decided to write more with solene and caelum. i've grown to really like these two (and this collection of characters).
this fic is kind of for the rose anon (if they're still around) and anyone else who's been wanting me to write for my girls again.
if you have any requests, questions, comments, etc., send them my way
tw for magical poisoning, character being given a suspicious drink (not like that), fevers, emeto, panic
The manor was warm with life—voices tangled in laughter, the click of glasses meeting, footsteps crossing the mosaic-tiled floor like the shifting of wind.
Golden light filtered through the arched windows, pouring in generous, syrupy streaks that glowed against the polished banisters and the finely carved bones of the ceiling.
The air smelled of beeswax, sweet wine, and too many different magical signatures pressed together—shimmering faintly with power, some deliberate, some uncontrolled.
The occasional pulse of a half-learned spell would rattle a lamp or make the fireplace spit sparks, but it was all chalked up to youth and experimentation.
Seraphina was fond of these get togethers. These gatherings of young supernaturals and their mentors. Allyship, insight, a million and one things that Caelum wanted no part in.
Above it all, he watched.
Caelum Hallowell sat half-curled on the inner strut of a support beam, one leg dangling, the other bent beneath him like a bird of prey that hadn’t decided whether or not to strike.
He wore the shadows like a second skin, his posture easy but his eyes sharp—burning with that cold, unnatural gleam that made most people look away if they caught it.
But he wasn’t watching the crowd.
He was watching her.
Solène drifted through the room like sunlight through leaves—warm, unhurried, quietly luminous in the way only something aligned with the sun could be. Her steps were fluid, her posture elegant without meaning to be. She was a creature made of brightness, and he hated the way it made his chest ache.
She was talking to someone. Some overeager girl with two different colored eyes and ivy crawling around her collarbone like living jewelry. Solène tilted her head as she listened, nodded once. Then, without much thought, accepted the glass handed to her.
Something warm. Pale. Glimmering with herbs and something faintly glowing.
Caelum’s eyes narrowed.
He could smell it from here.
Night-brewed. Enchanted. Old magic steeped too long, meant to heighten the senses under moonlight—probably brewed for him or someone like him. The scent was thick with shadowroot and stilled mint, both meant to anchor drifting magic in those whose bodies were drawn toward darkness. For a night-aligned vampire, it would steady the pulse.
For Solène, aligned to day?
It would unravel her.
Caelum was already moving before the glass left her lips. The moment she took that first swallow—just one—he was gone from the rafters like he’d been pulled by a tether, landing noiselessly on the second-floor landing and slipping into the crowd like a shadow passed through silk.
Solène barely noticed the change at first.
Her lips tingled faintly. The warmth of the drink spread too fast, like sunburn under her skin. Her heartbeat hiccupped, just once. But she smiled and laughed and continued on, until her breath caught on the edge of a word. She blinked—slow. The light felt strange. Harsher. Like it wasn’t hers anymore.
The second glass—no, was it a refill? She didn’t remember asking—tipped in her hand.
She sipped anyway. She didn’t want to be rude.
A few steps later, her balance felt… off. Like her body was lagging. Her fingers buzzed at the edges, cold and hot all at once. Her vision blurred not outward, but inward—everything closing too tight, and then fading out of focus. She paused at the edge of the room, pressed her hand to the nearest windowframe, trying to recenter.
That’s when the boy reached for her.
Not Caelum. Not Amancio. Not Hemlock, or even Everest.
Some student with a voice too loud, too close, a grin just a little too smug. “You look flushed,” he teased, half-laughing as he reached out, curled fingers around her wrist. “Maybe you need to lie down. C’mon, I’ll—”
“Don’t. Touch. Her.”
The voice cut through the room like a blade dragged across ice.
Low. Absolute. Lethal.
Several heads turned—but the boy’s hand didn’t move. Not fast enough.
Suddenly, Caelum was there. No fanfare. No introduction. Just presence—like a storm pulled into the shape of a young man. He stood with his body angled forward, protective and aggressive, his shoulders blocking Solène from view. His hand clamped around the other student’s wrist, the grip deceptively casual—until the boy winced and jerked back, stammering.
“I didn’t—she looked—she’s dizzy, I was just—”
“You were just making the last mistake of your life,” Caelum growled, fangs bared now, the pain of his broken lower ones flaring sharp in his jaw. He didn’t care.
His voice dropped colder. “If you so much as look at her again, and I’ll bury you so deep the night won’t find you.”
“Okay! Okay—shit!” The boy stumbled back and vanished into the crowd.
