers into the venue and look around helplessly until one of them points you to the table where the food is being set up. You hurry over and get to work.
Set up is busy and there is always something more to do. It's almost a relief when the event starts and the servers change from preparing to actually going out and serving people. Guest being to file in, all dressed to the nines, and you quickly duck out of the hall to hide. Bes gives you a thumbs up when she sees you, then lifts a giant cooler onto her shoulder to carry to the bar.
You quietly ask a server heading out for a quick smoke break where the restrooms are. He points you down a different hall and gives a few curt directions, then is gone. No one stops you when you leave, so you drop the pathetic act for a moment to breathe and think.
Guards everywhere. The event is just starting. It's not safe to wander around the merchandise for the auction until much later, but you can start getting a layout of the place now. It'll be easy enough to pretend you got lost looking for the restroom. There are no helpful signs in the back since staff clearly don't need them. Fuck an emergency exit, anyways, they'll all figure it out.
The very back halls don't see much use. Half the lights aren't even on, which makes everything feel ten times more eerie. You duck through a few more doors and corridors, carefully mapping your path in your memory, and start looking at vents and places to hide. Just in case.
Most of the rooms back here are unused storage rooms. There are a few for extra generators, and one that has definitely been used to smuggle drugs in the past, but that's none of your business.
Everything is about what you expected. There's not much to explore back here, but it's enough to give you some ideas. Definitely some larger vents you can squeeze into, and the ceiling is made of drop tiles, which means you can move freely from above once you get up there. Another exit is tucked away back there as well, though it's connected to an alarm so you can't open it without causing problems.
What you're not expecting is a familiar crow mask popping up from around a corner.
"Fuck you!" you swing reflexively, trying to choke your heart back down into your chest.
Luke cackles, and Kieran leans out from behind him to give you a little wave.
"What are you doing here?" you hiss at them, pulling them into the unlocked room next to them.
"Boss man wanted us to keep an eye on you," Kieran says. "Since he's with the Boss Lady, we're your guards."
"I don't need guards. You're going to blow my identity. Tell Sylus to mind his own business and let me do my job."
They exchange a glance. How they can tell anything when they both wear masks is a mystery, but you're willing to chalk it up to twin telepathy.
"It's a trap," Luke says suddenly. "For Boss Man and Boss Lady. EVER's after them and they're using this to draw them out."
Ah. The missing pieces of this puzzle suddenly slot into place. You wouldn't be surprised it most of the invited guests have tied to EVER or other groups around the N109 Zone that want to see Sylus dead.
"And they still chose to come here?"
Luke shrugs. "Said they had to see this through."
You let out a slow breath, then nod. "Alright. They'll probably keep up the act until the auction. We can start preparing for that." You point to Luke. "Get up into the ceiling and find the best vantage points to shoot from. I'm assuming you have a gun on you?" He holds out his gun and nods. You turn to Kieran. "Keep an eye on the guards and figure out where they're all placed and how they're moving. Once the auction starts, we'll take them out and cause some chaos."
"And what about you?" Kieran asks.
"I'll keep to my current role. I'll slip in and out and gather information. Once it's time to get going, I'll slip away. Don't worry about me."
The twins consider your plan, then nod. "You got it, Wrench!"
"Now is not the time for that nickname." You turn to leave and get a few steps into the hallway before you pause and turn back to them. "Why did Sylus send you after me? I don't need the help. He knows this. What's this really about?"
They cock their heads to the side, as if they really are crows. "He's not gonna leave one of his own out to dry."
"I'm not one of his people."
"He calls you his sister. Which means you're our sister too! Good luck getting rid of us now," they chorus together, then slip past you and disappear around the corner.
You stare, befuddled. Surely that's just a joke. You're no one's sister. You have no family. You have no connections and that's why you're good at what you do.
But you think back to the dinners. Sylus constantly coming to visit. Asking for advice. The pin, safe on the inner cuff of your shirt sleeve, just in case you need him.
