🌕

[ravynisyew]

🌑 Masterlist — Dark Fantasy & Tender Chaos 🌑

✨ Just a girl giving body to her fantasies by writing ✨

🖤 Dark fantasy girly, through and through 🖤

@ravynisblue

@ravynisyew

📚 Fanfiction List:

Soft Things Survive ✅

“The storm’s approaching, two children lost in the woods, and a father slowly losing his world.”

A spin-off of Isayrie’s The OOKAMI Tapes

Kid HaruMaki, single parent Fuma, OC

Angst, tragedy, comfort, fluff

OOKAMI PACKS ✅

“In times of chaos, a lone wolf dies… but the pack survives.”

&Team Werewolf AU, Darkmoon AU, OT9

Dark fantasy, angst, slow burn, found family, pack dynamics, comfort

Silence After Sirens ✅

“A nurse, a clinic, and the silence that follows a night of chaos.”

Nakakita Yuma Protester AU (with Jo, Taki, mentions of Harua & Maki)

TW: mentions of power abuse & blood

Angst, tragedy, slow burn

Dies Irae ✅

“—You sounded… pitchy.”

“Did you just call me… bitchy?!”

Perfect pitch choir coach Heeseung, OC

Enemies to lovers, slow burn romance

Twisted Dark Priest ✅

“After years of abuse and violence, she thought freedom would taste sweet. The church's army freed her, and she sought refuge within its walls, surrounding holy men, believing she was finally safe"

Yandere K × abused OC

⚠️ Warnings: religious horror, corruption of faith, abuse of power, sexual assault (non-explicit), somnophilia, dacryphilia, psychological horror, violence, murder

Please read at your own risk.

The Crown and The Fool ✅

“What is it that your heart desires?”

"I—uh—actually, I don't want anything right now"

“…Not even a theater?”

Sunshine K, grumpy OC, dreadful butler Nicholas, grim guard Jo

Enemies to lovers, comedy, fluff, slow burn romance

Saltwater Veins ✅

“After leaving someone to drown in the sea, you don’t get to ask how they survived the waves, the shark… and the bite.”

Yuma × OC

TW: Toxic relationship, obsession, mentions of drowning & attempted murder, dark romance

Eclipse Little Dove ✅

“A cocky nightclub owner meets a proud businesswoman — desire and pride clash as they see who will crumble first.”

Nightclub owner Fuma × business owner OC

Slow burn, angst, enemies to lovers, romance

A Hoard of Hatred and Desire ✅

Desire is their sin. Hatred is their chain. And fate will drag them back to each other, again and again.

Dragon EJ x Fem OC

Genre: Dark fantasy, reincarnation romance, mythic tragedy, slow-burn revenge

Themes & Tropes: Cursed immortality, reincarnation & doomed lovers, enemies to obsession, divine punishment, the dragon & the mortal, love twisted by time and memory, redemption

Lycan! K x Vampire! Wife series

Series of your favorite supernatural couples face the immortality chaotically together 🖤

Lycan! K x Vampire! Wife

Rom-com, fluff

The Wolf in the Screen ✅

You were supposed to meet a perfectly normal man for coffee, instead, Yuma stepped out of your TV.

Poltergeist Idol Yuma x hopeless romantic reader

Supernatural, platonic-comedy, soft horror

The Wound Beneath the Bandage ✅

Sometimes, the hardest thing isn’t learning to love — it’s learning to let yourself be loved. Quiet confessions, gentle hands, the kind of warmth that doesn't fix you but makes you want to heal.

Fuma x reader

Hurt/comfort, healing, soft angst with happy ending

Weekly Lying Session ✅

When two crackheads attend couples therapy like it's a weekly sitcom. He flirts like it's a sport and she panics like it's an Olympic event. Together, they attempt to outwit a licensed professional.

Nicholas Wang x OC

Fake dating, therapy shenanigans, slow-burn stupidity

Growing Heart ✅

When an assassin sold his heart, thinking love is a curse and managed to grow it back

Knight!Jo x Princess!Reader

Heartless hero (literally), dark fantasy, romance, the fool and the witch spin-off

Soft Things Survive: Spin-Off — after the storm ✅

In the aftermath of disaster, Fuma builds a fragile home for his children who’ve lost everything. When Dal steps into their quiet world, she finds herself claimed by a family that needs her just as much as she needs them.

Murata Fuma, Kid! HaruMaki, Fem OC

Fluff, Angst, comfort

The Lost Prince of Atlantis ✅

Prince Maki was kidnapped for ransom, but the pirates threw him overboard after three days of nonstop yapping. Instead of drowning, he wakes up in the last surviving isle of Atlantis — where a fairy knight and a merman insist he’s the lost heir destined to restore their fallen world. Now he just has to save an ancient kingdom without accidentally breaking it first.

Chaotic Sunshine Prince! Maki, Grumpy Fairy Warrior! Harua, Sassy Merman Scholar! Taki

Genre: Fluff, Comedy, Found family, High Fantasy, Epic Trio Journey, Maki is 18 yo, Comfort Fantasy, Young Adult Fantasy, Mythic Slice of life.

A Drag Path ✅

She spent centuries trapped in stone, waiting for someone she could no longer remember. When he finally found her again, he remembered everything.

Jo x Fem OC

Angst, romance, reincarnation

A Little Less Alone ✅

Do you want to hug?

Fuma x Fem reader

Slice of Life, Comfort, Soft Intimacy, Platonic relationship, College AU / Villa Trip, strangers to stay strangers ig idk

Forever Storm ✅

Lost in a forest where the storm never ends, she stumbles upon a haunted mansion and its silent ghostly duke, who leaves blueberries instead of answers. Trapped within a realm built from regret, she must unravel a centuries-old heartbreak before the man haunting it can finally let time move forward again.

Ghost! Fuma x Fem reader

Angst, yearning, comfort, soft intimacy, supernatural, soft horror if that word exist

[ravynisyew]

PSPSPS (and other ways to win a heart)💗😺

Asakura Jo x Catshifter!OC

Jo had only just stepped down from the carriage when he decided something was deeply wrong with this town.

It had been a year since he left.

A full year spent in the quiet countryside, where the mornings were slow, the air smelled like damp earth, and his grandmother called his name like it was precious. She had slipped on the muddy road last winter, her hip never quite the same after. Jo had stayed, cooked, cleaned, walked her to the garden when she could manage it, listened to her stories even when she repeated them.

A year until she recovered.

Apparently, a year was also long enough for every bachelor his age to lose what little sense they had left. Because the very moment his boots touched the ground at the outskirts of town, a man launched himself into the river. Not slipped, not even tripped. Launched straight to the water.

Jo blinked in surprise, one hand covering his gaping mouth while another hand still holding the strap of his bag, as water splashed violently against the banks. For a second, he thought it might’ve been an accident until he saw a flash of white, small and fast, darted past the man just before it jumped and gone.

Jo stepped closer, peering down at the stream just as a drenched blonde head broke the surface with a gasp. “Robert?” Jo called, brows knitting together. “You okay?”

