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To: rapbattled
from: 053348
Hey! Sorry this is so late, I'm your backup santa since the other one kinda dissapeared i will be mailing this sketch to you (and some other pictures i won't post online because i want them to be seen by you first before anyone else) but this is one of the sketches! happy new years and a belated holidays, sorry again;;
This year I got a bit too trigger happy with secret santas so I signed up for a bunch//// So this is a bit late, I apologize ; u ; Merry Christmas!!! I hope you like it <3
I was originally going to draw Alibaba in his new outfit but his outfit makes me want to cry so you can have this instead:
hello i'm lychi your SS///!! i'm truly sorry this isn't the finished version TTTTT I did an extremely slow lining job and only had an hour to slap on some colors ahh;;; i'll be sure to get back to finishing this immediately after my PC gets fixed (ill send an ask when i'm done), once again i'm really sorry and happy holidays!! feel free to message me on twitter or tumblr if you wish to have the traditional, sketch, or larger version of this picture/////
dita0aura, I am your Magi Secret Santa! I decided to do a couple drabbles for you instead of a single story; it turns out we like/ship a lot of the same things and I wanted to address more than one. :) You’ll notice the second one (for SharrYamu) got away from me a bit length-wise, I hope that's okay. But I had fun writing them, so I hope you enjoy!
Also, if you happen to be a member of Archive of Our Own (AO3) or visit the site a lot, I occasionally post fanfiction there; if you’d like me to post/gift these drabbles to you there as well, I'd be happy to! Otherwise they’re yours to do with as you please. Happy Holidays!
Achievements
Alibaba Saluja was proud of a lot of things he’d learned over the past few months, from the gladiator arenas of Laem to the skies above the plain where the armies of many countries had come together to face an incarnation of pure despair. But there was one accomplishment he considered a substantially bigger deal than the others.
And yet the first time he used his full Djinn Equip in front of her, in the sparring pavilion of the Sindrian palace and not in the heat of battle, she looked…disappointed.
Or at least, he thought it was disappointment; the cast of her eyes and tilt of her chin seemed to suggest it, though it was hard to tell with Morgiana.
Regardless, he wasn’t quite expecting how much it made his heart plunge to see it. He hadn’t wanted to admit to himself how much he wanted to see her light up in admiration. How much he wanted to hear his name in her voice, whispered in awe.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, feeling the heat of the flames whirling around him gutter like candles in a breeze.
“You can fly now,” was her flat response, delivered more to the ground than to him.
“I…I guess?” To be honest, the temporary defiance of gravity Djinn Equip gave him did not really seem that impressive, when you compared it to the hot, rippling armor that wrapped itself around his limbs and the blazing black razor of Amon’s blade and the heady feeling of becoming a living inferno.
He still didn’t understand what bearing it would have on her feelings, anyway. And then she rubbed one of her cuffs absently with the opposite hand, and the pieces slowly began to click together.
“Oh…oh!” Her voice came faintly back to him out of the past. “I want to be the wings for you and Aladdin!” The eagerness on her face when she realized she had a way to aid them in battle that was all her own. The glowing joy and pride on her face the first time she had descended upon the armies of Laem and Magnostadt like a firebird herself.
“Um…but I can only do this for a short time still!” he said quickly. “Then I run out of magoi; I’m still working on that part. So…so, I’m sure there’ll still be times when I need your help.”
She looked up at him sidelong, as though slightly suspicious. He wasn’t sure what had possessed him to dig himself further in when her doubts would probably have faded on their own. But he could still visualize her haloed in fire and chains as he sprawled across her arms, hundreds of feet above the ground. He could still remember shock and relief and awe warring in his chest at the sight of her.
He tried not to let his smile falter, especially when he saw the flicker of real hope start in her eyes.
“I’ll never stop needing your help, Morgiana.”
He wasn’t sure why the extra words left his mouth. All he knew was that they didn’t feel untrue.
And they made her lift her head abruptly, meeting his eyes full on this time. The hope had flared up from a flicker to a shine, and one of those rare smiles had stolen across the edges of her mouth. Amon’s sword in his hand heated suddenly, the seal searing to life.
