Hi. My name is Lina. I am 21+ years old. I write fanfiction and I share LADs related stuff on this blog. I work a full time job and I have a social life so I am not always active on here. I go by She/Her pronouns.
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A FOOL AND A FIEND [SYLUS x OC]
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Other blogs: @fictionally-attached (random and shit posting blog. I talk there often) / @sylus-hds-7213 (Sylus RP blog) / @aethercore-seeker (MC RP blog) / @a-foolish-dream (OC RP blog)
────── caleb x miki ; all of the stars ; long distance. ᰔ
aka 7.6k words of fluff & angst, on caleb and miki's long-distance relationship. ft. @xaviersknight's xavlia, @mephisto-reporting's nymlus, @xavissky's staryne.
"you're on the other side as the skyline splits in two; i'm miles away from seeing you."
"And, like, I'm telling you. If I had five minutes in that theater, I totally would've stolen the show!"
Star was standing on the couch, one hand on her hip. She had her arm out, a dramatic finger pointing at—well—no one, in particular, despite the sincerely smug expression on her face, but Miki, who had been watching her theatrics for the past five minutes, let out a soft laugh.
"On the contrary," came a hum, "You would've been escorted outside in three."
"Hey! You're supposed to be a supportive boyfriend—"
"And I am, by being honest."
Zayne, with a hint of a smile, replied with a voice contrastingly calm to Star's. He didn't look up, only settled for taking another bite of the cheesecake on his plate, before promptly offering some to his girlfriend.
And it was cheesecake, of course—because this was Miki's celebration.
It was that day.
No strings pulled, but of her own widely-recognized effort—she had done the opening performance for Skyhaven's newest grand theater, just mere moments before. Miki's own heart still stirred at the memory of it. The warm spotlight, the large stage… Rows, and rows, of seating, and Miki had stood there, used her voice in the way that she loved, in front of arguably the largest audience she'd ever performed in front of before. Looking back, she knew her younger self would never have believed she'd made it this far. And now, basking in the thrill of it, a small smile turned up the corners of her lips as she glanced bashfully back down at her feet.
In the same vein, this was also the liveliest she'd ever seen Caleb's home.
Cheesecake, and strawberries, and all her favorite dishes… Her friends had insisted on throwing her a little celebration party right after the performance, and there was no reason for Caleb to refuse when she'd lit up with loving disbelief herself.
Everyone really did… put in so much effort…
Beside her, Delia's arms wrapped loosely around her shoulders, and her chin rest lightly against her head.
"You did really well, though, Miki," she murmured. Soft—as if she knew, and she did, that Miki hadn't yet fully absorbed the night's events. "I mean it. Standing applause and everything, too, you know? The audience loved you."
"Haha… i-it was, um, a lot of people… who stood up, and everything…"
"You were just that amazing!"
Xavier peeked out from behind her, subtly pulling Delia back into his arms. Still, he nodded in quiet agreement. Miki looked at him, and found that same soft, yet genuine look of approval—pride, if anything, of her achievements. It brought another wave of warmth over her chest.
"You captivated the whole room," he smiled. "Not everyone can do that, so you should be proud."
"Yeah, no, really!"
This time it was Nymeria who spoke, chiming in where she sat cross-legged on the floor. "I mean, how did anyone stay all well-behaved and clapping normally when you were done?! If the venue wasn't so fancy then I'd have been yelling and cheering—WHOAH—"
In her enthusiastic response, she'd spilled a glass of champagne onto her lap, and beside her, Sylus promptly handed her a napkin. "Likely for your benefit, sweetie. You could have knocked over the woman next to you."
"She was way too close, it wouldn't have been my fault…"
"Anyway, what the point is," Gideon raised his own glass with a nod of his head towards Miki, "is that this one's to you, Miks!"
"Cheers!"
And shouts and laughter rippled through the room, and Miki could almost… melt, in all of it.
She'd wondered, then—just how long had she felt so far from this kind of feeling? So much had happened in the past year, and these people, and all of their feelings, and all of this warmth… they were hers now. She was loved. And this, too, she knew her younger self would have likely never believed it could happen. That this time, her world was open, and free. And full of all these people she could hold tightly, close to her heart.
Her eyes softened.
Still…
Miki's gaze turned to the kitchen where Caleb had disappeared to a few moments earlier, and the noise around her buzzed.
She loved her friends, she did, but it was also…
"Hey," Delia murmured, tilting her head up to catch her eyes. "You okay?"
With a quick nod and a little smile, Miki stood slowly. "Um, yeah, I just…" Again she looked in the direction of the kitchen. "I… I-I think I'll go get some water."
"Okay… Do you want me to—"
"N-no!"
She spoke too quickly.
Ah, the noise is getting…
She glanced back at the group. Star was there, again—animated, telling some kind of story, freely bickering with Gideon who insisted that haunted houses were not scary—
She turned to Delia and offered a sheepish smile. Her head felt a little heavy, despite the warm fluttering in her chest. "I… I'll be back. Just, um, give me a moment, okay?"
Xavier turned to give her a curious look of his own, before promptly nuzzling his head into Delia's shoulder.
"Xavier…"
"She'll be fine, just stay here…"
Miki slipped out before anyone else could stop her.
And in contrast, the kitchen was much… quieter.
The noise from the living room still drifted through in muffled bouts of laughter and voices, but it was much more bearable. Miki felt herself relax. Shoulders loosened, and a long, slow breath of relief... She'd spent far too much time in the spotlight for one day.
Here…
Caleb stood at the counter, sleeves pushed up, moving easily between chopping and plating in that same smooth, easy way that he'd always done. The softer lighting they'd installed here caught gentle along his shoulders, the line of his back familiar enough that something in Miki settled instantly.
He glanced over when she approached. A grin tugged at his mouth.
"Miss me already?" he teased.
There was a pause—Miki, ever gravitating towards him, let her gaze move down to the floor. Instead of answering immediately, she allowed herself a while, allowed herself a little moment of indulgence as she hovered in his orbit, basked in the safety of it.
A few steps closer.
"…Yeah," she murmured.
It had slipped out before she could think about it, but she didn't take it back. Likely noting the blush that had formed on her cheeks from directness of her words, Caleb let out a quiet laugh under his breath.
"Well," he hummed, "good thing I'm not goin'’' anywhere."
"Zayne! That's literally your third slice of cake this evening!"
"I'm only taking what's available…"
The noise drifted in again.
Despite herself, Miki let out another smile, but it wasn't just that her friends were being silly... There was something grounding about it—being here, with him, even as things still continued outside. Miki liked having her own little world with him, liked the predictability of his movements, liked the quiet confidence he had in the things that he did.
"You didn't have to spend so much time here all alone," she mumbled.
"Yeah, but who else's gonna cook my girl's favorites?" He nudged her, "Plus, I thought you'd want some time with your friends. They came all the way here to Skyhaven to watch you. Even I know how much they care about you."
Miki smiled.
"If this was back in high-school…"
"I'd… be makin' sure I mattered more, yeah," he laughed.
A few more chops, before the pieces of garlic floated into the pan.
Caleb turned away from her to give it attention—
But Miki's elbow bumped the edge of the counter. A bell pepper rolled clean off, and in that brief moment of silence, it hit the floor with a dull little thud.
Caleb paused.
They both looked down, then at each other. And then his mouth curled immediately. "Clumsy."
"I… I-I'm sorry, I didn't—"
"I know."
With another little laugh, he shook his head, sat the knife aside with a soft clink. "But seriously, you can stop bein' cute. Leave this to me, yeah? It's your day."
But…
Perhaps she was doing this to sneak in a little more time with him alone; perhaps she was doing this in another attempt to stay in his orbit as more than just a little decoration. Because even now, few things have changed. She'd still let Caleb do everything, when she could clearly have let him share more of his burdens with her…
She smiled wryly.
It's just cooking, Miki. You don't even like cooking.
Still, she acted before thinking.
They both crouched at the same time; Miki had moved instinctively. And their hands reached towards it, paused as their fingers brushed—
Ah…
There was the scent of his cologne. Her cologne.
Up close like this, knees nearly touching, and faces mere inches apart… Miki could smell the soft scent of strawberries, and she vaguely remembered having left a bottle of her perfume at his place.
He's… wearing my…
Caleb's expression softened. Miki watched as his eyes met hers, watched his hand raise to gently cup her cheek.
"I told you to leave it to me, pips… You really—"
Miki leaned in.
You used my perfume.
Her lips pressed against his.
You keep my sweaters, and a stock of all the things I like…
Did you know, Caleb?
I keep yours, too.
The world narrowed down to the two of them, soft breaths mingling when she pulled back. Those eyes of his, the color of the sky she loved so dearly, and the sun she reached for in all her days…
Her own closed, and Caleb pressed his forehead to hers, close enough for her lashes to brush against his cheek.
"What're you doin', angel?" he whispered.
"I… I-I don't know…"
"Don't know? Hmm… M'sure you know how fast my heart's beating right now all 'cause of you…"
"I, just…"
Caleb's nose nuzzled against hers.
When Miki's eyes opened, there was a slow, crooked smile on his face—one so gone, so helplessly in love with her—
"If you wanted to kiss me," he whispered, lips just about ghosting hers, "you've never had to sneak 'round for it, y'know. 'Cause I can just do… this."
When he leaned in, the brush of his lips started soft. Slow—intentional. His thumb brushed lightly against her cheek, and when he kissed her like this, Miki knew he was giving her as much of the love he had for her as he could.
If you want a kiss, she could hear him, you can just ask.
"Caleb!"
Gideon's voice cut through from the living room, causing Miki's eyes to widen as she immediately sprung far apart from Caleb in shock.
"Dude! Where are you, man?! Hurry before the cheesecake's all gone!"
For a while, the both of them looked almost incredulous at the sudden interruption, before Caleb huffed out a laugh.
"Patience is a virtue, you know."
"Then stop fooling around with your girl and c'mere! Seriously… Who serves dessert as an appetizer?!"
"It's not the worst idea in the world…"
"Zayne!"
Caleb rolled his eyes, before looking back to Miki with a grin.
"C'mere, pip-squeak."
She gasped as she felt herself lifted weightless up from the floor, before she crashed right into his arms. Instantly, he peppered her face with kisses.
"I—mmfph— C-Caleb, wai—!"