Robert shoved wet hair out of his face, eyes sharp and irritated, water dripping from his chin as he glared up at him like it is Jo who had personally pushed him in.

“Fuck off.”

Jo blinked. Well, that was new. He crouched slightly at the edge of the stream anyway, tilting his head.

“You just jumped to the river.”

“I slipped.”

“You jumped.”

“I said I slipped!”

“…alright.”

There was a beat as Jo watched Robert looking extra annoyed sitting in the shallow water. The sound of water rushing past filled the space between them. Jo glanced around, scanning the bushes, the muddy road, the empty stretch of path. For the briefest moment, something white flickered between the bushes again.

Small. Light on its feet. Gone before he could focus.

“…what were you chasing?” Jo asked, quieter now. Robert followed his gaze, jaw tightening. “You didn’t see it?”

“I saw something.”

A pause.

Then, like it physically pained him to admit it, Robert muttered, “It’s a cat.”

Jo blinked. “…a cat?.”

“Yes, a cat,” Robert snapped, dragging himself toward the bank with far less dignity than he probably intended. “White fur. Blue eyes. Fast as hell. And—” he huffed, frustrated, “—it has a key.”

Jo stared at him.

“A key.”

“Yes.”

"...someone put a house key on a cat?"

Robert shot him a look that suggested he was seconds away from committing another act of questionable decision-making. “You’ve been gone a year, haven’t you?”

“…I have,” Jo said slowly, reaching his hand to help Robert get up. “That explains it.” Robert took his hand and hauled himself out of the stream with a wet grunt, boots squelching unpleasantly as he stood.

“There’s this woman announced she’ll only marry the man who can open her front door with that key.”

Jo processed that. "She's... locked inside?" Jo asked, genuine concern crossing his face. Meanwhile Robert just stares at him like you've been gone too long.

"No," Robert groaned. "She lives there just fine. It's just her condition. If you want to court her, you have to enter through the front door using the key around that cat's neck."

Then he processed it again. “…and the key is on a cat.”

“Yes.”

“And your solution…” Jo gestured vaguely to the river, “…was to drown yourself?”

“I was catching the little devil! I almost had it.”

“I’m sorry to say this but, you were nowhere near it.”

“I was close.”

Jo looked at him, contemplating if his friend has always been so competitive. Then glanced once more toward the trees where the white blur had disappeared.

“It seems the conditions only make everyone’s on edge, its poking right on their ego you know.”

“you too.” Jo pointed.

“well, she’s a real fine woman”

“… so you’re all chasing it?”

“Everyone is,” Robert said, already wringing water from his sleeves. “You should too. Some idiots have wagered half their annual income on catching that little beast." Robert definitely sounds like someone who also put money in.

Jo didn’t answer immediately. His gaze drifted back to the path, to the quiet rustle of leaves, to the place where that small white figure had vanished like it had never been there at all.

A cat with blue eyes who possessed a key.

“I’m okay,” Jo murmured. "...Poor thing."

Robert frowned.

"Poor thing?"

"It doesn't even know why everyone's chasing it."

“… You’re impossible.”

Not chasing it sounded like a much better idea.

In the span of a week, Jo witnessed enough ridiculousness to conclude that the bachelors of this town had collectively lost their minds.

He had never imagined there were so many ways for a grown man to humiliate himself over a ball of fur. Ironically, Jo hadn't even seen the notorious woman nor the elusive cat. He had, however, seen Lucas attempt to leap across two rooftops.

It ended exactly as one would expect.

Lucas missed the landing entirely and disappeared with a magnificent crash, landing face-first into the large rubbish bin behind the baker's shop. Jo, on his way home with a basket full of vegetables balanced on one arm, could only wince.

"...Ouch."

The lid of the bin rattled before Lucas emerged, covered in cabbage leaves and what Jo sincerely hoped was yesterday's bread instead of something far worse. The two made eye contact, Lucas glared at him as though Jo himself had moved the roof.

"...I'm just buying potatoes," Jo muttered before quietly continuing on his way.

Another day, Jo had to save Ethan from becoming roadkill. The man had thrown himself directly in front of a moving horse carriage with absolutely no warning.

"There!" Ethan shouted. "It's the cat!"

Jo reacted before thinking, grabbing the back of Ethan's collar and yanking him backwards just as the horses thundered past. The coachman yelled several words Jo's grandmother would've washed his mouth with soap for.

"You could've died!" Jo exclaimed.

"I almost caught her!"

"You almost became part of the road!"

Instead of gratitude, Ethan shoved him away and sprinted after another flash of white making Jo stumbled backward. The paper bag he'd been carrying burst open on impact. Oranges rolled merrily across the cobbled street.

"..."

Jo sighed and crouched to gather them one by one.

"Sorry," he apologized to the oranges, as though they had suffered a personal inconvenience.

As he reached for the last one, he felt it someone was watching him. Jo looked up and at the mouth of a narrow alley, half-hidden behind the shade of the brick wall, sat a cat.

White.

Not merely white, but impossibly so, as though every strand of fur had been spun from fresh snow instead of surviving muddy streets after days of rain. A pair of bright blue eyes regarded him without blinking. Pink nose, pink ears. Even the tiny glimpse of its tongue as it gave a slow, deliberate lick over one paw was pink.

Jo forgot the orange in his hand.

What a pretty cat.

Just as Jo finished gathering the last orange, he looked back toward the alley and found the cat was gone. Not a strand of white fur remained. He tucked the oranges back into the paper bag and continued home. This town had truly lost its collective mind all over a cat.

Poor thing.

The next morning was peaceful.

Jo settled by the large window on the second floor with a sketchbook resting on his knees. Sunlight spilled across the wooden floorboards while the town slowly woke below him. He absentmindedly sketched the rooftops he'd missed during his year away, occasionally pausing to erase a crooked chimney or redraw a passing pigeon.

Then came the shouting from below.

"There!"

"Don't let it get away!"

Jo looked down, a familiar streak of white darted across the street below. The cat. Behind it came nearly a dozen men running and yelling. One vaulted over a market stall. Another nearly knocked over an old woman carrying bread.

Someone threw a net, it sailed wide, tangling itself around a fruit stand instead.

"What are they doing...?" Jo whispered.

The cat squeezed beneath a wooden cart just as another man hurled a small stone. It struck the cobblestones with a sharp crack only inches from the cat's hind legs.

Jo froze.

Another stone flew.

Then another.

The cat zigzagged desperately through the street, ears flattened, body pressed low as it searched for somewhere, anywhere to escape. Someone laughed. Someone else shouted, "Corner it!"

"They're going to hurt it."

His grip tightened around the charcoal stick in his hand. It wasn't a game anymore, it wasn't even a competition. It was a dozen grown men chasing a frightened little creature through the middle of town as though its terror meant nothing.

Jo pushed himself to his feet before he'd even realized he'd made the decision.

"Oh, you poor thing..."