Briefly, he forgot how to breathe.
That was the look he’d wanted to see from her.
And he had the strangest feeling that it had nothing to do with the Djinn Equip at all.
For a Swordsman
“Yamu, he says he needs you!”
She looked up from where she was pressing her hand against an angry reddened patch on her shoulder that still ached with the remnants of black rukh, channeling magoi into it, feeling the sting retreat. Pisti’s eyes were wide, and she was breathless, trembling with nervous energy, her arm shaking as she held Yamuraiha’s door open.
The phrasing, for some reason, gave Yamu pause, maybe because part of her attention was still stuck on spells and enemies and defending Sindria from Al-Thaman at any cost. Or maybe it was because the first image that flashed across her mind’s eye was her glimpse of Masrur after the fight, carrying a bundle of limp white cloth and bronze skin draped across his muscled arms.
But for whatever reason, for an instant in her mind, the ‘he’ that said he needed her was Sharrkan, and Yamuraiha just stared at Pisti with her lips slightly parted, her hand resting heedlessly on her injury, healing forgotten.
“Sinbad needs your help, he said you’d know how to help if it gets infected.” Pisti’s voice wobbled as she clarified. She had always been the worrier in the aftermath, always so concerned for them all, hurrying from room to room or bedside to bedside as if reassuring herself that they were all still whole.
Yamuraiha snapped back to reality, mentally sliding on her mantle of healer as easily as donning a cloak. She took a deep breath, feeling inside herself for the wells of energy that seethed at her call. There wasn’t as much there as usual; she had just finished fighting, after all. But hopefully it would be enough.
*
She had expected there to be an audience, but when she reached the infirmary room with Pisti there was only Sinbad, standing over the bed. He had a bandage wrapped up one arm already, and his face was set.
“Where’s everyone else?” asked Pisti, wide-eyed. She crept closer to the bedside, the worry plainer on her face than on the carefully schooled lines of Sinbad’s.
“I sent them to reassure the people and tend their own minor wounds. Sitting in here wouldn’t do any good for them…or Sharrkan.” Yamuraiha strode to the bedside to stand beside her king. So it had been him she’d seen Masrur carrying.
He was naked to the waist, the loincloth and light armor still wrapped around his lower half. Yamuraiha wasn’t sure why that gave her pause; his everyday clothing left him practically half-naked anyway, but this was somehow different.
At least she didn’t have to ask what exactly was wrong with him. A long, shallow slash ran diagonally across his torso, dark against his bronze skin, from beneath one shoulder to the base of his ribcage on the other side. It wasn’t bleeding, nor was it particularly deep, but Yamuraiha didn’t even have to use magic to know that the cut had been made by a Dark Magic Tool, something infused with the black rukh. It wasn’t actively leaking darkness, but she could sense it warring with Sharrkan’s own magoi and preventing the wound from closing.
“He got careless,” she said softly, trying to cover the fact that her chest had clenched at the sight of the injury. Sinbad did not argue, even though both of them knew very well that Sharrkan was careless with many things, but rarely when it came to fighting.
“Is it going to spread?” he asked instead. “Infect him somehow? If it’s not healing…”
“It could get dangerous. It doesn’t seem like it is now, but it’s wearing him down, and he can’t heal properly like this.”
“Then what can we do?” Sinbad was looking at her with the serious deference he always gave her whenever a situation turned to healing. It had thrown her the first few times, but she was used to it now. She frowned down at the injury, trying to focus on it alone and not Sharrkan’s drawn face and the sweat that was starting to bead on his skin, probably from growing fever in response to the dark magoi.
“If he has something consistently cool and infused with healing magoi near the wound for the night, he should be safe.” She thought for a moment, trying to come to terms with the fact that she was hesitating more over this than if the injured person had been someone, anyone else.
“I’ll stay with him. Overnight. There’s a simple spell that will lower my skin temperature; that and my magoi will get him through the worst of it.” Yamuraiha glanced at Sinbad to see how he would interpret that, but to his credit he only raised one eyebrow slightly. Pisti’s eyes widened a little more obviously, but concern still dominated her expression.