Caelum turned only once the other was gone. When he looked at Solène, all the venom in his posture melted into something else entirely—raw concern.
She was slumped, barely holding herself up. Her skin had gone a shade too pale, faintly glowing at the edges in a way that screamed magical dissonance. Her breath was shallow, her pupils dilated unevenly.
“Daylily,” he said, low and urgent, his hand already at her waist to keep her upright. “You drank something. What did they give you?”
She blinked at him, slow. Confused. She opened her mouth to answer and swayed instead.
Caelum caught her.
One arm around her back, the other curling under her knees as he scooped her into his arms like she weighed nothing. Her body was far too warm against his, feverish with misplaced energy. His magic flared the moment her skin touched his chest—crackling with static, wrong in a way that made his stomach lurch.
She didn’t speak again.
Didn’t even fight him.
And that, more than anything, terrified him.
Caelum’s strides were long and merciless. He moved like the air itself would be foolish to try and resist him—gliding down the manor’s grand staircase with Solène in his arms, barely aware of the startled murmurs that trailed in his wake. His jaw was set like a vice. His fangs still throbbed from forcing their way down. He could taste copper on his tongue—his own blood.
Solène stirred weakly, a sigh slipping from her lips like breath from the edge of a dream. She wasn’t unconscious—but she wasn’t present, either. Her pulse against his chest was fast and shallow, the kind of panic-thin rhythm that said her body was trying to run even while her limbs had given up.
Her skin was hot. Too hot. But not fever-hot.
It was sunflare-hot. Like a light trying to burn its way out from beneath her skin.
He didn’t waste time.
Past the main hall. Up the stairs. Through the stone corridor branching from the library.
Their room.
One room halved by taste and temperament. His side was darker—shadows inked into the corners, cool stone underfoot, the walls lined with books and jagged rock from some cliffside he never named.
Her side was warm—soft fabrics in sun-kissed tones, a stained-glass window that glowed amber during the day, and plants that bloomed when she brushed her fingers over them.
Caelum shouldered the door open with one sharp breath.
Inside, he moved straight to her bed, putting her in direct sunlight like a cat seeking its warmth. He eased her down, not like glass, but like something he couldn’t afford to break. Her body sagged into the mattress, one arm slumping off the edge like she couldn’t be bothered to lift it again.
Her chest rose shallowly.
Then didn’t rise again.
Just for a beat.
Too long of a beat.
Caelum hissed a curse in a language no one alive should’ve understood and dropped to his knees beside her, pressing two fingers to the side of her throat. Still beating—but skipping, tripping.
He exhaled slow. Controlled. Just barely.
Behind him, the door opened.
“Did you threaten to rip someo- whoa. What happened?” Lyca’s voice cut in like a knife, her boots heavy on the stone. “What’s wrong with—”
“Get Seraphina.” Caelum didn’t look up. “Now.”
“Is she—?”
“I said get her.” His voice could’ve cracked marble.
Lyca was gone a second later.
He turned back to Solène.
Her fingers twitched once—too fast, like nerves misfiring. Her body gave a full-body shiver, but not like cold. Like a power surge.
Her aura—usually so soft, so calm—was flickering violently, like the shimmer off pavement in unbearable heat. Even her skin seemed slightly luminous, but it wasn’t beautiful.
It was wrong.
“What the hell did you drink,” he muttered, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead. It was soaked through with sweat.
He should’ve seen this. Should’ve gotten to her sooner.
“Typical. Can’t go five minutes without getting yourself wrecked, can you?” His words were sharp, but his thumb traced her brow in soft, careful strokes.
She opened her eyes.
Barely.
“Cael…” Her voice was dry. Thin. She blinked once, disoriented. “Why’re you…in double…”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” he snapped. “I wouldn’t clone myself for you. The original is more than enough to handle your constant near-death whims.”
A faint snort escaped her lips—then turned into a sharp, hitching gasp. Her body arched slightly, a ripple of tension moving through her spine like she’d been struck by lightning. Her fingers curled into her quilt, nails gouging into the fabric.
“Hey—hey. Solène.” His voice was still steady, but lower now. Urgent. “Look at me.”
“I—I can’t—feel my fingertips,” she slurred. “Feels like—I’m buzzing? But wrong. Like…like I’m a tuning fork someone hit too hard.”
“Because someone fed you a night-aligned infusion. Probably brewed for me or the wolves.” He crouched closer, pressing the back of his hand to her cheek. Her skin radiated warmth that didn’t belong. “It’s shorting you out.”
“Great,” she rasped. “Love… a good magical overdose. Ten outta ten. Would recommend to absolutely no one.”