He was about to run downstairs when he saw the cat darted to another alleyway and vanished, leaving the group confused.

“smart cat”

That night, Jo felt like a criminal at the dinner table.

His mother had gone all out, there was an entire roasted turkey sitting at the center, glistening and fragrant, because in her eyes, her son had come back thinner than he should be.

“I’m fine, Mom,” Jo insisted, shaking his head quickly. “It’s just… a growth spurt.”

“In your twenty-two years of life?” she shot back immediately. “You made that up.”

Before he could defend himself, she placed a whole turkey leg onto his plate, leaving none for his father. The old man didn’t even protest. He simply watched Jo with quiet fondness, as if seeing him eat was enough.

And that only made Jo feel worse.

Because the moment his mother turned her attention to his father, Jo carefully slid the turkey leg onto a napkin, wrapped it, and hid it beneath his sleeve.

Like a criminal.

All for a certain white, beautiful, poor cat.

After dinner, Jo excused himself for some “fresh air.”

His mother didn’t question it, didn’t even blink when she noticed the familiar leather bag slung over his shoulder as he stepped out of the house.

The town had already quieted. Without much oil or wax to spare, people ended their days as soon as the sun set. Streets that were lively in the morning now lay dim and still, shadows stretching long between buildings.

Jo lit the small lighter he’d received as a birthday gift last year. A soft flicker of flame enough to guide his steps as he wandered through narrow alleyways, posture slightly hunched, peering into every dark corner like he was searching for something precious.

Or someone.

“pspsps…”

His voice was soft, careful, in case she was near.

"...Kitty?"

Only silence answered.

"...Pspsps..."

He checked beneath carts, behind barrels, near the bakery. He went as far as to the bridge where Robert had so spectacularly failed yesterday.

He walked for nearly an hour, only to find nothing. Jo slowed to a stop, exhaling softly. Maybe that was for the best, the poor thing had been chased all day he almost hoped it had found somewhere safe to hide.

Still…

He adjusted the strap of his bag. He had brought food. Water. He just… wanted to make sure the cat was okay.

“…what kind of owner even does that?” he muttered under his breath. “Using a cat like that…"

Jo clicked his tongue in quiet disapproval as he turned the corner toward home,

“Meow.”

Jo nearly jumped out of his skin.

He looked up. Perched on the edge of the candlemaker's roof sat a familiar white silhouette, tail wrapped neatly around dainty paws. Blue eyes gleamed beneath the moonlight.

"...There you are."

“…that’s dangerous,” Jo said immediately, voice low. “Hey—don’t move. Stay there.”

The cat blinked at him and miraculously stayed on its spot.

Jo quickly scanned the area before spotting a stack of wooden crates behind the shop. Grateful for his height, he climbed up with relative ease, pulling himself onto the roof with a quiet grunt. When he turned, the cat was still there waiting making his chest tighten. Jo stopped several feet away.

"...Hi."

"..."

"...Pspsps."

One of the cat's ears twitched.

“…come here,” he murmured softly, crouching a little. “pspsps…”. He didn’t dare to reach and the cat… came. “Good kitty,” Jo breathed, almost in awe.

Careful not to startle it, he slipped his bag off his shoulder and pulled out the neatly wrapped napkin. He unwrapped it slowly revealing the turkey leg, shredding the meat into smaller pieces with his fingers before placing it down on the napkin.

“I brought you dinner,” he said softly. “Are you hungry?”

Next came the flask. He poured water into a small tin cup and set it beside the food. Only when everything was ready did Jo step back to give the cat some space.

“Go on,” he said, settling himself a few steps away. “I won’t come any closer to bother you.”

The cat didn't move first, just watched him in silence. Jo waited as the moon climbed higher, sensing no danger from him, slowly, the cat stepped forward. Jo held his breath as it sniffed his offering and then looked at Jo.

"Take your time" Jo whispered, then the cat began to eat. Relief washed over him so quickly it almost made him laugh. "There you go. Oh… you eat so well,” he cooed under his breath, watching her carefully. A soft purr followed. Jo visibly melted.

The moonlight caught in her fur, turning it almost silver, glowing softly against the dark rooftop. Her blue eyes flickered every now and then in his direction, alert but no longer afraid. They sat like that for a while.

“…did your owner feed you today?” Jo murmured after a moment, voice gentle. “It must be hard, being chased around all day…”

The cat paused mid-bite, blue orbs the color of sky looked up at him.

“…she sounds a little cruel, don’t you think? Your owner really shouldnt let people do that.” the purr stopped and the slit in the cat's eyes widened, stared directly into his soul.

“Ah…sorry,” he said quickly, raising both hands in surrender. “I talked badly about your owner. My mistake. I won’t do it again. Promise.”

The cat held his gaze for one more second before returned to eating. Jo exhaled, smoothly averted a crisis. He watched the cat for another moment, soft smile lingering, on his face.

Then blinked.

Wait.

Then his eyes drifted toward the space between the cat's hind legs. Jo leaned forward, squinting just a little.

"...Huh."

There was... an alarming lack of certain organs.

“You’re a girl?!”

The cat slowly lifted her head and gave him the most unimpressed, deadly stare he had ever seen in his life.

“…sorry.”

The following days settled into an almost normal routine, save for Jo's constant search for a particular white cat he had somehow become utterly taken with. He wasn't even looking for the key everyone kept talking about. In fact, Jo had yet to notice whether there truly was one hanging around her neck. He simply wanted to pet the beautiful white cat.

...And, if possible, save her from the endless chase.

Daytime, however, made both goals nearly impossible. The moment the cat appeared, there would always be a group of young men charging after her as though tomorrow would never come. And with each passing day, the pursuit grew more ruthless. People began laying traps. Jo could no longer believe this was about winning a lady's heart.

It was brutal.

Nets hung between narrow alleyways.

Baskets were propped up with sticks and bait.

Ropes stretched carelessly across busy paths.

Even iron traps appeared in the fields beyond town.

Jo stopped in front of one, staring at the jagged metal teeth in disbelief.

"...That's excessive."

It wasn't even hidden particularly well. Which was perhaps why Old Sally found it first.

The elderly shepherd wandered straight into the trap on his way home, his poor eyesight never catching the metal teeth concealed beneath the grass.

The sharp snap echoed across the field. By the time Jo reached him, several townsfolk had already forced the trap open. Old Sally escaped with nothing worse than a badly sprained ankle and a string of colorful curses directed at whichever fool had left the trap there.

After helping the old man onto his cart, Jo found himself lingering beside the abandoned contraption.

Cruel.

His eyes traced the sharp iron teeth. Unbidden, an image formed in his mind. Soft white fur caught between the metal. Bright blue eyes wide with fear. Snow-white fur slowly stained crimson. The thought alone made his stomach twist.

"...Poor thing."

As Jo walked home that evening, another realization quietly settled in. This whole chaotic chase had become something else entirely. No one seemed interested in winning the lady's heart anymore. It had become a contest. A matter of pride. The woman had become the prize.

The cat...

Merely the obstacle.