“Well I’m no healer, so I’ll support whatever solution you have.” Sinbad looked over Sharrkan again, fingering the bandaged area on his arm distractedly, before glancing back at her again. “You’ll be all right here, all night? Do you want Pisti to help keep an eye on him with you…?”
“That won’t be necessary,” Yamuraiha said, hoping she hadn’t blurted it out too quickly. The idea of doing this with an audience, though, was…not ideal. Pisti reached over and patted her elbow, presumably showing that she understood, and Yamu flashed the younger general a small smile of gratitude.
“If you’re sure then.” Sinbad gave her a small but genuinely warm smile of his own. “Let me know if anything changes.” He nodded to Pisti. “Let’s let her get on with it.”
Pisti squeezed Yamuraiha’s arm one more time and murmured, “Take care of him,” before following Sinbad out, leaving Yamu alone with her patient.
The first thing she did was lean her staff against the little side table; she didn’t really need it for magic this simple, and it wouldn’t exactly be comfortable. Then she made herself turn her full attention of Sharrkan.
Some small part of her that had grown much too used to his sense of humor and the way he needled at her half-expected him to open his eyes and grin at her, deeply pleased with himself for having gotten her so worked up. But of course he didn’t; Sharrkan might have been a bastard, but he had never been cruel.
Yamuraiha reached down inside herself for the flow of bright magoi, letting the words of the spell for cold and water flow across her mind. She felt it flutter at the pressure of her will, shaping itself over her body like a second skin; not cold, but cool, enough to form a counterpoint to the heat of the fever.
She took off her earpieces next, and then, before she let her mind make too much of it, shed her outer robe and left it on the back of a chair, leaving her in just undergarments. She tried to think of her skin as a healing agent, nothing more than an extension of the way she would use her hands to channel magoi into an injury.
Yamuraiha took a deep breath. This was business. This was healing. This was one general of Sindria caring for another. She checked that the cooling was in effect one last time, and then she slid herself in among the thin, soft sheets like she was going into battle all over again.
This close she could feel the heat radiating off his bare skin in waves; it was far from a good sign, medically speaking, but it made her shiver involuntarily. She thought of her own blithe, assured words to Sinbad moments earlier; If he has something consistently cool and infused with healing magoi near the wound for the night, he should be safe.
And it was absolutely true, she was sure of it. She had complete confidence in her healing ability and methods. It even made sense that she herself be the vessel for the magoi, since her body could keep up a fairly steady supply of it, as opposed to some sort of charm or object that would have to be monitored. And this way she could get some rest for herself instead of staying awake in a chair by his bedside all night. But saying that in theory and actually doing it…
She pressed herself against him before she started thinking too much, skin on skin, and felt foolish and unrepentant at the same time. He was hot with fever and damp with sweat, and it was nothing like she’d imagined in moments of private weakness. He didn’t even twitch at the contact, and Yamuraiha didn’t know if she felt more relieved or concerned at that.
“This is all you get,” she whispered aloud to his sleeping face, which looked younger and more vulnerable than she’d ever seen him. She placed a tentative hand on the curve of his shoulder, feeling the contrast between her cooled skin and his. Telling herself firmly that she was checking his temperature, she stroked gently up his neck, his pulse thrumming too fast under her fingertips, until she felt the soft, silvery hair on his nape.
She wondered suddenly what it would be like if his eyes were open right now, if he was warm and sweat-damp and breathing unevenly for reasons other than fever.
Annoyed, she pressed her forehead to his collarbone and tried to remind herself that she was the one cloaked in water magic; her skin was not supposed to be burning.
Yet despite her worries and her unwanted thoughts, despite his raspy breathing and the heat radiating off him, despite the lingering discomfort of her own injuries, she felt sure she could fall asleep, here.
This is all you get, too, was what she silently told herself before she closed her eyes.
*
“Damn it, who put ice in my bed? Pisti, you little…” The mumbled words roused her slowly, enough to register the dim light that was starting to filter into the infirmary. Sharrkan’s voice was slurred enough that she knew he wasn’t awake all the way, but he was beginning to return to consciousness, if he was able to register the chill of her magic. Yamuraiha tensed, coming all the way awake, both relieved and nervous at the knowledge that he was going to wake up very soon.