He laughed, placing one last peck on the tip of her nose. "There. Now you won't miss me too bad, right? If we're lucky…" He stood up and offered his hand, not before giving her a cheeky little wink. "You'll get way more than that when they're all gone."
"Caleb!"
"Haha. C'mon, help me finish this dish before we get back out there."
That was the last time they'd spent time together for the next three weeks.
It was torture, almost. Texts, and calls, and letters would do what they would do—but even so, Miki couldn't deny that craving his presence was something that things like that just couldn't solve.
On the third week, she'd received a summon at headquarters on a very urgent notice. Another weekend she'd be unable to travel to Skyhaven, and another mission she needed to focus on. Another quick message, another "Don't do anythin' reckless, alright, angel?"
And if she could think that the sudden influx of Wanderers the past week had been trying to keep them apart… It was a silly thought, but one she grumbled with on the inside anyway.
Still, they'd made their way to the location by early morning.
The forest stretched endlessly beyond the clearing—dense black trees tangled together beneath a dim blue sky, the morning mist curling low around their boots. A rusted warning sign hung crooked near the entrance to the trail:
NO-HUNT ZONE #45 — RESTRICTED ACCESS
Someone had spray-painted over half the lettering years ago.
Star immediately pulled her jacket tighter around herself. "Okay," she announced, staring into the trees, "this place is sooo haunted."
"It’s four in the morning," Nymeria yawned. "Everything feels haunted at four in the morning."
"No like, seriously! Look at this!" Star gestured dramatically toward the woods. "This is where people hear whispering and then die."
"Did you stay up watching a horror movie, or something…? Look, it'll only be ominous if you think about it. Personally, I'm choosing optimism!"
"Riiight… Only a member of the Alpha Team can ever be optimistic about this…"
Delia cleared her throat.
"Well, optimism, as Nym said, in this case is in the fact that this is only classified as a retrieval mission." She gave a light tap on Star's shoulder, before she offered the girl a reassuring smile. "We're avoiding as much unnecessary combat as possible. So… Don't worry, Star. We'll keep you safe."
"Yeah, and anyway! How long has it been since all four of us got assigned the same place?! Almost a shame Xavier couldn't make it! Right, Del?"
"…Xavier is dealing with fluctuations elsewhere."
Miki simply let out a sigh as she looked further ahead into the forest.
It wasn't often that they were assigned missions in No-Hunt Zones, but she had come to dread the very few times that they were.
"No matter how many times we've been briefed on missions like this, the No-Hunt Zones really are scary…" she murmured.
"See! See! Miks, you totally get it!"
What's more…
Miki ignored the way Star had clung to her arm, and warily fastened the strap of her gloves tighter around her wrists.
Though it should go without saying that if the Data Analysis team had picked up faint signals of an aether core in this forest, it wouldn't be a normal forest… Still, the air felt strange in this place. A slight glance at Delia told her their leader had felt the exact same thing, and it did little to quell her unease.
She closed her eyes briefly, letting herself listen. And there, beneath the rustle of leaves and distant birdsong, she felt a faint, pulsing rhythm.
An aether core shouldn't feel like that… should it?
"Miki?"
She blinked, and looked up.
Delia had been watching her carefully. "Do you sense anything?"
"Um… kind of. Not what we're looking for, I don't think, but… There's definitely something in there…"
Star groaned dramatically. "I'm like, seriously not built for the things you guys do!"
"Sorry, Star… But, um, if the worst happens, then we'll really need your evol…"
"But Xavier isn't here to teleport us out of here!"
"Chill, girl, it'll help us escape regardless!"
"Ugh…"
Once again, Delia cleared her throat, and tapped her watch once. "Focus. Let's review the plan one more time."
Everyone gathered closer instinctively.
"The Protocore signal was gathered to be strongest near the center," Delia explained. "We enter through the east path here—" she gestured toward the narrow trail disappearing into the trees, "—avoid the deeper Wanderer nests we know of, retrieve the core, and then leave before dusk. Ideally."
"Simple," Nymeria nodded.
"Simple to say…" Star whined.
Delia ignored them both.
"Nym, you'll stay front-line if we encounter resistance. Star, keep visibility support and monitor injuries." Her gaze shifts toward Miki then, gentler. "Miki, conserve your resonance where you can. Don't overuse it. You have me here as well."
Miki nodded obediently. "Okay."
Delia studied her face for a moment longer, almost as if she wanted to ask something else, but seemed to abandon the thought after another few seconds. Instead, she stepped back and unsheathed one of her pistols with a smooth click.
"Alright," she said, letting out a slow breath. "We've got this. Okay?"
"We've got this…!"
The four of them nodded resolutely at each other, and Delia gestured forward.
"Let's move."
Step. Step. Crunch.
It was Star who'd almost jumped at the sound of a branch snapping into half.
"Ohmigod! If you could just, like, I dunno! Walk carefully!" She whisper-yelled, to no one in particular.
Miki, who had stepped on the branch, offered her a sheepish smile. "Sorry…"
"Star, literally relax. We've been walking here for hours and there haven't been any Wanderers. Don't kill the good vibe!"
"Mm… but that's a little bit of the problem."
Behind them, Delia had paused her footsteps, and turning towards her Miki could catch the faint trace of a frown.
Because they had been walking for hours.
The three of them who knew No-Hunt Zones from deeper experience also knew one thing—that something like that shouldn't be normal.
"Okay, but don't scare our resident scaredy-cat…" Nymeria sighed.
Still, Delia shared a look with Miki, who could only shudder at the memory of getting lost in a forest much like this one.
And Miki could see it in her eyes. Delia had been using her resonance more frequently than she had, and she was certain she'd sensed something she wasn't quite voicing out.
"Del," she said softly, "what did you sense?"
"That's… the thing. Nothing at all, Miki. Isn't that… weird?"
Miki glanced around.
The forest was quiet, and they'd been following the same narrow trail that had been outlined on their map. The mist—sticky, and unfrendly, and not at all soothing the way Star's was—seemed to thicken the further in that they traveled, swallowing the morning light that peeked in through the canopy until everything became all muted silver and shadow.
Hand to her chest, her eyes closed. Resonance extended in waves, listening, feeling for any sort of signal—
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
A gasp, and she withdrew, a slight stinging pain in her head drawing her out of it.
"Miki? What is it?" Delia rushed to her in concern, and Miki held her head with her gaze drawn to the floor.
"I… I don't know. It's the same thing as earlier. There's something, but I… I can't place it. Even the rhythm is unstable, a-and I can't read it, it keeps—"
"Okay. It's okay. Relax."
Immediately Delia placed a hand over hers, enough for Miki to pause, remember the beating rhythm of her own heart.
Right… Relax…
Nymeria glanced around, before taking another step forward. "Well… Didn't we already know the readings were distorted, though? Maybe it's really just like that."
"But…"
"It'll be fine!"
Both Miki and Star looked to Delia next, who sighed and followed suit. "Let's stick with the plan. There's no point in moping about what-ifs now."
And yet, the deeper they walked, the heavier the pressure that built in Miki's chest.
With small, testing little bouts of resonance, she heard the wind through the branches, the soft vibration of Delia's footsteps, the nervous heartbeat of Star's, Nymeria's heavier stride ahead of them.
Ah—
Miki's eyes widened.
Almost simultaneously, their watches beeped collectively with a reading, and Miki's gaze moved upward.
"A… Above!"
A shriek tore through the forest, and the trees exploded with movement. A Wanderer lunged from the mist above, so fast it barely even looked real, all jagged limbs and twisting black mass—Miki didn't even know what this one was. In that moment, she suddenly wished she had Nero to contact easily.
Nevertheless, Nymeria took action quickly.
A clean, precise strike easily cut the Wanderer in half.
"Three incoming. Left flank." Delia raised a pistol smoothly as more movement flashed through the fog ahead, and shots cracked sharply through the trees.
Two Wanderers dropped instantly.
"Star! Last one's heading—"
"Come to me!"
Star shrieked and scrambled back as the remaining Wanderer made a lunge towards her, but before it could reach her, the sound of Miki's voice seemed to halt its movements. In the next second, its head snapped almost eerily in Miki's direction—taking a better look at it, this one seemed larger than the ones they'd just defeated.
Is this the leader of these Wanderers…?
She broke off into a sprint, clearly leading the Wanderer in her own path now that it had locked onto her.
"Nymeria, it's yours!"
The girl's sword flashed in a clean silver arc, and the Wanderer collapsed instantly at her feet.
And their watches beeped.
Again.
And again.
And again.
"There's… m-more?"
Back to back, the four of them regrouped, finding themselves face-to-face with numerous glowing, red gazes. Five first, then eight… ten… twelve…
More.
Star grit her teeth. "Um, so, do any of you know what these things are?!"
"They they look like Knaves, almost…"
"They're definitely not, though. They're not as agile." Delia spoke with certainty in her voice as they approached, and she gripped her pistols tightly. "They're not attacking, either, it's almost like they're…"
"Observing?" Miki pursed her lips into a thin line. "I-it's odd... Even if they were Knaves, just why are there so many of them? They're easy enough for us to kill, but with this number…"
Grimly, Nymeria let out a short laugh. "Well. Good thing they aren't Knaves, huh? Those ones work pretty badly with you, Miks. Your resonance barely works against those things."
Miki nodded with a sigh.
"Dellie, your call! What do we do?"
And it was true that this wasn't quite unusual work for them. As members of the UNICONRS sector, they were some of the most capable Hunters out there. The fact was—they weren't assigned retrieval missions like this because they were easy, they were assigned them because they could survive things that other teams couldn't.
That had always been what it meant to be part of this sector.
And these Wanderers—if the number had ended with what they could see, Miki knew they could take it.
Keyword: If.
"Del… There'll be more," she whispered. "I can…"
"Sense them?" she grit her teeth. "Yeah. I can, too. But we don't have much of a choice when we're surrounded. Star can't use her evol to get us out of here like this, so…"
Delia took in a deep breath.
"Formation!"
The command snapped through the clearing immediately, and Miki inhaled slowly.
Come and get me.
The effect was immediate. On resonance, several of the Wanderers shifted abruptly towards her instead of the others, movements jerking unnaturally as though something inside them had been hooked, and pulled. Miki exhaled. She broke out into another run, gathering a group behind her.