And everyone was so determined to win that they'd forgotten there was a living creature caught in the middle of it all.

Once again, Jo smuggled his dinner into his leather satchel. By now the poor thing permanently smelled of roasted meat and grease. He had long since given up storing his sketchbook inside without wrapping it in cloth first. Hopefully the smell would fade, well probably not.

He tucked in a small tin of sardines, a few scraps of roasted chicken he'd managed to save from dinner, and quietly borrowed a clean dish towel from the kitchen.

After bidding his parents goodnight, he waited until the house fell silent before slipping out through the back door. Thus began his newest evening routine. Back slightly hunched, hands tucked into his coat pockets against the cool night air, Jo wandered the sleeping town.

"Pspspsps..."

Silence.

"Kitty..."

He peeked beneath carts.

"Pspspsps..."

Around stone walls.

"...Pretty kitty?"

Behind market stalls, nothing.

Night after night, he'd found himself doing exactly this. Tonight, however, unease settled heavily in his chest. Dark clouds had swallowed most of the moon, leaving only the occasional sliver of silver light to spill across the streets.

Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbled. Rain was coming.

Jo glanced toward the rooftops. "I hope you've found somewhere dry..."

The thought bothered him more than he cared to admit. For all the stories surrounding the mysterious woman, Jo rarely saw the cat disappear into any particular house once night fell. She simply roamed as though she had nowhere to return to.

"...Poor thing."

"Kitty..." he called again, softer this time. "Pspspsps... where are you?"

A faint clatter echoed from a narrow alley as Jo turned. Two bright blue eyes stared back at him.

Then, without a sound, the white cat stepped gracefully from the shadows. Even beneath the dim moonlight, her fur seemed to glow. She sat perfectly still, looking him over from head to toe making Jo shifted awkwardly beneath the scrutiny.

"...Hello."

The cat blinked.

"I brought dinner again."

Slowly, carefully, Jo crouched and reached into his satchel. But the moment he took a step forward, the cat rose.

"...Oh."

She turned away.

Jo's shoulders drooped, maybe his presence is unwanted. Then, after only a few paces, she stopped and glanced over one shoulder.

Waiting.

"..."

"...Do you want me to follow you?"

The cat flicked her tail once, Jo considered it as a yes.

"...Okay."

He followed several careful steps behind, allowing the cat to set the pace. Through two narrow lanes, across the quiet street, past the clockmaker's garden, he followed solemnly until she hopped effortlessly over a familiar wooden fence.

"...Wait."

He climbed over after her.

"...This is my house."

The cat was already waiting beside an old rain barrel in the corner of the backyard.

"...You know where I live?"

She merely sat, watching with her stunning blue eyes. Jo laughed under his breath. "Well... I suppose that answers my question."

He settled onto the grass beside the barrel and opened his satchel.

"I brought sardines."

The small tin popped open with a metallic click. Jo carefully arranged the fish onto a little ceramic plate he'd borrowed from the kitchen. A little bit too fancy to feed a stray cat, but this gorgeous cat deserved it, he said.

"There."

The cat, meanwhile, had begun meticulously licking one pristine white paw, behaving as though she'd all the time in the world.

Clearly...

She was waiting for her meal to be served properly.

The distant rumble of thunder rolled across the sky once more, closer this time. The wind picked up, carrying with it the cool scent of wet earth long before the first drop of rain had fallen.

"It'll be pouring soon."

Jo glanced toward the heavy clouds overhead before looking back at the white cat. She was still happily occupied with the sardines. He hesitated for a second, then, slowly, he reached out. His fingertips brushed the top of her head, a barely there touch. Gentle enough that she could move away whenever she pleased.

Jo smiled to himself. "...You're getting used to me."

His hand lingered, carefully smoothing the impossibly soft fur between her ears. It was every bit as fluffy as he'd imagined, maybe even softer.

"If you don't have somewhere to stay tonight..." He scratched lightly beneath one ear. "...my room is warm."

The cat offered no response. She simply continued devouring the sardines with an enthusiasm entirely unbecoming of the graceful creature she appeared to be.

Still Jo watched, utterly delighted.

"Goodness."

She finished every last morsel. Then, began meticulously licking one paw after another despite the unmistakable sheen of fish oil coating her nose. Jo couldn't help himself as a laugh escaped him.

"You know..." The cat looked up. "You clean yourself very thoroughly for someone whose entire face is still covered in sardine."

She blinked.

"...Smart girl."

The cat continued washing herself as though refusing to acknowledge the slander.

Another rumble in the sky immediately followed by the first cold raindrop landed squarely on Jo's cheek.

"...Oh."

Without thinking, Jo scooped the cat into his arms.

"Sorry!"

He tucked her safely against his chest beneath his coat just as the rain began to pour.

"Let's get you inside!"

The world dissolved into sheets of rain. Jo sprinted across the backyard, nearly slipping on the wet grass before bursting through the back door, racing up the stairs two at a time. Only once he'd reached the safety of his bedroom did he stop.

"...Phew." He carefully set the cat down in the middle of his bed. "That was close."

Silence answered him. The cat hadn't moved an inch. She sat perfectly upright atop his quilt, completely motionless. Her bright blue eyes were impossibly wide stared at him.

Frozen.

Jo blinked.

"..."

"...Did..."

His smile slowly disappeared.

"...I'm sorry."

"...Did I cross the line?"

I am dumbfounded.

Starstruck.

Flabbergasted.

Shell-shocked.

Whatever word one wished to use, none of them felt sufficient to describe the current state of my brain.

I had just been...

Picked up.

By a man.

A man.

I swear upon every ancestor before me, the string of profanities currently marching through my head would make even drunken sailors gasp in admiration.

That wasn't even the worst part. I had been enjoying my dinner.

That's right.

Dinner.

Because this absurdly lanky man had, for the past week, developed the peculiar habit of sneaking food out of his own house every evening just to feed me. And the meals were always delicious. I wondered if he cooked them himself.

...No.

Focus.

That was not the point.

HE PICKED ME UP.

Without warning.

Without permission.

Without even the slightest hint of malicious intent, which somehow made it infinitely worse because now I couldn't even justify scratching him.

Then he,

HE

Ran.

Clutching me against his chest as though I have no saying in this, straight into his house.

Straight up the stairs.

Straight into

His.

Bedroom.

...

How dare.

How utterly scandalous.

Had anyone seen us?

If my ancestors from above had happened to see this exact moment, I'd have to fake my own death and met them instead.

...

...

Although...

His coat was warm.

Ridiculously warm that the rain hadn't touched me once. He even tucked me beneath his chin to shield my ears from the wind.

...

...

No.

No, absolutely not.

I refuse.

I refuse to acknowledge that I may have enjoyed being carried.

Or that the rhythmic thump of his heartbeat had been...

Comforting.

...

I—

What?

No.

Absolutely not.

I am no woman tamed by any man.

I am a respected lady.

The most sought-after woman in this ridiculous town.

I do not melt because a gentle idiot wrapped me in his coat like I was his precious.