You think of how you understand how dangerous he is but still feel safe enough to pick fights with him.
You think of being allowed to wander his home without supervision. Of having a place with him, the twins, when you've never really belonged anywhere before. At least, not since Cerin died.
It's nonsense. It's a joke, clearly, just the usual teasing by the twins that doesn't mean anything. You know yourself and you know that getting attached to anyone is a bad idea, much less people so dangerous.
Sister.
You've never been anyone's sister before. You think you might want to.
Focus, you tell yourself sternly. Now is not the time to freak out about this. EVER is here and that means anything can happen, and all of it will be bad.
You return to the main halls and silently rejoin the rest of the servers, quickly picking up a pack of napkins to take out to the serving table. No one bats an eye at your sudden reappearance, too focused on their own tasks, and you move with the crowd, slipping around the edges of the venue. Conversation fades in and out around you as you listen for anything interesting, picking out one voice to focus on as you walk, waiting for anything worthwhile to crop up.
A few times, you catch a glimpse of white hair and quickly skirt around the area, avoiding Sylus.
Bes must have put in a good word for you. As the hours slip by, more and more servers are talking you, instructing you on how to do other tasks and roping you into helping them. It's extra work, yes, but you're glad for it; staff love to gossip and this is no exception. You learn more about various guests from whispered conversation between the servers than you do eavesdropping in the venue.
It's thanks to this that you can point out EVER higher ups, not scientists but members of the executive board and big name donors that keep the labs funded. There are also a few notorious bounty hunters mixed in with the crowd and members of one of the more powerful crime syndicates.
You also learn far more about their personal relationships than you wanted. There's a shocking number of people cheating on each other, and even some who hire people to accompany them as their date to events like this. As the newest, and most innocent, of the servers, you're warned away from certain people and carefully kept out of reach of the more handsy guests.
The announcement of the auction comes as a shock, the presenter's voice ringing through the air. Guests immediately begin to move to the next room, finding their seats. Other servers go by and hand out cards with numbers on them, preparing everyone for the bidding.
You're called away from the auction room to deal with a tablecloth with wine spilled on it. All you need to do is find someplace quiet to fold it up, pat as much of the wine out as possible, and then stuff it into a plastic bag to be sent to the dry cleaners. Rather than head for one of the unused back rooms, you go to where most of the auction items are being stored.
Bundling the tablecloth up high to obscure most of your vision, you stumble into the room.
"Hey, you can't be here," a rough voice barks out. You look up, feigning your surprise, as two guards stare you down.
"Sorry!" you squeak, "I didn't think anyone would be here. I just needed someplace I could fold this up."
One of the guards sighs and drops his hand from his waist, where his hand was hovering over a gun. "There's a room up here you can use. Follow me, I'll get the door for you."
"Thanks!" You hurry after him, carefully keeping your eyes from roving over the crates in the room. A flicker of movement from the ceiling draws your attention and you watch as a tile is pulled aside and Kieran pops his head out.
It's go time, apparently.
"I'm really sorry about the this," you say, "It's my first time working a job like this."
"I thought you looked a little young," the guard says.
"Haha, yeah. That obvious huh? Say, what's the guard gig like? Is it just standing in one place the whole time?"
The guard shrugs. "Sometimes. Definitely less hectic than being a server though, I can tell you that much."
"I figured. I wasn't expecting to do so much work. And now this too!" You shake the tablecloth in your arms lightly.
"I definitely don't envy you—"
The guard goes down without a sound. You look back and Kieran is there, lowering the guard's body to the floor. Not dead, just unconscious, like the other guard father back in the room. Relived that worked out so well, you drop the tablecloth and pull the screwdriver you always carry out from where's been tucked in your waistband.
"Wanna snoop?" you ask.
Kieran makes a beeline for a box and pats it excitedly.