Three of them. No… Five. Six…
"Right side!" Delia called.
Gunfire cracked sharply through the woods. Wind spiraled around the bullets mid-flight, curving their trajectories cleanly through two Wanderers at once before Nymeria surged forward to meet the next wave head-on.
Steel flashed silver. Shrieks tore around them.
And yet, they didn't stop.
Miki ducked beneath jagged claws and slashed upward cleanly through its torso before it hit the ground, but the moment it died, three more seemed to replace it.
Too fast.
Too many.
More movement surged through the mist, and in this moment, Miki felt every weight of Star's words to be true—there was no one to teleport them out of the forest, and every path of possible exit had been completely blocked off. They couldn't advance, and they couldn't retreat.
It was unusual.
Despite being in a No-Hunt-Zone, the difficulty of this mission hadn't been rated high enough for the kind of struggle they were dealing with.
"To your left, Star!" Delia shouted.
"Got it!"
Nymeria swore under her breath at the newest wave surging forward. Metal spikes erupted violently from the earth around her, skewering two Wanderers instantly—but another lunged past the opening she created.
Straight toward Delia.
Miki moved without thinking.
"Delia!"
The Wanderer jerked off-course at her voice, attention violently redirected toward Miki instead, and she intercepted it cleanly before it reached the others—
Pain stabbed behind her eyes. She staggered as her vision blurred, and even with a cry of her name and a wave of healing from Star's wand, she winced at the sharp stinging remaining in her head.
Ah…? Why am I…?
Beep. Beep. Beep.
All four of them froze then. A momentary glance at their watches made Miki's blood run cold, even as she caught her breath and regrouped once more with the team.
The reading was abnormally high.
But it was more than that.
She'd try, once more, to resonate—and that pulsing turned into a thrum. Rhythmic, synchronized—Miki didn't know if Delia could sense the same thing, but she was almost certain that it wasn't a coincidence they'd gotten cornered like this.
Was this really a mission to retrieve a Protocore…?
"It… it feels like a trap," she murmured. "But why would…?"
"If I were to guess?!" Star gripped her wand tighter with both hands, gritting teeth, "We kinda have all three of you with something Ever wants!"
Miki, Delia, and Nymeria all looked at each other with grave expressions.
"Well. This sucks."
But if this was orchestrated, then even the mission level…
Another pulse of pain tore suddenly through Miki’s chest.
She flinched hard enough to double over, a sharp, ringing sound echoing in her head.
What…?
"Miki! Are you okay?!"
"I… something’s wrong…"
The Wanderers stepped forward almost in unison. Every single gaze locked directly onto her.
"…Uh… Hey, Miks… Why are they focusing on you?"
Miki didn’t know.
The ringing in her head resounded louder.
I… don't…
Another shriek split through the forest.
"We have to move!"
Delia's voice remained commanding, yet still as calm at it ever was. Miki knew she was right.
Focus.
She needed to focus.
Just draw their attention exactly as she'd been doing, let the team get their attacks in while it's distracted…
Another turned.
Then another.
"Miki!"
"Miki, stop pulling them all at once, that's too much for you!"
Huh…? But…
The Wanderers' frenzying towards her only intensified. Their movements became erratic; desperate, almost, practically shoving past each other to reach her first.
Ah, but I have to… I have to kill…
I have…
Miki stumbled backward after a strike as another spike of pain ripped through her chest. The ringing in her head grew louder.
Behind her, Star dropped to one knee suddenly, breathing unevenly as panic clawed violently through her chest for reasons she couldn’t explain. Delia's hands shook as she made a shot, bullet completely missing its mark. Nymeria, losing balance, tripped over a branch as she let out a cry of fear she didn't understand.
Her resonance extended in pressured waves. Her chest hurt so badly—Why did it hurt so badly?
Another Wanderer lunged. Miki cut it down instantly. But by now all their voices blurred, and her vision had narrowed down into shades of red.
She needed to protect them. That was what she needed to do, right? Why should she stop resonating? She needed to do more of it.
If they looked at her, they wouldn't bother anyone else.
Miki could kill them.
Killing was easy.
Killing was so, so, so, so, easy.
Killing was…
"M- Miki!"
Someone grabbed her wrist.
Killing…
Was incredibly, incredibly easy.
Nymeria was thrown backward hard enough to slam against a tree, and in the same moment, the Wanderer in front of her was cut down in an instant.
The world in her eyes clouded darkly.
Another one.
Another one.
Miki's body moved instinctively as one by one the threats began to vanish, but she could barely register her own surroundings. Her head rang with voices she couldn't recognize; her chest twisted with a searing pain that fought with the bloodlust raging through her heart.
It hurts…
No. I need to do more.
This pain… Why won't it stop?
Doesn't matter.
I want to cry. It's too much, I can't take it…
More. I need to kill more of them.
I can't…
I can't… Protect anyone, if I…
If…
Miki was long gone.
The three of them watched in astonishment at the scene in front of them; watched, in both horror and concern tangled up into one, and the Wanderers stopped converging. Less, and less, seemed to surge through the forest. Sure, though injured, the three of them had continued fighting beside her, supporting her from the edges of the battlefield as Miki tore through the swarm at the center.
But…
When the last of them fell, the forest didn't fall to silence.
Clang.
Miki's sword plunged down again. The final Wanderer was at her feet.
Clang.
Again.
Clang.
Again.
Delia’s chest tightened painfully as she watched. That Wanderer had already stopped moving several strikes ago. Yet now, Miki remained kneeling over it, trembling with every hoarse sob that tore from her throat. Her hands shook so badly that the blade would slip before driving downward again, and across from her, Star sat pale and terrified, one hand pressed over her own mouth.
"She… She doesn't know it's over," she whispered.
Nymeria swore quietly under her breath as she pushed herself upright. Blood streaked down her side beneath torn fabric, but her gaze never left Miki. "Miks," she called carefully, voice roughened from pain. "Miks, hey… You can stop now…"
Miki’s shoulders jerked violently at the sound.
For one awful moment, Delia thought she might lash out again. Instead—another broken sob tore from her chest.
And the sword came down again.
Clang.
Star flinched.
"Miki, c'mon…"
Delia stood, taking slow, cautious steps towards her friend—because what else could she do? The air was heavy enough to make her own chest ache with emotions that weren't hers. And if she could feel it this strongly, just… how horrible must it be inside Miki's own mind right now? Closer, she could see how unfocused Miki’s eyes had become. Wide, and glassy, and filled with terror. Her gaze was fixed somewhere far beyond the scene in front of her, trapped, almost, inside a nightmare that none of them could reach.
Delia hated that she couldn’t reach it.
"Dellie… What are you doing?"
Star had caught the movement then.
The tranquilizer that each of them carried—emergency purposes, and meant largely for enemies rather than allies—
Delia reached to her belt, murmured an apology to the girl before her that she loved dearly.
"Delia, wait—!"
"No. I don't want to watch her to destroy herself."
"But—!"
With a quick, decisive movement, the needle stabbed into Miki's neck.
"We're leaving. Star, clear a path for us."
First, the dull ache in her eyes. A thrum that radiated to the back of her head, bruising, pressed deep beneath her skull.
Then came the sharp spikes of pain. Her legs, first, then her arm.
And then there was—
Warmth.
Miki's consciousness returned slowly.
She felt soft blankets tucked around her body, heard the faint hum of medical equipment somewhere nearby. The smell of antiseptic lingered in the air, and her lashes fluttered weakly before she managed to open her eyes.
White ceiling.
Dim lighting.
Huh…? Is this… Akso Hospital?
For a few quiet seconds, Miki simply stared upward in confusion, thoughts moving sluggishly through the haze in her head.
The forest… The Wanderers…
Miki's eyes widened.
Her body jerked upright too quickly, pain immediately zipping through her head hard enough to make her gasp and hold her head.
"Miki!"
Hands caught her shoulders gently before she could fall.
Star’s voice.
Miki blinked rapidly, vision swimming as she looked around properly for the first time.
They were all there.
Star beside the bed, Nymeria sitting stiffly against the wall with fresh bandaging visible beneath her half-open jacket. Delia was closest to her, one hand still steadying Miki carefully by the shoulders.
Relief flashed visibly across all three of their faces the moment they realized she was awake.
And yet, somehow… That only made everything worse.
The memories crashed into her all at once. Resonance. Panic. That dark, abysmal feeling of losing herself in something so foreign.
Miki’s expression crumpled instantly.
"Oh… O-oh, no…"
Her voice broke. Her hands flew shakily to her mouth as the full horror of it all seemed to hit her.
"I—"
The next breath left her as a sob.
"W-what have I done…?"
"M-Miki! Wait, girl, listen—"
"I hurt you!" Miki answered herself helplessly, voice rising with panic. "I-I hurt you, didn't I?! I couldn’t stop, and I couldn’t— I couldn’t hear any of you, and I—"
Another sob tore from her chest hard enough to make her curl forward.
The pain in her body no longer mattered; her chest hurt far worse. Images kept flashing behind her eyes no matter how hard she tried to stop them: Nymeria being thrown backward, and Star’s terrified expression…
She'd lost it, hadn't she?
She'd completely lost it, and they must all be terrified of her.
She was terrified of herself.
She was…
She…
"W… What's wrong with me?!"
"Miki."
This time, it was Delia who spoke.
Calm, and soft, and gentle—Miki knew the sound of her voice well.
"Nothing's wrong with you, Miki."
"But… b-but there—" she sniffled, "there is, I…! I-I put all of you in danger because, because i got too ahead of myself and—!"
She pressed trembling hands against her face.
"I-I thought I was protecting everyone…"
The shame in her voice made Star’s eyes immediately fill with tears too.
"You were trying to protect us!" Star said quickly. "I mean, Miki, you literally saved us!"
"No…" Miki shook her head harder. "No, no, I hurt you—"
"Miks, look at me."
Nymeria pushed herself upright, but Miki couldn’t. She couldn’t bear to.
"I’m okay," Nymeria said firmly. "Seriously. You didn’t do that on purpose. I mean, you had crazy strength, yeah! But I know you didn't mean to do it."
But I still did.
Miki's head hung. The room blurred through tears. She couldn’t get the feeling out of her head—that awful moment where everyone had stopped looking like people and instead started looking like threats.
And how easily it had happened.