...

...

His…

...

WHAT?!

Author's note: This fic is for my birthday boy, Jyoo, &TEAM’s one and only cat parent. I saw this prompt on Instagram and immediately knew I had to write it for him.

I hope you enjoy it, and please let me know what you think ♡

[ravynisyew]

I spent the whole day reading your the Crown and the Fool series and boy oh boy I am obsessed. This might be the best fanfic I've ever read and I wanted to drop by and sing you your praises 🫶🫵

My, oh my, thank you for dropping by with such lovely praise, sweetloaf 💗 (God forbid a girl be praise-deprived.)

The Crown and the Fool series was honestly one big comedy slapstick because my previous fic (Ookami Packs), put K through enough suffering already, so consider this my compensation package. 😭

Also, please read Jo's spin-off if you get the chance! It's a little more gothic in style, but I love that short story dearly.

Anyway, love you for dropping by, anon 💗✨

[ravynisyew]

Forever Storm 🫐🌧️💙

Duke Ghost! Fuma AU full story.

WC: 6k

She was shivering, breath fogging the cold air as rain lashed against her skin. The storm rolled overhead, loud and merciless, soaking her clothes until they clung heavily to her body.

She must have taken a wrong turn somewhere. Because this place didn't feel real. It felt like she had wandered into another realm entirely, one abandoned by the sun and forgotten by time.

The sky was impossibly dark. No moon. No stars. Nothing but thick storm clouds swallowing every trace of light. She couldn't even remember which direction she'd come from anymore.

She walked.

And walked.

And walked.

Until her legs trembled from exhaustion and the cold had settled deep into her bones. Then she saw a flicker of warm light in the distance. Almost cruel enough to be a trick. Almost obvious enough to be a trap. But she had no other choice. Like a moth drawn to a flame, she followed it through the rain.

And there, hidden among twisted trees and curtains of mist, stood a mansion.

Ancient.

Silent.

Waiting.

The door hinges creaked loudly, the sound cutting through the storm as she pushed the massive wooden doors open, warmth greeted her immediately. A hearth blazed at the far end of the entrance hall, its fire crackling and hissing as it devoured logs. The glow painted the dark room in shades of gold and amber.

No one was there. No footsteps. No voices. No sign of life.

Only the fire.

Perhaps the cold had finally gotten to her. Perhaps she had wandered so long through the endless storm that she was beginning to imagine things. She didn't care. With trembling legs, she dragged herself across the hall toward the hearth.

The heat was real.

The flickering flames were real.

The sharp scent of burning wood was real.

She sank onto the floor before it, close enough that the fire kissed her skin and dried the rain from her clothes. Almost dangerously close that a stray spark could have caught in her drenched hair. Still, she moved closer. Greedily. Desperately. She stretched both hands toward the flames and closed her eyes.

Warm.

For the first time in hours, she felt alive again. The feeling seeped into her aching muscles, loosening every knot of tension buried in her body. The shivering eased. The exhaustion she had been outrunning finally caught up to her.

Heavy.

So unbearably heavy.

Her eyelids drooped, clumped lashes brushing her cheeks before they closed. And at last, she surrendered to sleep. Unaware of the figure standing motionless in the shadows beyond the reach of the firelight. A pair of eyes, ancient and patient, never leaving her face.

She woke to the sound of thunder rolling overhead. With a startled gasp, she pushed herself upright.

The hearth was still blazing.

Heat rushed against her skin, almost uncomfortably warm after hours spent freezing in the storm. She scooted back across the rug until the fire no longer felt close enough to scorch. For a moment, she simply sat there, trying to gather her thoughts.

Her clothes were dry. Her body no longer ached with cold. Someone had even draped a blanket over her shoulders. How long had she been asleep?

She glanced toward the tall windows.

Still dark.

Beyond the glass, rain lashed endlessly against the panes. Lightning flashed every few moments, illuminating twisted trees swaying beneath the storm. The forest looked no different than before as though morning never came here.

A strange unease settled in her chest.

She turned to push herself to her feet when her palm landed on something soft and wet. She frowned and lifted her hand. Blue stains marked her skin. Nestled beside her was a crushed blueberry.

"Oh."

More lay scattered across the rug. A small handful. Fresh and plump. Tiny droplets of mist still clung to their skins as though they had been picked only moments ago. Her stomach growled immediately as the sweet scent reached her. Before she could stop herself, carefully, she picked one up and turned it between her fingers.

Was it wise to eat food left by a who knows who in a mansion hidden inside a storm that should not exist?

Probably not.

Then again, none of this made any sense.

And if whoever lived here had wanted to harm her, they had plenty of opportunities while she slept.

After a moment, she popped the berry into her mouth. The sweet juice burst across her tongue, washing away the dryness in her throat. She closed her eyes.

It tasted like sunlight. Like summer. Like something that did not belong in this endless rain.

Before she knew it, she was reaching for another. And another. Until every last berry had disappeared. Only then did she notice the wet footprints leading away from the hearth.

Large.

Fresh.

And definitely not hers.

Unafraid. She always had been. And she suspected she always would be. Besides, someone had brought her inside, dried her clothes, and left food while she slept. The least she could do was offer her thanks. Her grandmother had raised her better than that.

Pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders, she rose and followed the wet footprints leading away from the hearth. The deeper she ventured into the mansion, the darker it became. The warm glow of the fire soon disappeared behind her, swallowed by endless corridors and towering shadows.

The place felt impossibly large like a maze built from darkness and silence. Only the occasional flash of lightning through the enormous windows offered any light at all. She followed the footprints along the hall, her reflection flickering in the glass every time the storm illuminated the world beyond.

Then a long stretch of darkness returned. Nothing but the distant growl of thunder and the sound of her own breathing, and the strange feeling that the mansion itself was listening.

A shiver slipped down her spine.

She slowed from awareness. From the sensation of being watched.

Then lightning split the sky. For a heartbeat, the entire hallway blazed silver-white. And she saw a man stood at the far end of the corridor.

Tall.

Broad-shouldered.

Motionless before a towering window.

The storm raged beyond the glass, yet he stood with his hands clasped behind his back as though merely observing a pleasant afternoon rain.

Her breath caught. The footprints. The berries. The blanket. It had to be him.

Another flash of lightning illuminated the corridor. This time he was turning toward her. And for the briefest moment, she saw his face. Dark hair. Eyes that seemed almost luminous in the stormlight. Their gazes met. Then the darkness returned for only for a second before the lightning flashed again, and he was gone.

No footsteps.

No opening door.

No retreating figure.

Nothing.

The corridor stood empty as though he had never been there at all.

She stared, then frowned.

"...what was that."

Her voice echoed softly through the hall.

"If you're going to feed me blueberries, the least you can do is let me thank you properly."

After what felt like hours spent staring into the flames, she finally accepted the truth.

The storm was not ending. Morning was not coming. The darkness beyond the windows remained unchanged, broken only by flashes of lightning and endless sheets of rain. Whatever this place was, it was not normal. She had known it for a while. Now she simply stopped arguing with it.