She let out a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding when his eyes fluttered open, bright green sparking beneath his eyelids. For a moment they stayed heavy and unfocused, sliding restlessly from side to side. Then she lifted her head a bit to look at him better, and his gaze fastened on the movement.
“Ya…mu…? Why are you…shit, did I get hurt?” He tried to push himself onto his side, then flinched a little, lines of pain appearing between his eyes. “Guess so,” he croaked. “So what—” He stilled abruptly, not moving his body but his eyes twitching slowly wider, panning over her.
She swallowed and willed her body temperature to lower, willed blood not to rise to her cheeks and throat.
“You…you’re…in my…bed?” He blinked as though she were going to evaporate like a dream, which was probably what he thought she was at this point. “And you’re…”
“Wearing a few less clothes than usual, I suppose, yes.” At this point Yamuraiha thought it would be better to take control of the conversation; she felt way too unbalanced when he was just staring and stuttering like that, especially with his face still drowsy.
He regarded her blankly for a moment longer, while she tried to freeze her face into a look of cool nonchalance. Then the exact expression she’d been dreading since his eyes had opened stole over his face. He may still have been too sore to move much, but his mouth remembered that cocky twist of a grin far, far too well.
“So,” Sharrkan said, his voice still hoarse with sleep but somehow, somehow managing to be smug nonetheless. “This is what it took to get you into my bed? You have high standards, Yamu.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Yamuraiha was very proud that her voice did not catch, not even a little, and that her movements were fluid when she tossed the sheets aside and reached for her discarded robe hanging on the chair. “You can thank me for the continuing use of your limbs and torso, and possibly your life, at any time.”
She was expecting another jab, was practically preparing for it as she slipped her arms into the sleeves. But instead he said, in a low voice that was startling in its seriousness, “Thank you.”
She glanced back over her shoulder at him, surprised. He had, very gingerly, levered himself onto his side towards her. And he was still very shirtless, so she focused firmly on the fact that the ugly red line across his chest was now much smaller and fainter, and congratulated herself on that instead.
“The fight’s coming back to me now. It got bad this time, huh?” He touched the scar lightly, movements still sluggish. “But I remember watching you fighting. You were pretty amazing…”
Her eyes snapped up to his face in shock and met his gaze straight on, his green eyes with that damned gleam in them, and she felt herself lose to the encroaching flush on her face at the exact moment he grinned, all white teeth and lidded eyes and smug, smug grin and finished, “…for a magician, that is.”
If she hadn’t just spent an entire night healing him, she would gladly have smacked him with the staff she’d left leaning against the side table right then. Instead, she fastened her ear-pieces back on fastidiously, took a deep breath, and then strode back over to the bed. Two, she thought fiercely. Two can play this game.
Yamuraiha reached straight across the bed in one movement, leaning almost all the way into him, and dragged two fingers very lightly down the center of the mark where it would be most sensitive, from the base of his collarbone to the top of his flat stomach.
The sputtering, gasping yelp he made was more satisfying than she really wanted to admit to.
“Oh, you didn’t fight so badly yourself,” she said sweetly, drawing back and retrieving her staff. “For a swordsman.”
She didn’t allow herself to look back and take in his expression, but there was a mirror next to the side table, and out of the corner of her eye she caught a flicker of green eyes gone a little wider than normal, and the flash of white teeth bared in a grin that just maybe wasn’t all smugness, this time.
I hope you have an amazing Christmas. I really hope you enjoy this picture, sorry it’s not what you really wanted. *cries*
xoxox your Secret Santa, Amber (amber-grey-the-swift)
I really have to apologize for the poor.... everything on this drawing. What is coloring and proportion weh. My tablet's on its last leg so to speak, and I was arguing with it every step of the way to getting this picture done, so I had to cut a lot of things I normally would have done, and it's a lot lower quality than I'd have liked to have given.
That said, I did have fun making it and I hope that you like it! Merry Christmas!