Caelum closed his eyes for a half-second, jaw clenching. Then: “Do not pass out.”
“I’m not… trying, bat-boy.”
“You look like a fevered corpse.”
“Bite me, Dracula.”
He rolled his eyes, before he slid his hand under her shoulder blades and lifted her slightly, so she wasn’t flat on her back. “You need to metabolize the infusion faster. But your alignment’s rejecting it like poison.”
“Mmhm,” she murmured. “That… sounds like a you problem.”
“It is when you are the one falling apart.”
Her limbs twitched again. Then her body seized—just briefly—and she let out a muffled whimper before biting it back.
That broke something in him. Carefully—so carefully—he pressed his palm against her sternum. Not to heal. Not directly.
To stabilize. To anchor.
The room dimmed around them—his half responding instinctively, shielding her from any external energy, drawing the light inward.
“You’re going to be fine,” he murmured, low and deadly. “You don’t get to burn out over a cup of someone else’s mistake. That’s not how this ends.”
“Bossy,” she croaked.
“Keep sassing me. That’s how I know you’re still alive.”
Her eyes fluttered again.
“I don’t… want to go dark,” she whispered.
Caelum leaned forward until his forehead touched hers, just for a moment.
“You won’t,” he promised. “Not while I’m here.”
Solène’s body trembled in sharp, staccato waves—like something inside her was misfiring. Her breath hitched again, followed by a whimper she bit off behind her teeth, and Caelum could feel it now: her energy was wrong. Unraveling. Fighting against itself like static against a melody.
Her magic—usually so steady, radiant and warm like golden silk—now flickered with oily streaks of something darker. A residue of moon-forged energy trying to settle where it didn’t belong. The day rejected the night, and in doing so, it tore her from the inside out.
She doubled forward suddenly with a wet, gagging cough.
“Move—hold on,” Caelum muttered, arm wrapping around her back as he maneuvered her forward, off the side of the bed. A shallow metal basin materialized in his hand with a sharp pulse of magic, summoned from their room’s corner shelf.
Solène barely managed to grip the edge of it before the first violent retch overtook her.
Bright, acidic—too hot. Like her body wasn’t just purging the drink, but her own core. Sweat plastered her hair to her face, and each convulsion looked like it threatened to unravel her further. Her knuckles whitened. She didn’t make a sound—just shuddered through it, quietly, with her teeth clenched like she was afraid of what might escape if she made a noise.
Caelum stayed knelt beside her, one foot on the floor, the other leg positioned behind her for stability. One hand pressed against the center of her back, the other curled firmly around her hair, sweeping it away from her face.
“I told you to stop drinking things you didn’t identify first,” he said, softly. His voice was tight. Controlled. The undercurrent trembled with fear, but it never broke. “You’re too trusting. It’s insufferable.”
She heaved again, too far gone to answer, her breathing ragged now.
Her skin had taken on a near-luminescent pallor—less alive than glowing too much. Magic poisoning. The raw incompatibility of night-rooted energy tearing through the nerves, hijacking her alignment, trying to rewire her into something she wasn’t.
Caelum shifted closer. Laid his palm just below her shoulder blades and sank into his own magic—deep, black-violet currents that smelled like cold stones and crushed violets, like candle smoke and dried blood. He let it rise in him—not to push into her, but to draw the imbalance out.
He inhaled slow, steady, and focused.
“Give it to me,” he whispered. “Come on. Give it back.”
He opened himself like a conduit and let the imbalance flood toward him—let her body treat him like a magnet pulling out the wrongness. He could feel it: thin ribbons of night-aspected magic crawling from her chest, her throat, her solar plexus. It was sluggish, reluctant. Her core resisted him—not because it didn’t trust him, but because it was confused.
She made a thin, keening noise—barely vocalized—before collapsing sideways, her head falling against his chest.
He caught her instinctively.
Wrapped one arm around her shoulders and pressed his palm to her ribcage, fingers spread, grounding her.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured, voice rough now. “Just stay with me. Don’t you dare fall asleep, daylily. Not until it’s out. Gods, where the hell is Seraphina?”
Caelum pulled Solène closer, hoping that the more he held her, the more the night would bleed out of her.
-
The door finally cracked open.
Caelum didn’t lift his head. He knew who it was by the precise grace of the step, the scent of rain-soaked roses and old parchment.
“Seraphina,” he said flatly. “She’s been poisoned.”
“I can see that.” Seraphina was already moving, gliding to his side with the confidence of someone who had seen death and said not today a thousand times before. She crouched, lifting Solène’s wrist in one hand, two fingers on the pulse.