With a groan, she pushed herself upright. Her legs ached from sitting on the floor. Her back protested every movement. Enough was enough. If the mansion intended to remain mysterious, then she intended to leave. At least, that had been the plan. The forest, however, seemed to have other ideas.

Hours later, soaked to the bone for the second time that day, she stumbled back through the mansion's front doors.

"Unbelievable."

The doors slammed shut behind her. She stood dripping rainwater onto the polished floor, glaring at the entrance as though it held responsibility of the endless rain. No matter which direction she chose. No matter how long she walked. No matter how carefully she marked her path. The forest always led her back.

Every single time.

The mansion sat waiting exactly where she had left it. Patient. As though it had known she would return.

Muttering several things her grandmother would not approve of, she trudged back toward the hearth and dropped onto the rug. The fire still burned, exactly as before. The logs never seemed to shrink. The flames never seemed to weaken. The pile of firewood beside the hearth never grew smaller.

"Huh" Another thing she was choosing not to think about.

The blueberry ghost—if he truly was a ghost—had not appeared again. No more glimpses in hallways. No more footprints. No more blueberries. Just silence that stretched so long it began to feel like a living thing.

She stared into the fire until the fire stared back.

"Am I going crazy?" The words escaped before she could stop them. Soft. Almost lost beneath the distant thunder.

Creak.

Her head snapped up. A door hinge groaned somewhere deep within the mansion. She scrambled to her feet so quickly she nearly tripped over the blanket tangled around her legs.

At the same moment, torches along the walls burst into life. One after another. Flames blooming down the corridor.

A path.

The mansion was showing her a path.

She stared for a long moment before sighed.

"alright."

Because apparently she got nothing else to do than following a mansion who clearly had their own opinions for her.

Gathering the blanket around her shoulders, she followed the trail of torchlight through the darkness. Past unfamiliar hallways. Past silent portraits. Past doors that remained firmly shut. Until at last she reached the source.

An open door.

Beyond it lay a bedchamber. And what a bedchamber it was. The room was enormous. A sitting area occupied one corner beside another crackling hearth. Shelves lined the walls. Heavy curtains framed tall windows.

And in the center stood a bed large enough to sleep four people comfortably. She blinked. Then blinked again.

"This is actually quite fascinating, sir..."

The empty room offered no reply.

"Thank you."

With absolutely no concern for logic, curses, ghosts, or basic self-preservation, she crossed the room and threw herself onto the mattress. The bed swallowed her whole. Soft. Warm. Comfortable.

She dragged the blanket up to her chin and a content sigh escaped her lips. Within moments, she was asleep. Hidden behind the wall adjoining the chamber, a certain ghostly duke stood frozen in place.

Listening.

Waiting until her breathing deepened. Only then did he allow himself the smallest smile.

The next time she woke, another handful of blueberries awaited her. This time they sat neatly on the bedside table, wrapped inside a white handkerchief.

"Huh."

A smile tugged at her lips before she could stop it. She plucked one of the berries and popped it into her mouth. Sweet.

As always.

The rest she gathered carefully into the front pocket of her skirt before stretching her arms overhead. For the first time since arriving, she felt almost rested.

Almost normal.

Well, as normal as one could feel while trapped inside a haunted mansion hidden within an endless storm. Though trapped hardly felt like the right word anymore. The forest refused to let her leave. That much was true. But the mansion itself never stopped her.

If anything, it seemed oddly accommodating. A room to sleep in. Fires that never died. Blueberries appearing every morning.

No.

The mansion seemed perfectly content to let her wander wherever she pleased. And wander she would. Grabbing one of the wall torches, she set out to explore. The flame was surprisingly light in her hand.

Most of the mansion remained swallowed by darkness. Only the path connecting her bedchamber to the main hall remained illuminated. The rest was hers to discover.

She descended a staircase she had not noticed before. Down. Further down. Until she stumbled upon what appeared to be a kitchen. Rows of copper pots hung from the walls. Shelves lined with jars stood untouched by dust.

Another hearth crackled to life the moment she stepped inside. She eyed it suspiciously.

"Starting to think this house has an unhealthy obsession with fire."

The flames offered no defense, unfortunately.

A quick search revealed little in the way of food. Only dried herbs. Bottles of oil. Various ingredients she couldn't identify. But then one small vial caught her attention.

Peppermint.

With a pleased hum, she uncorked it and placed a single drop on her tongue. Coolness spread through her mouth instantly.

"Now that's civilized."

Feeling considerably more human, she continued her search. A copper cup. A large jug. No water. Naturally.

Her attention shifted toward a door at the back of the kitchen. Curious, she pulled it open and rain immediately slapped her across the face. She recoiled. Then sighed.

"Good morning to you too."

The storm remained as hostile as ever. Stepping outside beneath the overhang, she spotted a stone well nearby. At least that mystery solved itself.

After drawing water and drinking her fill, she wandered farther into the courtyard and stopped.

Blueberry bushes. Dozens of them. Growing beneath the kitchen windows. Heavy with fruit.

Her eyes widened. "So this is where they come from."

The ghost had apparently been raiding the garden. The realization made her laugh. Reaching into her pocket, she retrieved the remaining berries. Most had been crushed during her exploration. Purple stains marked the white handkerchief wrapped around them.

Absentmindedly, she unfolded the cloth. Then paused. Something was stitched into one corner.

A single letter.

Neat.

Elegant.

F.

Her gaze lingered on it.

For a moment, the storm seemed quieter. The rain softer. She traced the embroidered letter with her thumb, then smiled.

"Well." The smile widened.

"Hello, F."

After gathering another handful of blueberries from the bushes, she wrapped them carefully inside the white handkerchief embroidered with the letter F.

Her handkerchief now. Well. Borrowed. Probably. She would return it eventually.

Maybe.

The storm had thoroughly soaked her dress again by the time she returned inside. With a resigned sigh, she detoured through the main hall and claimed one of the blankets draped over a nearby chair. No one objected.

Wrapped in warmth once more, she resumed her exploration. This time, she followed the corridor where she had first seen him. The hallway of windows. The hallway of disappearing ghosts.

Thunder growled beyond the glass as rain streamed endlessly down the panes. And after turning a corner, she stopped.

There.

At the far end of the corridor. The same place as before. A figure stood before the window.

Tall.

Motionless.

Watching the storm.

A strange sense of familiarity settled over her. As though finding him here was no longer surprising. Quietly, she placed her torch into a wall sconce then she began to walk.

One step.

Then another.

The distance between them slowly shrinking.

He did not vanish. Did not even turn around. Until she stood only a few feet away. Close enough to see the faint outline of him reflected in the glass. Close enough to hear nothing at all.

No breathing. No shifting fabric. No heartbeat.

Only rain.

She turned her attention toward the window. Thunder flashed across the sky, water slid down the glass in endless silver trails. Beside her, he remained silent.