Ficlet to go with the artwork under the cut. It's my first time writing Sinja so bear with me!
They pressed their lips together, melding into each other like two halves of the same whole, and while their tongues performed their passionate dance, hands slithered past clothes, seeking the skin beyond the fabric. It was intense and fiery. The alcohol was fast surrendering their sobriety and better judgment to lust and heat- a path neither could return from once they had tread.
How long ago it seemed that he had once been so intent on killing the man he now entangled himself with…
Jafar let a lock of Sin’s hair pass through his fingers as their lips broke apart, but as he pulled his hand back towards himself it abruptly stiffened, and the moment once so spontaneous and passionate became very still, and very tense. He felt his pupils dilate in an instinctively familiar manner as their eyes met, and for a moment, both of them sat frozen in place.
It seemed such a simple matter, with his hands inches away from Sin’s throat, to crush the life out of his king. Their weapons and vessels had been discarded somewhere on the floor, and with the drunken stupor that the alcohol had over them, he was undoubtedly more coordinated than the other. They had bared themselves and were both vulnerable, both defenseless, but the king was more so. Far more so.
And yet, as they stared each other down, in that simple moment that felt like an eternity, Jafar watched as Sin’s lips curled into a soft smile.
He knew the thoughts that passed through the assassin’s mind, knew the risk in allowing such intimacy between them, but as always he was confident. He was confident because he knew, as they both did on some level, that his advisor wouldn’t do it. He couldn’t.
In their years together Jafar had become entangled in the great destiny that surrounded his king. He had lost himself in the radiance that was his determination and kindness, and in losing his meaning as a murderer, had pledged his newfound life to the man who had helped to forge it… The old part of him was still there, just beneath the skin, but in Sin’s presence those instincts always seemed to be lulled away into a gentle slumber…
Sinbad was the one man he couldn’t kill. He never could.
…But that fact did not change their fate.
Jafar let his hand relax on the other’s chest, and his gaze finally softened.
“…When you fall…” He murmured, eyes sliding closed as he leaned in for another kiss.
He’d do it then for sure.
But the smile the other wore only widened as their lips touched, and as Jafar’s mouth opened to let his king in, he was forced to devour the breathy reply of, “I’ve already fallen for you…”
The gift of love was something neither of them could ever hope to return.
Merry Christmas sunnykittens! I hope you enjoy this little one-shot :)
The story is set after their recent victory against the Medium, extrapolating on what happened between Yamraiha and Sharrkan.
There was a huge celebration as they welcome their weary fellow generals back from the recent battle with the Medium. It wasn’t hard to believe that the whole of Sindria’s citizens were agglomerated in that one tiny port, what with the mass of bobbing heads and deafening cheers filling every single nook and cranny of the streets.
As expected, Sindria wasn’t a country to hold back on any opportunities for celebration. The preparation was already set in motion weeks ago when they received news of victory.
Regardless of being cognizant about the celebration beforehand, Sharrkan still felt overwhelmed by the surge of people surrounding him and rushing forward to greet Drakon, Yamraiha and their three guests. Considering his position as a General, a training master of one of the guests and a close friend to all of them, Sharrkan supposed that he should be amongst the frontiers of the welcoming group as well.
Yet Sharrkan found himself loitering in the background, unseen by his returning friends - or more specifically, unseen by a certain magician.
His original plan had been to swagger in with Olba and his other apprentices in tow to create a huge commotion. Not only would it awe their guests, but it would show how much Yamraiha had missed during the time she was out with the king (of course he would never admit that he was slightly bitter about how she was chosen to go with the king instead of him).
But the moment he saw Yamraiha’s swollen eyes and tear-stained cheeks, whatever semblance of the plan flew out of the window. There were limits to certain things and even someone as mischievous as Sharrkan knew that his plan would not be appreciated.
Upon landing, Pisti rushed forward with a wreath of flower and placed it around Yamraiha’s neck in an act of consolation. Hinahoho and Drakon also surrounded her to offer their condolences for her loss. Even Spartos added in a few words of compassion.