Since the auction is just starting, no one will be grabbing these items for a while. The first round's items are already prepped and ready in the auction room, which means these are all yours to play with. Together, you and Kieran pop open crates and boxes, rooting around everything you find. His pockets are quickly filled with various protocores and your tuck away a few of the weapons to pass on to Sylus. He's going to want to take them apart for study and you're hoping handing them over will be a good enough reason for him to let you play with his cars.
You get maybe fifteen minutes before the first gun shot goes off.
You and Kieran freeze, look at the door, then take off in a sprint. Everything goes off the rail in under a minute; more gunshots, screams, angry yells, and the sound of glass breaking. It all comes from the auction room and you can see servers getting out of dodge, well practiced in evacuating. No doubt they've worked other events that ended poorly.
Taking care to keep out of their sight, you follow Kieran down other hallways, watching him take out guards and secure an escape route.
There aren't too many to deal with, thankfully. It seems most of the guards are in the auction room, where they have to face Sylus and Miss Hunter. With Luke there to provide extra support, you're hopeful that things will wrap up quickly so you can all make your escape. Being so near a fight has you twitchy; there's a reason you like to stay out of the way and just gather information. You're not built for these sorts of things and you're all too aware of how that makes you the weak link among them.
"Alright," Kieran says, "Let's get the car ready."
He turns back and the two of you leave the main halls behind to go the back service areas, running for the locked exit. He's quick to pick the lock and throw the door open and you barrel after him into the night.
And then you crash into his back as he stands, tense and frozen.
You look up and bite back a swear.
So, apparently, you are not the only person who planned to leave from here once things went south. A lot of other people had that same idea and they're all staring at you now.
"Well," one of the guys in front of you says, "Isn't this a surprise. Members of Onychinus delivering themselves right to us. What a stroke of luck."
Your heartbeat pounds in your ears. It's hard to hear anything past it, adrenaline hitting running through your body and making you shake, breath coming in short. Kieran shifts his stance lightly, then jumps forward. Everything turns into a fight that you can't keep track of, frantically dodging back and staying in the fringes, unable to leave him here alone but unable to help either.
"And where do you think you're going?" a voice drawls in your ear, making you jump. An arm wraps around your throat and you the tip of a gun get pressed against your head. "Stop fighting or I'll make you watch as I blow her brains out," the man holding you hostage shouts.
The fight dies down in an instant. Kieran goes statue still and you stare at him with wide eyes. I'm sorry, you try to say through the furrow in your brow. You tighten your grip on your screwdriver, feeling the handle dig deep against your palm.
This is risky. This is probably going to kill you, but you've been prepared to die since you buried Cerin. No one lives safely in the N109 Zone. Everyone knows that tomorrow is not guaranteed, no matter what you do. You've been prepared to die for a long, long time.
Just not like this.
Not with Kieran's life on the line.
You don't want to be the reason Luke has to go home alone.
"Let her go," Kieran demands, voice tight.
The man holding you tuts. "Nuh uh uh, I ain't letting her go that easy. Nah, you want her to walk away, then you better be a good boy and let us take you in. EVER is very interested in having folks from Onychinus in their hands."
You take a few deep breaths, trying to slow down your breathing. Calm down, you tell yourself. I've got one shot. I can't waste it.
Slowly, Kieran's hands rise into the air, palms out. Surrendering.
The men that aren't passed out or dead on the ground begin to close in. The hold around your throat loosens just a little bit.
You knock your head back as hard as you can, slamming your skull against the man's nose, and drop to the ground as second later. The gun goes off, the shot loud enough to ring through your ears and shake your bones. Gritting your teeth, you hold your screwdriver steady and drive it back with all your strength, forcing the metal into the meat of his thigh.
He yells, and you throw your body weight at his legs, sending him toppling to the ground.
Through the ringing in your ears, you think you hear a familiar voice.
Dazed, you look up and see Sylus, eyes glowing red and his evol swirling around him. The red mist circles the necks of all the men around you, including the one you're on top of, and there's a viciousness to his movements as he walks forward. Miss Hunter trails after him, gun in her hands, eyes constantly moving around the area, watching Sylus's back.