For a long while neither of them moved. The quiet felt different somehow. Not empty, but charged. Like standing at the edge of something unseen.

A shiver drifted down her spine it made her breath catch unexpectedly. As though unseen fingers had brushed lightly along her back. A soft sigh escaped her before she swallowed.

Then finally spoke.

"Who are you?"

The question slipped out softer than she intended. The words barely louder than the rain. She snapped her head before he vanished again and found him already looking at her.

For the first time, there was no lightning between them. Only a pair of eyes welcoming her. Dark and impossibly sad.

The sight struck her harder than it should have. A ghost. A stranger. A man she did not know. And yet those eyes looked at her as though they had spent a very long time waiting.

Then he vanished.

Again.

The space beside her stood empty. Only rain remained. She stared at the spot where he had been and sighed.

"Well."

Her voice echoed softly through the corridor.

"Who's supposed to answer my question now?"

She remained by the window long after the ghost vanished. Partly because she hoped he might return and another part was because she had nothing better to do.

The storm outside remained unchanged. Rain battered the glass in endless sheets. Thunder rolled across the sky with such familiar timing that she had begun to recognize its pattern.

The same flashes, the same pauses, the same distant rumble. Again and again. And again as though the storm itself were trapped. As though she had wandered into someone's final moment and found herself caught in its endless repetition.

Eventually, boredom won. With a sigh, she retrieved her torch from the wall.

"If you're not coming back, I'm going exploring." She shouted to the darkness for what almost sounds like a permission and the corridor offered no objections.

She took the staircase leading upward this time. The upper floor felt different from the rest of the mansion.

Darker.

Quieter.

The shadows seemed thicker here, gathering in corners and stretching along the ceilings. Even the air felt heavier. She walked carefully, one hand trailing along faded wallpaper. Torchlight flickering across portraits she could not quite make out. Then she noticed a door standing slightly ajar.

Which her delirious mind took it as another invitation. At this point she was beginning to suspect the mansion had opinions about where she should and should not go.

Curious, she pushed the door open. An office greeted her. Rows upon rows of books filled three walls from floor to ceiling. The fourth was occupied almost entirely by a towering window overlooking the storm. A desk sat near the center of the room.

Waiting.

She placed her torch into a wall bracket and lit several candles scattered throughout the room and soon warm light chased away some of the darkness. Then she approached the desk. Blueberries still occupied one pocket of her skirt. She popped one into her mouth as she leaned over the tabletop.

An opened letter rested there. Its contents written in hurried script. Beside it sat a broken pocket watch. Its hands forever frozen. And next to the watch, her breath caught.

A bluebell.

Fresh.

Newly picked like the blueberries she woke up to, tiny droplets of moisture still clung to the petals. As though someone had placed it there only moments ago.

The sight stirred something strange inside her chest. Carefully, she reached out, her fingertips brushed the flower first.

Cold.

Unexpectedly cold.

Then her hand drifted toward the pocket watch. The instant her skin touched the metal, the room disappeared. The office vanished, the candles vanished, the storm vanished.

And suddenly she was somewhere else.

Instead of darkness, she was blinded by sunlight. Her eyes squeezed shut instinctively.

Warmth flooded her skin. The scent of grass and river water filled the air. Birdsong, cicadas, leaves rustling overhead instead of grumbling storm. For a moment she could only stand there in stunned silence.

When she finally forced her eyes open, she found herself standing atop a smooth river stone. A stream rushed around her ankles. Golden evening light painted the water in shades of amber and gold. The world felt impossibly bright.

Then she slipped.

A startled yelp escaped her lips as her foot skidded across wet stone. The river rushed upward, cold water swallowed her whole as the current tugged at her clothes. Panic surged through her chest and before she opened her mouth to scream, the memory shattered.

The next thing she knew, she was staring upward at a summer sky.

Someone hovered above her. A little girl with big eye staring down at her. Tears streamed freely down her face as she looked terrified.

Her sundress clung to her skin, soaked from head to toe. Dark hair stuck to her cheeks. One trembling hand touched the side of her head. When she pulled it away, there was crimson stain on her fingers. The sight made her stomach lurch.

The little girl immediately burst into tears.

"I'm sorry."

Her voice cracked.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry—"

The words dissolved into sobs.

Confusion washed over her. What happened? Why was this child crying? Why was everything so... wrong?

Then she heard herself speak, only it wasn't her voice. It was higher, younger. A boy's voice that still untouched by adulthood.

"I'm fine."

The words left her mouth without permission.

"It doesn't hurt."

She froze. That wasn't her, that wasn't her voice, wasn't her body.

The realization struck like lightning. The world around her wasn't reacting to her confusion. The girl couldn't hear her, couldn't see her, because she wasn't really here.

She was watching.

No.

She was remembering.

Through someone else's eyes.

The little boy sat up slowly and the little girl immediately grabbed his arm.

Still crying.

Still shaking.

Still worried.

And despite the blood running down his temple, the boy offered a small smile.

Gentle.

"Thank you for saving me."

The memories blurred.

Summer bled into autumn.

Autumn into winter.

Winter into spring.

Years passed in the space between heartbeats and yet the little girl remained. Always the little girl. Though she was little no longer.

One moment they were children racing through fields.The next they were laughing beneath a willow tree.

The next sharing sweets at a summer festival, hand in hand as lantern light painted gold across their faces.

"Fuma!"

Her laughter rang through the memory. Bright and effortless. Familiar.

The world spun onward, stars glimmering above. Promises made over too much candy and aching stomachs, dreams spoken aloud.

Then something changed. The memories grew distant. The colors faded. The laughter softened. And suddenly she was no longer standing beside him. She was watching from where he stood.

Across the street. Behind a window. At the edge of a ballroom. Always looking yet never approaching. And no matter where he stood, his eyes always found her.

Every time.

As though the world could fill with hundreds of people and he would still see only one.

Then came whispers, conversations behind closed doors. Families speaking in careful voices. Marriage arrangements. Suitable matches. Future obligations. The memory tightened painfully around her chest.

One evening she appeared at his door. The room was dim, only candlelight flickered between them. In her hands rested a beautiful silver pocket watch. She recognized it immediately. The same watch resting upon the desk. The same watch lying broken beside the bluebell. The same watch that had drawn her into these memories.

The young woman placed it carefully into his hands.

"I wanted you to have it."

Her smile was gentle. Almost steady.

Almost.

But beneath it lingered something else, something fragile. Hope.

"The wedding is next month."

Silence.

The words hung between them. The room felt unbearably small yet the watch felt impossibly heavy.

"My father is very pleased."

Still silence.

The hopeful look remained.

Waiting.

Waiting.

Say something.

The thought struck her with sudden desperation.

Say anything.

Stop her.

Ask her to stay.

Tell her.

Tell her.

Tell her.

But the young duke only stared at the watch, his fingers tightening around the silver case. His throat working, his heart screaming words his lips refused to form.

The silence stretched and stretched until finally she smiled.

Small.

Sad.

"Oh."

The single word shattered something inside him.