So how was he supposed to come in when she was in such a state of disarray? Sharrkan was never good with crying females, the only exception being the tavern woman, whose smile came back readily with a few extra coins.
With Yamraiha, it was a different story. All of a sudden, Sharrkan felt himself tongue-tied when he saw her. The last thing he wanted was to insult her accidentally.
And so the royal swordsman watched as his arch rival retreated to her chambers.
“That was very ungentlemanly of you.”
“I believe it is custom to offer some sort of solace for a close lady friend in need.”
“Senpai is embarrassed.”
Sharrkan didn’t need to turn his head to identify the three voices. “Shut it. And I am not embarrassed, Masrur.”
The young female general flitted beside him, matching his footsteps. “Why weren’t you out there then? Yamu was really sad, you could have cheered her up.”
“Don’t be stupid, the only thing that I can do is argue with her.” Sharrkan scoffed. “Besides, I bet the moment she saw her magic scrolls, she would forget everything.”
“This is a very different circumstance,” Spartos flanked him on his left side, trapping him between the two generals with no way of escape. “Lady Yamraiha lost someone extremely important to her. Matal Mogamett was the only father that she knew of, and for him to leave her so…” He didn’t finish the sentence, but just shook his head.
“And that concerns me because…?” Sharrkan tried to look like he didn’t care one single bit, even though his palms were sweating. What if she cursed her fate? What if she was no longer the Yamraiha that he knew?
“Because you are the only one that can cheer her up,” Pisti winked and nudged him in the side.
“Wha— why?” Sharrkan shouted, his face heating up, but Pisti was already dragging Spartos off.
“Senpai is foolish.” Masrur commented as he walked pass the swordsman as well to join the other generals.
“I am not going to cheer her up!” Sharrkan shouted at them.
Well, at least that was his words half an hour ago. Now he found himself pacing in front of Yamraiha’s chamber, trying to think of a proper excuse as to why he was there. It was definitely not because he was worried about her. It was just…just…
Damn it all. Sharrkan grabbed at his hairs as he tried to come up with a reason that didn’t make him sound like he was worried about the magician. But the truth was, he is worried about her. Even though they had fought each other in public on many occasions, everyone knew that it was not serious. It was a tradition that they had kept up since childhood because it felt natural. Their relationship was defined by these petty competitions that mask an underlying respect for the other.
On his part, it was also a facade that he put up with to hide his innermost feelings from the woman. He couldn’t remember when he started regarding the magician as someone much more important than just a friend. And this new feeling scared him in many ways. He was a swordsman, not the best type of person to deal with strong emotions. To make it worse, he didn’t know if Yamraiha felt the same about him. Sure, he knew that she respected him and worried for him, but merely on a friendship level. He didn’t know if she would reciprocate his feelings. And so he covered it by arguing with her more often.
I could pretend I was just passing by when I heard her crying. Sharrkan thought. It was not far from the truth, as he could still hear sniffling from inside the room. But it was how he was going to talk to her afterwards that worried him. He really needed some advice on how to console a girl…
“What are you doing?” The rasping voice - a result of hours of crying - was heard from the doorway.
Sharrkan almost jumped when he saw Yamraiha’s face by the doorway. Even in this state, she was still gorgeous. He gulped visibly, not quite sure what to say now that he was suddenly caught by surprise. “I…uh…walking by…you crying…” Things came out in a jumble.
Yamraiha rolled her eyes. “You are still a terrible liar. I really don’t feel like arguing with you today. Please just leave.” She tried to close a door before Sharrkan inserted his foot in between the cracks.
“Hey, um…do you need someone to talk to about…you know,” Sharrkan mumbled sheepishly. He hoped that his face was not bright red by now, but chances were that it was as bright as a tomato; he was always wearing his emotions on his sleeves.
Yamraiha sighed slightly and opened the door a bit more. “If you want, you can come in. It’s rather distracting when someone’s pacing outside your door nonstop.” She tried to crack a smile, though it was all crooked because of how hard she cried.
Sharrkan nodded as he followed the magician inside. When was the last time he visited this place? The room was simple and lacking in ornaments, though there were piles and piles of scrolls lying all about the area. It also smelled distinctly of Yamraiha, the soft perfume that reminded him so much of the ocean’s breeze.