What if it happened again? What if all she was good for was putting the people she loved in danger? What if all this time, she's been a liability to the association and what it meant to be a Hunter, and she simply shouldn't—
There was the sound of footsteps. Quick ones, then voices.
"S-sir! Please wait, she's still slee—"
"If she's not yet awake, then I'll stay with her."
"But sir! Visiting hours are—"
"It's okay, let him go."
"Dr. Greyson!"
"It's okay! Well, he's from the Fleet, and… He's listed as her emergency contact. Anyway, her condition's stable, and I let her friends stay. Right now, what she needs the most is support."
The door opened.
Outside, Dr. Greyson poked his head in and gave the girls a sheepish smile, before allowing the newest visitor to step inside.
Miki lifted her head weakly.
Oh…
Caleb stood in the doorway, still clothed in his uniform, dark coat slightly worn as if he'd rushed here without a second thought. For one brief moment, Miki saw it—the slight crack in his expression, the fear in his eyes that he'd allowed to slip through before he grit his teeth.
"…Angel," he whispered.
Miki's bottom lip trembled.
The girls stepped back to give them some space, and the moment Caleb walked over towards her, her voice dissolved into another sob.
"C-Caleb… Caleb, I…!"
His composure—that polished, controlled image of the Farspace Fleet's Colonel—had already fractured around the edges. And by the time he'd reached her bedside, it was gone entirely.
"Hey, hey…" His voice came out low and tinged with worry, but… soft. Grounding. "Easy, pips. Easy."
Caleb crouched beside the bed, one hand cradling the side of her face carefully, almost as if afraid she’d disappear if he held too tightly.
And, god—his touch felt familiar.
So warm, and so steady, and so....
Real.
Miki let out a broken sound and grabbed desperately at the front of his uniform.
"I… I-I’m sorry!" she sobbed. "I’m sorry, I-I hurt them, and I… I didn’t mean to—”
"I know."
"B-but I couldn’t stop it—"
"I know."
Her breathing kept hitching painfully between sobs.
The others stayed quiet behind them now, instinctively giving space as Caleb focused entirely on Miki like the rest of the room had disappeared.
"You’re okay," he murmured softly.
But Miki shook her head violently.
"No! No, I’m not, I can't be—"
"Yes, you are."
His thumb brushed gently beneath one eye, wiping them away with slow care. "Look at me, angel."
And Miki tried.
Her vision had blurred far too much to focus properly, and tears streamed down her cheeks. She felt it—she must look so pathetic in front of him like this.
"I need you breathin' with me, okay? C'mon. In…" He inhaled slowly. Miki’s breathing, on the other hand, stuttered unevenly as she tried to follow his lead.
"That’s it," he whispered. "Good girl. Again."
And Caleb kept one hand against her cheek, while the other rubbed slow circles against her back through the blanket. It was that same voice he used, that same gesture whenever she was overwhelmed. Caleb knew exactly how to anchor her, remind her what safety felt like again.
Safety.
She felt safe with him.
She had always… lways, felt safe with him.
And Caleb looked at her, saw her eyes red and swollen from crying, saw the exhaustion and weariness evident in her features.
But even worse—she looked afraid of herself. Broken apart by overwhelming guilt, of this thing that she was capable of. And for one horrible instant, another image overlapped the scene in front of him—Miki at five years old, shaking after an experiment. Miki at six, crying silently into his shirt because something hurt and she couldn't understand why. Miki, reaching for him every, single, time.
Except this time, he hadn’t been there.
He should have been there.
If he’d been there, he would've noticed her resonance destabilizing much earlier. He would’ve pulled her out of it before it escalated. He would’ve—
Caleb closed his eyes.
Miki had her hand fisted into the front of his uniform, desperate to keep him there, or desperate for physical proof that he was there.
This time, right now, he was with her.
"Caleb…" she sniffled.
"Mm?"
"W-what if… What if it happens again…?"
Something in his chest twisted, first. When he looked into her eyes, he saw fear nd hope coalescing into one.
Then he leaned forward until their foreheads touched gently.
"If it happens again," he said softly, "then we figure it out together."
…Together.
Miki liked that promise, she always had. And she knew he didn’t keep them very often—somewhere in the back of her mind she could recal every single promise to her that he'd broken, but she didn't care.
She liked that promise.
She wanted to believe in it this time.
Maybe it was her own selfish wish to keep him with her, that she wanted to believe in it this time.
But she looked into his eyes, melted into the small, soft kiss he placed onto her lips.
Caleb… could you be sure to never leave me alone long enough for it to happen again?
She wished that she could say it out loud.
Miki would be discharged tomorrow.
That was what the nurses had promised, at least, if only to get the girls themselves away from Miki after their extended visiting hours had ended, and with a promise—they would come back.
Delia had been the last to leave, after a reassuring squeeze of her hand, and a pointed look in Caleb's direction.
He'd been allowed to stay overnight on the basis of being family.
Now, night had fallen, and Caleb had slipped into something much more comfortable before sitting at the edge of her bed, turned towards her to comb through her hair with his fingers.
Moonlight sifted in through the curtains. Stars seemed to glitter in the sky from where she could see them. The hospital was quiet at this hour…
And Miki's gaze drifted absentmindedly to the window.
It was a while before Caleb let out a soft little breath of a laugh. "Y'know, you always did like lookin' at the sky."
"…Mn. It's, um… because of you, though."
"Yeah?"
Miki smiled faintly.
"When we were little." Her voice softened. "You used to tell me about all the places you'd visit someday."
The corners of Caleb's mouth twitched.
"I remember."
"And… You said you'd bring me along to see the whole world."
"I was, uh, a very ambitious twelve-year-old."
That earned a tiny laugh from her. Miki could remember that day clearly—Caleb had aways been fond of saying such grand things to her, and she would believe them, because how could she not? When they were kids, they could dream as big as they wanted to. The world did feel like something they could hold in their hands, so long as they were together.
She tore her gaze back from the window, and leaned back into Caleb's chest.
"It's okay if you can't keep that promise," she said quietly. "I… I think it's enough for me, anything is enough for me, whenever you're here with me."
She picked at a loose thread on her hospital gown.
Even when I don't know what I really am…
If you're here with me like this, then isn't it all… Okay?
That was what Miki wanted to believe.
If logic didn't exist back then, she didn't see why it had to in this very moment.
I just… really want him to…
"… Y'know, pips, whenever I'm up there, I always wonder what you're doin'."
Miki blinked, looked back up at him slowly.
With a shrug, he added, "Sometimes I see a sunset and think you'd like it. Or… I'll pass over some little part of Skyhaven I haven't brought you to yet, and I'd wonder if you'd write a song about it if you got to see it." A small smile appeared. "Aaand if you would, it'd probably make me cry."
Miki laughed weakly.
"You are such a liar."
"What? Your music does too make me cry!"
"I haven't ever seen that happen, and you sit front row at my shows!"
"What can i say? Sometimes I'm good at hidin' it!"
"Caleb!"
A louder laugh, this time, and she used a fraction of strength to playfully shove at his shoulder.
Caleb grinned.
And outside, the sky stretched endlessly beyond the glass, all dark blues and silvers, and a world much more vast than they'd ever dreamed of.
"But, y'know… it's all still one sky, Miks."
She looked at him carefully.
"The sky's really big. Even bigger, out there in the Tunnel. But… it's still the same, right? The sky over Skyhaven's just the same sky over Linkon. Fact is, if that sky makes you think of me, then it's always been the same for me. And if that's the sky we'll always be under, then that also makes us connected, all the time."
Caleb chuckled, shifted just to tuck her in properly against him and help her relax. "In one way or another, I guess our horizons just always keep meetin' somewhere."
Miki stayed silent for a moment after that.
The thought was there—that they counted the same stars each night, that the sun that rose to greet them happened to be the very same one each evening. She liked that idea. And she knew it was another little way of his to reassure her that everything will be alright, even if…
Even if…
Her gaze dropped.
"You have to leave tonight, don't you?" she whispered.
"…Angel—"
"No, I… I know. Y-you rushed here when you weren't really supposed to, and they must be paging you back, and…"
"Miki, hey."
She sniffled, looked back at him.
"Just… a few more days. I wish I could stay 'til you're discharged tomorrow, but I'll be back when everything's all settled. I promise."
"Will you keep that promise…?"
"I'll do my best to."
I don't like being apart from you.
"And, hey. I owe you a movie night, right?"
If we didn't have to live such different lives, I could just stay by your side always.
Caleb leaned in, pressed a quiet kiss into her hair.
"You need to get some rest, pip-squeak. I'll stay by your side at least until then, so don't worry about it."
"…I don't like you," she murmured, half-heartedly. "You're mean, and you leave me all the time, and I don't know when I can see you next…"
But she closed her eyes.
Instead of continuing that thought, she turned and buried herself into his arms, smelled that same, familiar scent of strawberries.
Even today, he wore her perfume.
And she knew he hated every second he was away from her just as much as she hated hers.
"Since you promised you wouldn't let me go through what happened today alone, then I'll believe you. So… Come back safely, okay?"
"Mm. Your wish is my command, angel."
☁️; — this might be a more miki-centric fic than other appleberry fics i've written, but,,,, also i think that's what made this difficult for me to write akjfnvdf. but it did give me the opportunity to write in more about miki's evol, which is great !! there's something terrifying about the true extent of your own powers being such a secret to you as its user, and then that 'true extent' being extremely destructive… i kind of wish they explored more of that feeling in canon, especially since mc goes through so much grief and then has to deal with finding that out while, you know,, all this time she's been working in a profession that's supposed to help people…..
neway . i wanted this to look into how all that would affect miki, but also her relationships with the people she cares about… and what that means for caleb especially given their long-distance setup and the things he already knows. this might have been a difficult fic to write out properly but im really glad its done and,,, after being so upset with my writing for several months on end, i think i can say that i might actually be kinda proud of this one. akdjghvjdf
this was an important fic for me to finish before i write their birthday fic !!!!!!!! a very important setup !!! BC IM. MAKING A PROMISE TO MYSELF. to finish a few chronological fics before that and Then finish the birthday fic !!!!!!! in time !!!!!!!!!! not late !!!!!!!! I WILL DO IT. I CAN DO IT. FOR THEM I WILL
just started playing this game and my friend from another fandom told me this game has porn...