You can't hear anything they say, though you can see their mouths move.
Relief sweeps through you so suddenly you feel lightheaded.
If Sylus is here, then you're safe. You're going to be alright. And more importantly, Kieran is going to be alright.
When you look to him, just to make sure he's fine, Luke is already there, right by his side.
Abruptly, all the men choking in the grip of Sylus's evol drop. They don't move again.
He kneels in front of you, eyes still hard, but his hands are gentle as he helps you to your feet. He plucks the screwdriver out of the man's thigh and returns it to you with a small smirk, and if you were able to hear, you're sure he would have said something stupid.
You don't really remembering getting to the getaway car, but you blink and you're in the backseat with the twins. Sylus drives casually, as if he didn't just completely destroy a trap set out for him, and Miss Hunter is in the passenger seat, fiddling with the radio.
"Back with us?" Luke asks, nudging you with his shoulder.
There's still some ringing in your ears, but you can hear now. "Yeah. You good?"
He nods, as does Kieran when you look at him. He taps your hand and you find that you're still gripping your bloody screwdriver like a lifeline. It takes a little too long for you to relax your grip and drop it into your lap.
From the front, Miss Hunter turns to face you. "Hi," she greets calmly, a soft smile on her face. "It's nice to finally meet you! I've heard so much about you from Sylus and the twins, though I do wish we met under better circumstances."
…What the hell have they been saying about you? You glare at Sylus and he very pointedly says nothing, eyes fixed on the road.
"Nice to meet you too, I guess." You take another look at her and grin. "How's the dress?"
Miss Hunter lights up. "It has pockets!"
"I fucking told you," you tell Sylus, allowing smugness to coat your voice. In the rearview mirror, you catch him rolling his eyes.
"Oh, did you insist on the pockets? I should have known a man would never think to add them to a dress."
"He didn't think deep pockets were necessary. Can you believe him?"
"I owe you my life for convincing him to add them on," Miss Hunter says. "I've got a gun, a knife, a taser, and my phone in these things. It's crazy!"
Under her bright personality and how easy conversation flows, the last of the tension from the night melts away. The twins chime in from time to time, as does Sylus, but it's been ages since you got to talk to a woman who Gets It and she's clearly done with all of Sylus's bullshit, because the two of you just keep at it. Even when you return to Sylus's residence and follow everyone in, wondering when someone will ask you to leave.
No one does. Sylus just points you to a door and Luke whispers that he's set up a room for you ages ago.
Miss Hunter leans in from your other side and adds on how excited she is to have another woman with her, especially since you have teasing rights as Sylus's sister.
And Sylus himself doesn't refute any of what they're saying. Just shrugs nonchalantly as acts as if it's no big deal, even as he carefully gauges your reaction.
You go over it all in your mind again, pulling together what you know: dinner with the twins. Constant visits where he annoys you. Asking for your help in things both big and small. Welcomed into his space without question. A room set up for you weeks before you ever stepped foot into his home. Spoken about like you're part of this little unit of his.
The most important piece of it all: you feel safe with him. When he arrived and put an end to the fight, you knew you were safe. Even with all your knowledge of how dangerous he is, your experience in keeping your distance from people like him because it's always been a risk, you know he'll never hurt you.
You know he's lived a lonely life. There was a time before he found the twins. He's patient with them, has given them so many allowances no one else would bother with. It's the same way you've made a space for them in your home.
You don't have much experience with things like home or family, but no one here does. You wouldn't mind figuring it all out with them.
"Do I get a key to this place, too?" you ask, half joking and half hopeful. If it's not all in your mind, if he really means it…
"I thought you'd never ask." He pulls out a spare keycard and presses it into your hand. Like it's that easy.
And maybe it is.
Maybe, with the right people, family was always supposed to feel like this.