Her brow furrowed.
“This wasn’t malicious,” she said, low. “But it’s potent. She took in something designed for a body tied to the dark. Shadowroot. Wyrm-silk. Maybe blackmoon pepper. She shouldn’t be glowing like this.”
“She drank something meant for me,” Caelum said bitterly. “Or Lyca. Or Everest. It wasn’t labeled.”
“She’s not metabolizing it,” Seraphina said. “Her alignment’s rejecting the imprint. If it anchors to her core, she’ll seize—magically and physically. Her own body will collapse on itself trying to stabilize.”
Caelum gritted his teeth. “What do I do?”
Seraphina met his eyes—and something softened. Just briefly.
“You’re already doing it. You’re pulling the energy back through the path it entered—through connection, through touch.” Her eyes flicked to the way his palm still pressed over Solène’s ribs. “But it’s not enough. Not unless she wants to give it.”
“She’s delirious.”
“Then you better make her listen. I will grab one of Amancio's texts to see if there's anything else.” Seraphina said, "Watch over her."
Caelum shifted Solène back onto her bed, guiding her head onto his lap. She blinked slowly, eyes unfocused, her mouth parted like she wanted to speak but couldn’t decide on a word.
“Solène,” he said, more urgently now. “Listen to me. You have to let me take it. You’re holding onto it like it’s part of you.”
She didn’t answer.
He leaned closer, brushed her sweat-dampened hair back, his voice sharp with panic veiled as sarcasm.
“I’m not asking for your soul, you stubborn sunbeam, I’m asking for the poison. Let me have it.”
Her lips trembled. “Hurts.”
“I know it does. That’s why I’m here.” His breath caught. “Let me take the pain. Just this once. What hurts you will give me a boost.”
A long pause. Then—
“…Fine,” she whispered, barely audible.
And just like that—
It moved.
Her body arched with a shudder, and Caelum felt the shift. Her magic unlocked the gate it had slammed shut in panic. The corrupted energy peeled away from her core and into him—a bolt of cold that struck through his chest and burned like frostbite.
He hissed. Eyes clenched. But he didn’t flinch.
He held her.
Held her until the worst of it passed.
Until her breathing evened.
Until her fingers found the fabric of his sleeve and clenched, tethering herself as much as she could.
Seraphina touched his shoulder gently.
“She’ll sleep now. The rest will pass on its own.”
Caelum nodded, jaw still tight. “You’re sure?”
“I am.” Her eyes softened again. “You did well.”
Caelum didn’t answer.
He just sat there, back against the couch frame, Solène curled weakly across his lap—safe again, for now—and rested his cheek against the crown of her head.
And for the first time in a very, very long time, he let himself tremble.
-
Time passed.
The manor quieted as the sun slipped lower, shadows lengthening into soft fingers that kissed the stone floor. Somewhere far off, the wind stirred the hedges, and someone—maybe Juniper—was laughing in the garden. But the laughter didn’t reach here.
Here, the world was still.
Solène slept twisted on the bed, curled toward the source of warmth she must’ve known by instinct even if she’d been too far gone to sense anything consciously. Caelum hadn’t moved in hours. He sat with her weight folded into him, one arm still beneath her shoulders, the other draped loosely across her waist, hand half-curled near her ribs.
His head was tilted back against the wood frame of her headboard, eyes closed.
Not asleep, exactly. He never truly slept when someone else was in the room.
But he’d dozed.
Long enough for the air around him to shift, just slightly. The shadows that always hung close to him had grown sluggish, denser in places—curling like ink at the corners of the room. And beneath his skin, something felt wrong.
He could feel it—coiled beneath his ribs like old smoke. The energy he’d pulled from her hadn’t dispersed. It hadn’t absorbed like it should have. It sat inside him, inert and foreign, like a meal that wouldn’t digest.
He hated it.
Still, he didn’t move.
Solène stirred with a faint, pained breath. Her face twitched like something in a dream had hooked its claws in her, and her brows furrowed against some distant ache.
Then her body tensed.
A full-body, jerky motion like she couldn’t tell up from down for a moment.
She groaned. Low and raw. And then blinked blearily, her lashes fluttering as she tried to find the edge of the world again.
Caelum’s eyes were open before she could speak.
“You’re alive,” he said flatly, with all the enthusiasm of someone confirming a missed dentist appointment.
Solène made a face like she regretted that very fact.
“I feel like I got hit by a cart,” she rasped. Her voice was cracked and papery. “Then the cart backed up. Twice.”