Depends on how you see it, I suppose.
There are movies that have nudity and sex. And there are movies that are just sex.
In Lads case, there is no female nudity involved and in terms of the men, they're topless.
Personally, for me, I don't see it as porn. There's a lot, and I mean a lot of story before it gets to that point. And it isn't a regular. It can feel fan servicey but I like fan service. It's no different than reading erotica in a book, or watching a TV show/movie that has a small sex scene or two in the middle.
At the end of the day, it depends on what you are comfortable with and how you see things as.
I have no idea who you are but I am eternally grateful for you ! I have been playing the game for over a year now I dont know who my main is I started with sylus then moved to caleb then now zayne again sylus but your head cannons and heartbreak anniversary series just ...it made me feel so sad but also made me understand a lot of things. I have modeled my mc after mc but I am not so strong doing push ups fighting wanders and stuff two flights of stairs i am panting. I always felt insecure and .....I used ego to cover it up but the way you laid everything out the men desires their love and needs and how i can be me thank you ! I am not really sure but your words were so beautiful and loved all your posts !
(sorry if there is too many spelling mistakes wanted it to be honest and wrote to fast ..but also did not want to edit it )
How I woke up and read this.
Anon, you made my week. Ahhhh.
I spiritually felt it in my bones. Stairs and me are not friends 😭😭 and trust me, these men will love you just fine. They love you for you.
And trust me, even if you aren't physically strong, you have strength in other areas and you should be proud of that! 💕
I don't understand how people don't see that GenAI is pure theft. It's not a moral discussion. It's a fact.
The people behind this so-called "tool" have clearly stated that the LLM models clearly scour through available content online to learn and replicate to generate content. It's not a creative medium. There has been a lot of research on how AI cannot understand or replicate human emotion which is the core of any form of art.
You, claiming that you don't see it that way is a standalone perspective not based on fact. It just helps you feel better about stealing someone else's creativity and changing it enough to make it seem like it's your own.
If it were merely a tool, we wouldn't see writers, artists, actors, photographers actively protest and demand for AI legislations to protect their work.
And this is just about intellectual property infringement.
Let's not forget about the environmental and social impact of using AI to make your favorite character behave the way you want him/her/them to. Data centers are harming neighborhoods they're around. There's also an active technological crisis with RAMS, SSDs and CPUs making it very hard for technology to actually be affordable and the effects of this crisis will trickle down from industries to people. If making tech gets expensive because of these core components, companies will offset the costs by making their products and services more expensive, firing people, cutting corners.
So no, your AI generated content isn't creativity. It's exploitation on every front.
by the way fuck @ninaskyveter get off fucking tumblr stop fucking using ai. i would reblog one of their posts with this but i don't even want to give them the engagement. ai doesn't belong to fandom spaces, much less lads, and you're even stealing artist's art to put them through image generation. from the bottom of my heart: fuck you. you're part of the reason why the planet is going to hell. i hope you and every person who liked your posts gets their internet cut off forever. learn to have imagination.
by the way fuck @ninaskyveter get off fucking tumblr stop fucking using ai. i would reblog one of their posts with this but i don't even want to give them the engagement. ai doesn't belong to fandom spaces, much less lads, and you're even stealing artist's art to put them through image generation. from the bottom of my heart: fuck you. you're part of the reason why the planet is going to hell. i hope you and every person who liked your posts gets their internet cut off forever. learn to have imagination.
I am going to take a hiatus until the end of July for this blog.
I may upload small drabbles here and there that have already been written but I am not going to promise anything.
I usually don't announce if I am on a break but I've been feeling guilty about slacking off and overall haven't been feeling too confident about how I've been writing in general. In order to make it easier for myself, I've decided to define this break as an official break so I don't feel super guilty and anxious about it.
I'll be putting my old work in the queue so that it gets reposted.
Meanwhile, I'll be semi active on @fictionally-attached
"You blush from your ears," you tell Sylus, like you're presenting him with groundbreaking knowledge. "It's never from your cheeks first, always your ears."
Sylus blinks, resisting the sudden urge to touch his ears.
"I don't blush at all, sweetie."
You hum, eyes sparkling mischievously.
"Of course you don't, oh big bad leader of Onychinus."
That small taunt earns you a soft swat to the bottom which you easily evade, delighted giggles pouring from your lips.
"Brat," he murmurs around a smile as you wink at him. "One usually has evidence along with their accusations."
You don't reply to that, don't say a single word but you look thoughtful and Sylus instantly knows that he's gotten himself into trouble.
The next morning, Sylus walks into the living room and stops right in his tracks when he's greeted by a blown up image of his face. The shot has been taken at just the right angle to show one of his ears. His ear which is flushed a deep red, the striking colour bleeding into the pale of his cheek.
Sylus stares at this photo for a long time, long enough for you to stroll into the living room with two mugs of coffee in hand. You pass him one, smiling victoriously when he silently accepts it.
"You asked for proof." Is all you say before you're sipping from your mug like the winner you are.
Sylus doesn't know whether to be proud, irritated or aroused.
tiny LI comfort audio concept I can’t stop thinking about:
you come home overstimulated and exhausted, and he notices before you even say anything.
not dramatic. not a huge plot. just him lowering his voice, guiding you to sit down, telling you to breathe with him, maybe teasing you gently for pretending you’re fine, then getting softer when he realizes you really needed comfort☺️
the kind of scene where nothing “big” happens but somehow you feel held the whole time.
I would fold instantly tbh 😭
A tiny early waitlist for a personalized LI voice comfort audio/ASMR idea I’m building for otome game players, Love and Deepspace girlies, a
Just no. Don't do this. Don't support this. No VA/artist/actor has consented to having their voice, art, face used by LLMs and this is just wrong on many levels.
There's no respectful, transparent way to do this when no LLM model is transparent in itself. People have pointed it out and you have blocked them. That shows this isn't about being respectful. It's about you getting your instant gratification.
And to those who are supporting this? You're as much a part of the problem as OP is.
Doing this is also insulting to people who painstakingly snip audio lines of LIs from the game and create content by using those snippets in different contexts.
Keep the generative AI stuff away from fandom spaces.
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, insecurities, food descriptions, alcohol consumption, mild angst
Author's note: In this fic, his name is going to be his Chinese name, Qin Che because it fits the theme.. Same goes for the twins. I used their Chinese names.
If you enjoy my writing and want to support me, you can buy me a Ko-fi! ☕
⮘ CHAPTER TWO🏮 CHAPTER LIST 🏮 CHAPTER FOUR⮚
From The Same Cup
By evening, the estate had begun to feel less like a place you were trespassing through and more like something you were slowly learning to move within, though never quite belonging to. You had memorized the path from your pavilion to the inner gardens, learned which corridors curved back into themselves, and discovered which quiet alcoves remained undisturbed even during the busiest hours of the day. Yet every so often, you would still pause at the threshold of some hall or courtyard and feel that faint, disorienting awareness return that this place was not built for people like you, and that you had been permitted into it rather than having earned your place within it.
It was near sunset when a servant finally came for you.
The sky beyond the open corridors had turned a muted gold, the kind of fading light that softened the sharp edges of the estate and made even the dark stone pathways appear warm. The servant bowed politely and informed you that the Autarch requested your presence in the eastern pavilion.
You followed.
The eastern pavilion was quieter than the others you had seen, set slightly apart from the main courtyards and overlooking a narrow stretch of water that fed into the larger canal system beyond the estate walls. The doors were already open when you arrived, and inside, lamplight cast a soft glow over polished wood floors and low lacquered tables.
Qin Che sat by the window.
He was already at ease, one leg folded beneath him, the other bent casually as his sleeve slipped back just enough to reveal his wrist. Between you and him lay a carved board set neatly upon a low table, its grid marked in dark ink, the pieces arranged with deliberate precision.
You recognized the game after a moment.
“Shogi?” you asked as you stepped inside.
He glanced up briefly, his gaze flicking over you before returning to the board. “You know it.”
“I’ve seen it played,” you replied, lowering yourself onto the cushion across from him. “But I haven't played it myself.”
His lips curved faintly, though his attention remained on the pieces. “That won’t stop you.”
You watched as he lifted one piece between his fingers and set it down with quiet certainty, the soft click of wood against the board echoing faintly in the stillness of the room.
“Your move.”
You hesitated for a moment before reaching forward, selecting a piece and moving it with far less confidence. The difference in your approaches was immediately apparent. His movements were precise, economical, almost effortless, while yours required thought, second-guessing, and a faint tightening of your jaw each time you committed to a position.
“You hesitate too much,” he said without looking up, sliding another piece into place and capturing yours in the same motion.
“You move too quickly,” you returned, though the lack of conviction in your voice betrayed you.
“That’s because I already know where you’ll move next.”
You frowned. “That’s impossible.”
“Mm.” He leaned back slightly, one hand resting loosely against the table as he studied the board. “Try me, dear hero.”
You made your next move more deliberately, placing the piece with a quiet tap before looking up at him.
He did not immediately respond.
Instead, he shifted his gaze from the board to you, his expression thoughtful in a way that made you wary.
“Tell me about your sect,” he said.
You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change in topic. “My sect?”
“The Qinglian Yixin Sect,” he clarified, finally moving a piece and once again dismantling your position with unsettling ease. “You’ve mentioned it often enough. I’m curious what sort of place produces someone like you.”
You frowned slightly but answered nonetheless. “It is a place devoted to service. We are taught to aid the people, to heal where we can, and to act without expectation of reward.”
He made a soft sound of acknowledgment, though his expression did not change.
“And you live how?” he asked, capturing another of your pieces.
“Simply,” you replied. “We share dormitories, eat what is available, and train daily. Most of our resources go toward helping those in need.”
He glanced up at you then, one brow lifting slightly as though he had expected that response. “You give away your labor. You refuse compensation. You rely on scarcity as a form of virtue.” His fingers tapped lightly against the edge of the board. “I would call that poor resource management.”
“It is not about resources,” you insisted, leaning forward slightly. “It is about compassion.”
“And compassion feeds you how?” he asked calmly.
You had no answer that made sense to offer.
He tilted his head, watching you with that same quiet, infuriating patience.
“It does not,” you admitted reluctantly.
“Mm.”