“You’d notice me outside all along?” He tried to breach the conversation with something normal.
“It’s hard to ignore you when you weren’t trying to be quiet.” Yamraiha stated simply as she drop down onto her bed, allowing the lush cushions to engulf her. “Why are you here?”
This was the part that he dreaded most. “I…just thought that you wanted to talk to someone…I mean, you looked pretty upset back there and I am sorry for your loss. I know Matal—Hey, stop crying!” Sharrkan cut off his ramble when he saw the waterworks starting again.
Yamuraiha made an effort to stifle her tears. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to get so emotional on you guys. I didn’t want to ruin the celebration.” She looked across the room at the staff on her table. “Although Matal Mogamett is not my real father, I’ve always regarded him as one. He opened me up to the world of magic, accepted and nursed my talent.”
Sharrkan listened quietly as Yamuraiha recounted her relationship with her adoptive father. Even though he already knew most of the events through Pisti’s gossips, he had yet to hear it personally from her. This was the first time that the magician had laid herself bare before him, allow her vulnerability to show through and relax the strong wall that she barricaded herself inside. Hell if he was going to ruin the moment.
“…I’ve always regretted accusing him of trying to use me.” Yamuraiha choked on her tears, looking down at her clenched fingers. “I should’ve known that he only had my best interests in mind. Yet I still…” The tears came again, flowing freely now.
Suddenly, Yamraiha felt a warm heat engulf her. She looked up only to feel Sharrkan placing a kiss on the tip of her nose.
“Wha—what?” Yamuraiha felt the blood rushing to her cheeks. What was the stupid swordsman doing?
Sharrkan’s blush mirrored Yamuraiha’s as he looked away, though not removing his hands around her waist. “Don’t think too much about it. You said before that a kiss on the nose is the best magic that can remove any sadness, right?”
“What are you talking about?” Yamraiha stared at him before a memory struck her.
‘Stop crying, you look weak.’ Yamraiha stared at the boy before her. She heard that he was related to the Heliohapt royalty and was a new addition in the palace. But what she didn’t expect was how withdrawn and weak he looked. He merely scrapped his knee on the stone before he was reduced to a ball of snot and tears.
Instead of stopping, he only cried harder.
Seriously, Yamraiha thought to herself, are all royalties that weak? She could no longer tolerate his loud cries before she leaned in and planted a kiss on his nose.
That shut him up pretty effectively as he stared back at her with confusion.
‘There, it doesn’t hurt as much anymore, does it?’ Yamraiha placed her hands on her hip and said in an authoritative voice.
‘Y…yes…How did you do that?’ The boy wiped away some of his tears.
‘Stupid, that’s why I am a magician and you are not! Don’t you know that a kiss on the nose is the best magic for taking away any sadness and pain? My father taught me that, and he is the greatest magician!’ Yamraiha huffed.
‘Don’t call me stupid!’ The boy shouted back at her, having forgotten all his earlier pains. ‘My name is Sharrkan!’
‘Then you will do well to remember this, I am Yamraiha and one day, I will be the best magician around here!’ Yamraiha proclaimed proudly.
And that was the start of their beautifully boisterous friendship.
“Stu-stupid, that was a long time ago. It was to distract you from the wound in your knee,” Yamraiha also looked away. “Don’t tell me you still believe in that.”
Sharrkan smirked, his former confidence returning now. “Of course I don’t. It only works on children after all. But since we are adults now…” He trailed off.
“Now-?” Yamuraiha turned her attention back to him, but instead found her lips captured by the swordsman.
As quickly as it started, it was over as Sharrkan leaned back. “Now we would need a kiss on the lips to remove any sadness. What is with that look on your face? Don’t tell me you haven’t kissed before?” Sensing the answer already, he quickly extricated himself from Yamraiha before bolting for the chamber door.
“Get back here! That was my first kiss!” Yamraiha shouted as she also took chase after the swordsman.
“I told you only Sharrkan can cheer her up, did I not?” Pisti giggled as she watched the two generals running off.
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