“Well,” Caelum said, voice dry, “your dramatics are intact. That’s comforting.”
She shifted, trying to sit up—but her limbs felt like someone had replaced her bones with wet fabric. Everything was tingling, but not in a pleasant way. It was more like her nerves were bruised, like the outline of her body didn’t fully belong to her.
She blinked slowly. “Why do I feel like my soul went skinny-dipping in a swamp?”
“Because it did,” he said coolly. “And I was the one who had to fish it out.”
She winced and rolled to her side, bracing herself on one elbow. “My head is boiling. My fingers feel… fuzzy.”
Caelum hummed. “Residual magic static. You took in about three full mouthfuls of an infusion brewed for a night-aligned bloodline.” He tilted his head. “You’re lucky you didn’t combust.”
“Oh, perfect.” She winced again. “I love being told I almost died while still feeling like death.”
“It wasn’t almost,” he said evenly, but softer. "I'd never let that happen to you, sunshine."
That silenced her.
She looked at him properly now—and saw it.
His skin was pale, but not in its usual marbled, cool-toned way. He looked drained, like ink diluted with too much water. His shirt clung slightly to his chest, and his jaw was tight, like he was holding something down.
And then her eyes caught on his mouth.
“Caelum,” she said, blinking slowly. “Your fangs are out.”
He clicked his tongue. “Yes. Thank you for pointing out what I already know.”
“They weren’t out before.”
“They weren’t supposed to come out at all,” he muttered.
"Your bottom ones..." She paused. Her voice went quieter. “They're... broken. Is that… because of what you pulled from me?”
"No, you didn't do that," Caelum said, "They've been broken for a while."
“I didn’t mean to,” she murmured, guilt threading her voice. "I know your fangs only come out when you're in pain..."
“I know you didn’t,” he replied, too quickly. "And, no, they come out other times. Once yours grow in fuller, you'll understand your own triggers."
They sat in silence.
Then, as if to break the heaviness: “You’re lucky I was watching. If you’d gone down in front of some overly friendly hedge witch again, I’d be cleaning blood out of the drapes right now.”
“Caelum.”
“You’re welcome, by the way,” he added, ignoring her tone. “For the rescue. For the part where I sat here and absorbed the magical equivalent of hot tar so you wouldn’t fry yourself from the inside out.”
“You’re very selfless,” she deadpanned.
“I am a saint, darling sunflower,” he said, smirking without humor.
But as he shifted to stand, something in his movement faltered. He swayed—just slightly. Enough that she saw it.
“Caelum—”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.”
Solène pushed herself up further, wincing as her limbs complained. “You absorbed it all, didn’t you?”
“I filtered it. A conduit.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Caelum turned, finally looking at her. There was something in his eyes—faint, but wild. Like the magic he’d taken was still buzzing under his skin, rattling his bones. His irises shimmered faintly with that unnatural violet that came out when his magic was overclocked.
“It’s not a clean energy,” he said. “It doesn’t sit right. Doesn’t want to be burned off. It wants to stick.”
“So you’re poisoned now.”
He smiled faintly, mockingly. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m immune.”
“You’re not.”
“I’m resistant.. It's night magic, not daylight. Not safe for you, perfect for me. If not a little volatile, but everything I do is volatile. Keeps you on your toes.”
Solène reached for the basin still beside the bed and pushed it aside, forcing herself upright inch by inch. Her head spun. Her chest felt hollow, like something had been scooped out with a blunt spoon and left unfilled.
“You look awful,” she said.
“I always look awful,” he snapped. “That’s my charm.”
She laughed—just once—but then sagged forward, her hand gripping her nightstand
“Magic hangover,” she groaned.
“Congratulations,” Caelum said dryly. “Your first. I’ll embroider you a badge.”
She looked up at him again, eyes gentler now. “…You didn’t have to hold me through it.”
He arched an eyebrow. “I literally did. You nearly rolled off the couch mid-seizure. I’m not letting your skull meet the floor just because your pride gets in the way of accepting help.”
A pause. And then, even softer—
“I will let you throw up on my boots again, though, if it means you stay alive.”
Solène exhaled slowly, exhaustion pulling at her bones. “…Thank you.”
He scoffed. “Don’t make it a habit.”
She smiled faintly.
Then whispered: “You’re still holding my hand.”
Caelum blinked.
Looked down.
Indeed—his fingers were still loosely tangled with hers, calloused thumb pressed against the soft skin of her palm like he’d never let go.
He withdrew it sharply.
“Accident.”
“Of course.”