He moved another piece. Your defenses collapsed further. You tried to salvage the position, shifting your remaining pieces into a more protective formation, but he dismantled it within three moves.
“You sound annoyed,” you said, narrowing your eyes at him.
“I am,” he replied without hesitation.
That caught you off guard. “Why?”
“Because,” he said, setting another piece down with a soft click, “you speak of sacrifice as though it is inherently noble, but all I hear is a system that ensures you remain perpetually exhausted and underfed.”
“That is not—”
“It is,” he interrupted smoothly. “And you accept it.”
“I chose it.”
“Did you?” His gaze sharpened slightly. “Or were you taught that choosing anything else would make you less worthy, less seen?”
The question lingered uncomfortably in your mind.
He leaned back again, folding his arms loosely. “You’re predictable, you know.”
“I am not.”
“You are.” His lips curved faintly. “You will defend your sect even when it fails you.”
“It does not fail me,” you said, more sharply than intended.
He hummed, clearly unconvinced.
Your attention shifted briefly when you noticed the cup in his hand.
It was small, made of fine porcelain, filled with a deep amber liquid that caught the lamplight in warm tones. When he lifted it to his lips, the scent reached you—sweet, rich, with a faint floral note that lingered in the air.
You tried not to stare but noticed immediately.
“You’ve never had it,” he said, more statement than question.
You looked away quickly. “It is wine.”
“Yes.”
“I have had medicinal wine,” you said after a moment. “When I was injured.”
He tilted the cup slightly, watching the liquid shift within it. “That’s not the same thing.”
“No,” you admitted.
He studied you for a second longer before extending the cup across the table toward you. “Try it.”
You froze. “…You drank from that.”
“Mm. There is only one cup,” he added mildly. “Unless you would like to summon the servants and have them fetch another.”
You hesitated because the thought of calling someone, of interrupting the efficiency of the estate for something so trivial, made your shoulders tense. He knew that and he knew the way you thought. Noble, trying to take up less space, prideful even when you need help. He was watching you too closely not to.
Your eyes narrowed slightly. “You did that on purpose.”
His smile was faint and entirely unapologetic. “I rarely do anything by accident.”
You exhaled sharply through your nose, then reached forward and took the cup from his hand. The porcelain was still warm where his fingers had been. You tried not to think about that as you lifted it carefully and took a small sip. The taste surprised you.
It was nothing like the harsh, bitter medicinal wine you had been given during injuries. This was smooth, almost velvety, with a sweetness that unfolded slowly across your tongue before deepening into something richer, more complex.
Warmth spread through your chest almost immediately.
You lowered the cup slowly. “…That is,” you began, then stopped.
He watched you, amused. “Yes?”
“…good,” you admitted reluctantly.
His smile deepened just slightly.
“Your move,” he said.
You drank again, more confidently this time, passing the cup back and forth between you without comment. The wine settled into your system gradually, loosening the tight edge of your thoughts, softening the constant vigilance you carried without realizing it.
Snacks appeared at some point—small plates of roasted nuts glazed with honey, slices of preserved fruit dusted lightly with powdered sugar, delicate pastries filled with sweet bean paste.
You ate without thinking too much about it.
And somewhere along the way, you began talking freely.
You told him about the villages you had passed through, about the caravan you once escorted through a mountain pass only to discover half the guards had abandoned their posts, about the time you misjudged a spirit beast’s temperament and ended up climbing a tree to escape it while your companions laughed from below.
He listened, casionally interjecting with a quiet comment or a pointed question that nudged you to continue.
The wine made it easier.
Your laughter came more easily too, lighter than it had been in a long time.
At some point, he leaned back slightly, watching you with a faint, thoughtful expression.
“You really are a stray kitten,” he said.
You blinked at him, halfway through reaching for another piece on the board. “I am not.”
“You wander from place to place, pick fights you can barely win, and accept scraps from strangers while pretending you don’t need them.”
“That is not—” you started, then faltered.
He raised one brow.
You huffed quietly and moved your piece.
You huffed quietly and moved your piece, sliding it into place with more force than the game required, as though you could compensate for his effortless advantage through stubbornness alone. He did not comment on the aggression in the movement, though the faint shift of his gaze suggested he had noticed it; instead, he responded immediately, capturing your piece with a quiet, almost absent-minded precision that only made your irritation sharpen further.
“You overcommit,” he observed, not unkindly, as he placed the captured piece beside the board. “You treat every exchange as if it must be decisive.”
“And you treat everything as if you’ve already seen the outcome,” you returned, reaching for another piece, though your hand paused briefly before settling on one.
“Because I usually have,” he said, lifting his cup and taking a slow sip, his eyes never quite leaving the board.
You resisted the urge to scowl, though it lingered at the edges of your expression as you made your move. The wine had begun to settle more deeply into your system now, not enough to cloud your thoughts entirely, but enough to soften their edges, to dull the constant instinct to measure every word before speaking it.
“You’re insufferable,” you muttered again, though without the same sharpness as before.
“And yet,” he replied lightly, setting another piece down and forcing you into a defensive position once more, “you continue to sit here.”
“That is because I have yet to win.”
“You won’t,” he said simply.
You looked up at him, incredulous. “You could at least pretend I might.”
“Why?” he asked, one brow lifting faintly. “Would that make you feel better?”
You hesitated. “…Yes.”
He considered that for a moment, then shook his head slightly. “I prefer honesty.”
You let out a breath that might have been a laugh if it had not been laced with lingering annoyance, then reached for the cup again, this time without waiting for him to offer it. The porcelain felt familiar now, no longer startling in its warmth, and you drank more deeply than before, the sweetness of the wine unfolding across your tongue in layers that seemed almost indulgent in their complexity.
When you set the cup back down, he was watching you again.
“You were saying,” he prompted, lifting one of his own pieces and turning it idly between his fingers before setting it down in a position that immediately unraveled what little structure you had managed to build, “about the time you climbed a tree to escape a spirit beast.”
You exhaled through your nose, glancing down at the board and already recognizing that the next few moves would end the match in his favor, though you continued playing out of stubbornness rather than hope. “It was not as ridiculous as it sounds,” you said, though the corner of your mouth threatened to betray you. “It was a mountain boar spirit, larger than a cart, and I had misjudged the distance between us.”
“Mm,” he murmured, reaching for the cup and taking a slow sip before passing it back to you without looking. “So your solution was to abandon the ground entirely.”
“It was the only available solution,” you returned, taking the cup and drinking more readily this time, the warmth of the wine no longer surprising but instead settling comfortably into your chest. “The tree was the nearest defensible position.”
“And you stayed there,” he said, eyes still on the board, “while your companions laughed.”
“They did not laugh immediately,” you corrected, lifting your chin slightly. “There was a brief moment of concern.”
“Before they started laughing.”
“…yes.”
He hummed in satisfaction, clearly pleased with the story as he slid another piece forward and removed one of yours. “I begin to understand your approach to strategy.”
You narrowed your eyes at him, though the faint warmth of the wine softened the edge of your irritation. “My approach has kept me alive.”
“Barely,” he said mildly.
You reached for the cup again before responding, taking a longer sip than before and setting it down with a quiet breath. “There was also the time I negotiated with a minor river spirit to release a ferry it had trapped,” you added, leaning forward slightly as you shifted another piece in what you knew was a futile attempt to prolong the game.
His gaze flicked up briefly, interest sharpening just a fraction. “Negotiated?”
“Yes,” you said, a hint of pride slipping into your tone despite yourself. “The villagers had angered it by polluting the water upstream. It demanded offerings they could not afford.”
“And you offered what?” he asked, his voice quieter now, more attentive.
“A promise,” you said. “That I would return with proper offerings once the villagers could gather them.”
He paused, his fingers hovering over a piece before he set it down with deliberate care. “And did you?”
“Yes.”
“Even though you were not required to.”
“I gave my word.”
He studied you for a moment, the faint amusement in his expression replaced by something more difficult to name, something quieter and more contemplative, before he leaned back slightly and exhaled a soft breath through his nose. “Predictable,” he repeated, though there was less bite in the word this time.
You reached for the cup again, and this time when your fingers brushed the rim where his had rested, you did not pull away as quickly, the shared familiarity of it no longer as jarring as it had been earlier. The wine had deepened in taste with each sip, or perhaps your senses had simply grown more attuned to it, the sweetness now layered with a faint warmth that lingered at the back of your throat.
“You continue to underestimate the value of consistency,” you said, glancing at him over the rim of the cup.
“And you continue to overestimate the virtue of self-sacrifice,” he returned easily.
You set the cup down and leaned back slightly, studying him with narrowed eyes. “You are very determined to provoke me.”
“I am very determined to see where your convictions begin to bend,” he corrected.
“They do not bend.”
“They already have,” he said softly, his gaze dropping briefly to the empty space where your last captured piece had been before lifting again to meet yours. “You are sitting here. Drinking my wine. Eating my food. Arguing with me instead of walking away.”
You opened your mouth, then closed it again, the words you might have offered settling somewhere just out of reach. Instead, you reached for another piece and moved it, slower this time, more deliberate, though you knew the outcome had already been decided.
“That’s because of our deal. Three weeks, right?” You pouted at your inevitable loss.
He did not press the point further, which in itself felt like a kind of victory, though you suspected it was simply because he had already made it.
The game continued.
The wine was passed back and forth.
The snacks diminished gradually as the conversation wandered, shifting from one story to another with a fluidity that felt both unfamiliar and strangely natural, as though the boundaries that usually governed your speech had softened just enough to allow something more honest to emerge. You spoke of long roads and small victories, of moments of quiet satisfaction when a task was completed and a village left safer than you had found it.
He listened.
Sometimes with a comment.
Sometimes with nothing at all.
And when he did speak, it was often to question, to challenge, to prod at the edges of what you believed until you were forced to examine it more closely than you had before.
At some point, you laughed again, softer this time, the sound lingering briefly in the space between you before fading into the quiet hum of the pavilion.
“You are very talkative when properly fed,” he observed, his tone carrying that familiar thread of amusement.
“I am not talkative,” you said, though the protest lacked conviction.
“You are,” he said, reaching for the cup and taking another slow sip before holding it out to you again. “It suits you.”
You took it without hesitation this time.
The wine had settled into your limbs now, not enough to dull your awareness, but enough to soften the sharp edges of your thoughts, to ease the constant vigilance that had been a part of you for so long you had almost forgotten it could be otherwise.
You were in the middle of recounting a particularly frustrating encounter with a stubborn village elder when the sound of footsteps approached the pavilion entrance, light but purposeful, followed by the faint rustle of fabric.
Qin Che did not look up.
You did.
Two figures entered.
They moved with a quiet efficiency that marked them immediately as something other than ordinary servants, their steps measured, their posture relaxed but controlled. Both wore dark clothing that blended easily with the shadows of the pavilion, and both had their faces concealed behind intricately designed black garuda masks that obscured their features entirely.
For a moment, they were indistinguishable.
Then one of them stepped forward with a slight, almost theatrical flourish, inclining his head toward Qin Che with exaggerated grace.
“My lord,” he said, his voice lively, almost too bright for the solemnity of the setting, “we bring news of your unparalleled brilliance being discussed in three separate districts this evening.”
The other remained a half-step behind him, posture more reserved, his voice calmer when he spoke. “And a minor issue at the southern docks, which has already been resolved.”
Qin Che exhaled slowly, not quite a sigh, not quite a laugh, and finally lifted his gaze to them. “Xuē Míng,” he said evenly, his eyes settling briefly on the more animated of the two. “Xuē Yǐng.”
“My lord,” they replied in unison.
“And who,” Xuē Míng continued, turning his masked gaze toward you with sudden interest, “is this?”
Qin Che did not answer immediately. Instead, he leaned back slightly, one arm draped casually over the edge of the table, his expression unreadable.
“A guest,” he said at last.
Xuē Míng tilted his head, clearly unconvinced by the simplicity of the answer. “A guest,” he repeated, as though testing the word for hidden meaning.
Xuē Yǐng’s gaze followed his brother’s, settling on you with a quieter, more measured curiosity. “One who sits across from you,” he added thoughtfully.
“And drinks from your cup,” Xuē Míng finished, his tone bright with interest.
You felt a faint heat rise to your face but held his gaze steadily. “I was offered,” you said.
Xuē Míng let out a soft, delighted laugh. “Of course you were.”
Qin Che closed his eyes briefly, as though resigning himself to the inevitable turn of the conversation. “They are my right hand,” he said, gesturing lightly toward the two masked figures. “Try not to encourage them.”
“That is impossible, my lord,” Xuē Míng said cheerfully.
Xuē Yǐng inclined his head slightly. “We are already encouraged.”
You found yourself smiling despite the strangeness of the situation. They were… not what you had expected, despite their eccentric and scary masks. But beneath that, there was an unmistakable ease to them, a lightness that contrasted sharply with the intensity that surrounded Qin Che.
“You serve him willingly?” you asked before you could stop yourself.
Xuē Míng’s response was immediate. “Gladly.”
Xuē Yǐng nodded once. “Without hesitation.”
“He is,” Xuē Míng added, placing a hand dramatically over his chest, “the most exceptional individual we have ever had the privilege of serving.”
Qin Che did not react.
You glanced at him.
He looked mildly annoyed.
“You are exaggerating,” you said.
Xuē Míng gasped softly, placing a hand to his mask. “Blasphemy.”
Xuē Yǐng’s voice remained calm, though there was a faint hint of amusement beneath it. “It is not exaggeration.”
You leaned back slightly, folding your arms as you regarded them. “You are very devoted.”
“We are,” Xuē Míng agreed.
“And very honest,” Xuē Yǐng added.
You looked back at Qin Che, who was now watching you with that same faint, knowing expression.
“You encourage this,” you said.
“I tolerate it,” he corrected.
Xuē Yǐng inclined his head slightly toward you. “You are playing shogi with him,” he observed.
“I am losing,” you admitted.
“That is expected,” Xuē Míng said without hesitation. “He is the best at it and then I am a close second.”
Qin Che glanced at him. “You’ve lost the last twelve games.”
“Details,” Xuē Míng said lightly.
You laughed, the sound slipping out more easily than it might have earlier in the evening, and for a brief moment, the pavilion felt less like a place of power and more like something lived in. Qin Che watched the exchange quietly, his gaze flicking between you and the two masked men, the faintest trace of satisfaction lingering in his expression as he reached once more for the board.
“Sit,” he said to them. “Or leave. But stop hovering.”
Xuē Míng dropped onto a nearby cushion immediately, while Xuē Yǐng remained standing for a moment longer before taking a seat as well, his posture more composed.
You glanced down at the board again, then back at Qin Che.
“Your move,” he reminded you.
You reached for a piece, your fingers steadier now, your thoughts less constrained than they had been at the start of the evening.
The end came quietly, almost anticlimactically, though you had seen it approaching several moves before it arrived.
You shifted your final piece into place with a deliberation that bordered on stubborn defiance, your gaze lingering on the board as though sheer will might rearrange the outcome into something more favorable. Qin Che did not rush you, but there was a certain inevitability in the way he leaned forward, fingers brushing over the carved pieces before selecting one and placing it down with a soft, decisive click.
The sound seemed louder than it should have been.
You stared at the board.
Then at him.
Then back at the board again.
“…That is not fair,” you said at last, the faint warmth of the wine softening the edge of your indignation into something closer to a pout than a protest.
Xuē Míng let out a low, delighted hum from where he sat nearby, leaning forward with exaggerated interest as he examined the board. “Ah,” he said, as though witnessing something deeply tragic, “the fall of a valiant hero.”
Xuē Yǐng inclined his head slightly, his tone gentler, though no less amused. “You held your position longer than most.”
“That is because she is stubborn,” Qin Che said calmly, already beginning to gather the pieces with unhurried precision.
“I am not stubborn,” you muttered, folding your arms loosely even as your gaze lingered on the board, reluctant to fully accept defeat.
“You insisted on defending a losing formation for six moves,” he replied, glancing at you briefly. “That qualifies.”
Xuē Míng shifted closer, lowering his voice as though offering consolation, though the barely concealed grin beneath his mask betrayed him. “It was a graceful defeat,” he said. “Very dignified.”
“It was not dignified,” Xuē Yǐng corrected quietly. “She is clearly dissatisfied.”
You exhaled softly through your nose, unable to fully suppress the small, reluctant smile tugging at your lips despite your irritation. “You are both terrible at comforting people.”
“We are trying,” Xuē Míng said earnestly, placing a hand over his chest. “Our intentions are sincere.”
“They are not,” Qin Che said flatly.
“They are partially sincere,” Xuē Yǐng amended.
The warmth of the wine lingered in your limbs, dulling the sharper edges of your frustration until it settled into something easier, lighter. You leaned back slightly, letting your shoulders relax as the last of the tension slipped from your posture.
“I will win eventually,” you said, though there was no real conviction in it.
Qin Che’s gaze flicked to you, a faint smile touching his lips. “Mm,” he said, as though humoring you. “Eventually.”
The conversation lingered for a while longer, drifting into smaller remarks and idle observations as the servants quietly cleared the remnants of your shared meal. The pavilion seemed softer now, the lamplight warmer, the night beyond the open windows deeper and more still.
Eventually, the hour grew late enough that even Xuē Míng’s restless energy settled into something quieter.
You pushed yourself to your feet.
Or tried to.
The world tilted slightly beneath you, not enough to alarm, but enough to remind you that the wine had done more than simply warm your thoughts. Your balance faltered for a brief moment, your weight shifting unevenly before you could correct it.
Qin Che was already there.
His hand steadied you at your arm, firm but not forceful, his grip grounding you before the motion could fully become a stumble.
You blinked up at him.
“You drank more than you realized,” he said, his tone even, though there was a faint note of amusement beneath it.
“I am perfectly fine,” you replied, though the slight slur in your voice undermined the claim.
Behind him, Xuē Míng and Xuē Yǐng exchanged a look—subtle, but unmistakably shared—before rising in quiet unison.
“We will take our leave,” Xuē Yǐng said.
“Before we become unnecessary witnesses to anything,” Xuē Míng added lightly.
Qin Che did not respond, but there was a flicker of something in his gaze that suggested the comment had not gone unnoticed.
The two of them bowed briefly before slipping out of the pavilion with the same flourish they had entered with, leaving the space to settle once more into stillness.
You exhaled softly, your weight shifting again as you leaned just slightly toward Qin Che, not enough to be improper, but enough that the distance between you felt smaller than it had before.
“It is unfair,” you said after a moment, your voice softer now, touched by the lingering warmth of the wine. “That you are… like this.”
“Like what?” he asked.
You frowned faintly, trying to gather the thought into something coherent. “That you have such… absurdly beautiful features,” you said, the words slipping out with a surprising ease. “And your hair—” your gaze drifted briefly to the pale strands that caught the lamplight like silver threads, “—it is… excessive.”
For a moment, he did not speak. Then something like quiet disbelief flickered across his expression, followed almost immediately by amusement.
“That’s your conclusion?” he asked.
“It is unfair,” you repeated, more firmly this time, as though the logic of it had solidified in your mind. “You should not have both.”
“Both what?”
“Everything,” you said, with conviction.
A soft breath left him, not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh.
“Come,” he said, adjusting his hold on you slightly.
Before you could protest, he lifted you.
The motion was smooth, unhurried, as though it required no effort at all. You made a small, indignant sound that lacked any real resistance, your hand catching lightly against his sleeve as you instinctively sought balance.
“I can walk,” you insisted, though you made no attempt to prove it.
“I’m sure you can,” he replied, already moving toward the exit of the pavilion. “Eventually.”
You did not argue further.
Instead, your head tipped slightly, your gaze drifting to the line of his jaw, the calm steadiness of his expression, the quiet strength in the way he carried you without strain.
“…You are not ordinary,” you murmured.
“That much you’ve already established,” he said.
“No,” you said, your voice softer now, more thoughtful despite the haze of the wine. “I mean… I know what you are.”
He glanced down at you, one brow lifting slightly. “Do you?”
“You gave me a challenge,” you continued, your thoughts moving slowly but with a strange clarity beneath the softness. “To find out who you are. And if I do, I get anything I want.”
“Mm.”
“But that is not the difficult part,” you said, your fingers curling lightly into the fabric of his robe without quite realizing it. “The difficult part is… wanting something.”
He did not respond.
The silence stretched between you, not empty, but full of something quieter, more attentive.
“You are a Loong,” you said after a moment, the word slipping out with a certainty that surprised even you. “You feel like the earth, the sky, the sea. Like something… old.”
He did not confirm it nor did he deny it.
You frowned slightly, your thoughts drifting. “But why would a Loong be here?” you continued. “In a city like this… making bargains… playing shogi…”
Your gaze lifted to his again, curiosity unguarded now. “Can I see it?” you asked softly. “Your true form… your tail…horns…”
A faint exhale escaped him, something between exasperation and amusement. “Not tonight,” he said. “You’re very bold…little hero…”
You made a small, dissatisfied sound but did not press further, your thoughts already beginning to blur at the edges as the wine pulled you deeper into its warmth.
By the time he reached your pavilion, the world had softened into something quieter, the edges of your awareness fading gently as he carried you inside and set you down on the bed gently.
The familiar scent of rose and pomegranate lingered in the air. The room felt warmer. You shifted slightly against the soft bedding, your gaze drifting toward him as he stood beside the bed.
“You need to do better than that… to find who I am,” he said after a moment, his tone quieter now. “There are many Loongs.”
You smiled faintly, your eyes already half-lidded. “Then I will,” you murmured. “I have three weeks.”
He did not respond.
“Thank you,” you added softly after a moment, your voice slower now, touched with something more sincere than anything you had said earlier that evening. “For tonight.”
His gaze softened, just slightly. “You’re welcome.”
“I feel…” you hesitated, searching for the word, “…happy.”
The admission lingered in the air between you, simple and unguarded.
“And I want to play again,” you added, your voice drifting. “Shogi…”
“You can,” he said quietly. “I’ll have a board sent with you when you leave.”
You shook your head faintly. “There is no one to play with.”
“There will be,” he replied. “Your sect members. Your fellow heroes.”
You let out a soft, tired breath, your gaze unfocused now. “Leisure is… frowned upon,” you murmured.
He said nothing.
You continued anyway, your voice slipping into something softer, more distant.
“When I was young… I earned a little money once,” you said. “Helping in the fields. Just small things. Carrying water. Pulling weeds…”
Your fingers curled slightly into the bedding.
“I bought a book,” you continued, a faint smile touching your lips at the memory. “About a sea god… and his bride. I was reading it under a tree in our sect…”
Qin Che looked at you, realizing that there was more to this drunken story.
“My master found me. He said it was frivolous. A distraction.” Your throat tightened slightly, though the emotion remained muted, distant.
“He took it,” you said. “And I was punished. Hard labor for weeks. Fixed meals only. A cup of rice. A boiled egg.” You let out a quiet breath. “I was told that indulgence weakens the spirit. That anything earned should be given, not kept.”
Qin Che did not move.
“Did you finish it?” he asked at last.
You shook your head slightly. “No.”
“No.”
The word came softer this time, not merely an answer but something that carried the faint echo of a loss you had never fully examined. The memory, once spoken aloud, refused to settle back into the quiet place where you had kept it for years. It lingered instead, unfolding in small, unwelcome details.
You could still remember the weight of the book in your hands.
It had not been grand, not like the lacquered scrolls stored in noble libraries or sect archives, but it had been yours. The paper had been slightly rough at the edges, the ink uneven in places where the brush had pressed too hard, yet to you it had felt like something precious, something forbidden in a way that made it glow.
You had hidden beneath the shade of an old tree in your sect’s courtyard, its branches wide enough to shield you from both sun and scrutiny. The world within the pages had been nothing like the one you were taught to inhabit. It spoke of tides and longing, of a sea god who descended from the depths not for duty, not for balance or cosmic order, but for a woman he chose simply because he wanted to.
You had not known what to do with that feeling.
The idea that something could be chosen without purpose, without obligation, without sacrifice.
It had felt… dangerous.
You remembered how quickly it had been taken from you.
Your master’s shadow falling across the page before you could even look up properly. The book lifted from your hands as though it had never belonged there, his voice furious as he explained that indulgence led to attachment, and attachment led to weakness. You had been made to kneel on gravel for hours beneath the sun before the punishment even began.
The labor had come after.
Endless repetition of hauling water, scrubbing stone, carrying loads that bent your back and burned your muscles until exhaustion became the only thing that mattered. Meals reduced to necessity rather than nourishment, measured portions placed before you without variation. A cup of rice. A boiled egg. Enough to sustain, never enough to satisfy.
You had told yourself it was right that discipline required correction, that desire, left unchecked, would grow into something selfish, something unworthy of the path you had chosen.
And yet…
You had never forgotten the magic of the book, impossible tenderness woven between the lines.
“It had painted waves,” you murmured, your voice quieter now, softer in a way that felt less like conversation and more like confession. “On the cover. Not like the sea here… calmer. The kind that looks like it listens when you speak to it.” Your fingers curled faintly against the silk sheets, as though remembering the texture of paper rather than fabric. “The sea god wore blue and white. I remember that. And the bride…” You paused, your brow knitting slightly as you reached for something just out of reach. “She laughed often. Even when she was afraid.”
The memory lingered there.
“I had only just reached the part where she begins to understand him,” you continued after a moment, your voice carrying the faintest thread of something unspoken beneath it. “Not as a god. As… something else. Something that wanted, and was lonely for it.”
Your lips pressed together briefly.
“I wondered what that felt like,” you admitted, so quietly it might have been meant for yourself alone. “To want something and not be told it was wrong.”
Your lashes lowered slightly as the weight of the memory pressed in, not sharp enough to wound anymore but deep enough to linger.
“…it was just a story,” you murmured, though the words felt thinner now than they once had.
“They said it would make me selfish,” you murmured. “That stories like that… they plant thoughts that do not belong in a disciplined mind.” Your fingers tightened briefly against the sheets before loosening again. “So they took it away before I could know how it ended.”
A small breath left you, quieter than a sigh.
“I used to think…” you trailed off, then continued with a faint, almost rueful softness, “that if I worked hard enough, if I followed everything correctly, I would stop wondering.”
The lantern flickered again.
Outside, somewhere beyond the courtyard walls, the distant murmur of water carried faintly through the night.
“…but I didn’t,” you finished.
Qin Che had not moved while you spoke.
He stood where he had been, just within the soft glow of the lamp, his silhouette framed by the dim light that filtered through the lattice windows. For once, there was no teasing curve to his mouth, no immediate retort waiting at the edge of his tongue.
His expression had changed.
And when you fell silent, when the memory loosened its hold just enough for your breathing to steady again, he stepped closer.
The mattress dipped slightly beneath his weight as he sat at the edge of the bed, the movement careful in a way that contrasted with the effortless authority he carried everywhere else. His hand lifted, almost absentmindedly, as though drawn by something he did not quite name, and brushed a loose strand of hair away from your face.
“You can read it here,” he said in a soft whisper.
Your lashes fluttered.
“In your library?” you asked, though your voice had already begun to fade at the edges, the pull of sleep growing heavier with each passing breath.
“Yes.”
You let out a small breath, something between relief and disbelief, though neither fully formed before it dissolved into the soft haze settling over your thoughts.
“…thank you,” you murmured again, the words barely more than a whisper.
Your body sank deeper into the bed, the tension you had carried for so long loosening in increments you could not consciously track. The warmth of the wine lingered faintly in your chest, but it was something else now that held you in place.
Sounds dulled into distant impressions, the faint rustle of the night wind through the plum blossoms outside, the quiet settling of wood and silk within the room, the almost imperceptible shift of fabric as Qin Che moved slightly beside you.
You were already slipping.
Already falling into that slow, inevitable quiet where thoughts unraveled and the edges of yourself blurred.
And still—
He remained.
His gaze rested on your face, unguarded in a way no one else in Xuanyu City would have believed possible. The usual distance he kept between himself and the world thinned, not broken, but softened just enough to reveal something beneath it. Something that did not belong to the Autarch, but to you.
His hand hovered for a brief second above yours, as though he considered reaching for it, then stilled, fingers curling back into stillness before the thought could become action.
When he spoke, his voice was low, not meant to be heard.
And yet you caught it anyway, somewhere between waking and sleep, the words threading themselves through the last fragments of your awareness.
“To name what I am,” he said, voice barely above a whisper, “is easy. To name what you want…”
The words lingered, unfinished for a heartbeat. “…that is the part you’ve never been taught how to do.”
Your breathing steadied. The quiet stretched between moments, unbroken.
“You think the challenge is about me,” he said, almost a whisper now. “It isn’t.”
The faintest exhale escapes him as he watches you drift deeper into your wine-induced sleep. “It’s about whether you can stand in front of someone who offers you everything… and admit that you want it.”
The silence that followed was deeper than before.
“…dangerous little thing,” he said at last, so softly it might have been mistaken for a thought rather than speech. His hand stilled against your hair, though he did not pull away.
“For someone who’s never been allowed to want,” he murmured, gaze lingering just a fraction longer than necessary, “you make it very difficult not to want to give you everything...”
And then, just before sleep finally claimed you, you hear a faint whisper, a confession.
“I wonder,” he murmured, “if you’ll ever look at me and choose to want… instead of choosing to endure.”
The thought lingered, suspended somewhere between meaning and something that brushed too close to the edges of what you had spent a lifetime refusing to name.
There was a pause after that, long enough that you might have imagined the rest.
Or perhaps there had been more. The meaning slipped through your grasp as sleep finally pulled you under, leaving behind only the faint impression of warmth, of a voice you were no longer certain you had truly heard, and a feeling you could not quite name, something that lingered just beyond reach and stirred without your permission.
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"Sweetie?" Sylus opens the door a crack, peeking into your little "personal alone time" room. It's been quiet for a while. Not the normal quiet of your headphones playing your music just loud enough for him to barely hear it while you hum along, or the quiet of reading a book or playing a game or any of your other hobbies.
And sure enough, as he scans the room, he finds you slumped over your desk. He can see the rise and fall of your back with slow, measured breaths.
With a tsk - part amusement, part annoyance for your refusal to take a break away from your computer before passing out - he strides over and gets to work getting you to bed.
He slips your headphones from your head, setting them on the desk. Saves your game with a silly title like "Kitten Nap Time". And he draws you up into his arms, cradling you close to his chest, making a path through the mansion to his bedroom. You instinctively lean into his warmth and familiar presence, barely stirring as exhaustion well and truly claims you.