She stepped back and the hopeful look disappeared like a candle extinguished.

"I should go."

Still he said nothing.

The door opened and she paused for only a moment.

One final chance. Then she left.

The memory broke apart.

Thunder crashed.

Wind howled.

Rain swallowed the world whole.

Suddenly she stood upon the deck of a ship, ocean raged around her. Waves crashed against splintering wood. Sailors shouted in muted silence. Lightning split the sky. And there standing amid the storm was Fuma.

One hand pressed against his chest where a single bluebell rested inside his coat pocket. The other reached desperately toward the pocket watch. Toward the final gift she had ever given him. The watch clicked open and the lightning flashed.

The storm roared and time stopped.

She tore herself free from the memory with a violent gasp. The office rushed back into existence around her. Rows of books, candles. The storm beyond the windows.

Her knees nearly buckled. One hand slammed against the desk to keep herself upright. The other clutched at her chest. As though she could somehow hold together the ache blooming there.

Her heart hurt. Not her own heartbreak, his. Centuries old yet somehow still sharp enough to cut.

"Oh no..."

The words escaped in a broken whisper and s sob followed before she could stop it. She squeezed her eyes shut, tried to steady her breathing. Tried to separate herself from the memories.

From the river.

The willow tree.

The festival lights.

The pocket watch.

The door closing.

The silence.

Most of all—

The silence.

A painful understanding settled over her like rain soaking through cloth.

Lightning flashed, white light flooded the office followed by rolling thunder. And when she looked up, he was there standing beside the desk. She nearly jumped out of her skin.

"HOLY—"

The curse died halfway out of her mouth. Because he looked exactly as he always did.

Tall.

Silent.

Motionless.

And yet different.

Because now she knew. Now she understood what hid behind those sad eyes.

For a long moment neither of them spoke. Then she looked down at the broken pocket watch resting between them.

"This is yours."

Her voice came out quiet.

The watch remained still, its hands frozen forever just like him.

"You did this to yourself." No accusation in her tone, only sadness.

Fuma lowered his gaze. His attention settled upon the watch. And something in her chest twisted painfully. Because even now, even after centuries, he was still staring at the same moment.

The same mistake.

The same regret.

She wiped angrily at the tears gathering on her cheeks.

"I'm sorry."

The words slipped free before she could stop them.

His empty eyes lifted to her.

"I am."

Another tear escaped.

Because what else was there to say?

Sorry you loved her.

Sorry you waited.

Sorry you never got another chance.

Sorry you've been trapped inside that moment for so long you've forgotten how to leave.

The storm rattled the windows, rain streamed endlessly down the glass and still he said nothing. Never said anything that a thought surfaced suddenly. Maybe he couldn't. Maybe somewhere along the way the silence became part of the curse. Or perhaps this was his punishment.

A man who never spoke when it mattered.

A ghost who could no longer speak at all.

The realization made her throat tighten as she looked at him. At the sadness he carried. At the loneliness. At the centuries written across his stillness. Then she asked the question that had been haunting her since she arrived.

"Why do you keep me here?"

The room fell silent, only rain answered.

Fuma only stood there, he didn't move, he didn't vanish this time.

As though he wished he knew the answer too.

"I think I need some air."

The words barely made it past the tightness in her throat.

Fuma didn't move. He remained standing beside the desk, beside the pocket watch, beside the bluebell. Still staring as though some part of him still believed that if he looked long enough, he could return to that moment and choose differently.

She couldn't bear it. Not right now.

Turning away, she left him there, the office door closed softly behind her. Darkness swallowed the hallway as she had forgotten her torch. The realization barely registered.

One hand dragged along the wallpaper as she found her way through the mansion by touch alone. Down the staircase. Past silent corridors. Past shadows that seemed less frightening now that she knew what haunted them.

By the time she reached the main hall, her chest still ached. The hearth crackled warmly.

The same fire. The same room. The same endless night.

Suddenly she hated it. Before she could stop herself, she crossed the hall and threw open the front doors. Rain immediately rushed inside, wind swept through the mansion. The fire hissed behind her.

She stepped into the storm and the cold water soaked her within seconds. Her hair clung to her face. Her dress grew heavy. Still she kept walking.

The rain lashed against her skin. Thunder rolled overhead. Lightning flashed across the sky. For a moment she allowed herself to drown in it.

In his grief.

In his regret.

In the terrible weight of everything she had seen.

Then slowly the storm began to wake her. The cold seeped through the borrowed heartbreak. The emotions untangled and realization settled quietly into place. This wasn't weather, it never had been.

It was grief.

Old, relentless grief.

A grief so powerful it had repeated itself for centuries because nobody had ever witnessed it. Nobody had ever told it to stop.

She stopped walking, letting rain streamed down her face.

How long had he carried it?

How many storms?

How many years?

How many centuries?

To live inside a single regret for that long seemed unbearable.

A broken laugh escaped her.

"You idiot."

The wind stole the words immediately then she wiped at her eyes.

"He came all this way just to haunt himself."

The realization hurt more than the memories. All this time she had thought the storm trapped him. The truth was far crueler.

He was the one refusing to leave.

Her gaze drifted toward the silhouette of the mansion waiting through the rain. Toward the lonely window where a ghost stood watching the same storm over and over again. And for the first time, she understood what needed to happen.

"Let him go," she whispered into the howling wind.

Then after a moment, softer still,

"Let her go too."

The storm offered no answer. Only centuries of sorrow washing endlessly across the earth.

She drew a slow breath then turned around. And walked back toward the mansion. Back toward the window, toward the ghost who had spent centuries mourning a future that never happened, toward the man who needed permission to live beyond his regret.

Even if it was only in death.

The window waited for her as it always had. Rain streamed endlessly down the glass, thunder rolled beyond the horizon. The storm remained unchanged.

Yet somehow, everything felt different.

She approached slowly but sure as she finally knew who she would find standing there. And true to his nature, there he was. Fuma stood before the towering window. Motionless. His hands clasped behind his back watching the rain. Watching the same storm he had watched for centuries.

He didn't turn when she approached, perhaps he already knew she was there, perhaps he was waiting for her.

For a long time, silence settled comfortably between them. Like two people standing beside a grave. Eventually she sighed.

"You know..."

The ghost remained still.

"I think you're an idiot."

Lightning flashed, and for the first time, she thought she saw the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth.

"I mean it." She folded her arms. "An absolute idiot."

The rain continued to fall.

"You spent centuries haunting yourself."

She stepped closer to the glass, close enough that their reflections blurred together.

"She knew." The words landed softly but it makes Fuma's shoulders stiffened.

"Maybe not every detail."

Her gaze drifted toward the storm.

"But she knew."

The memory of that night lingered vividly in her mind.

The watch.

The hopeful look, the waiting. And the disappointment.

"People don't bring gifts like that." She swallowed. "They don't stand in doorways hoping for answers like that."

Silence.

"You loved her." The storm groaned overhead. "And she knew."

For a long time nothing happened.

The rain continued. The thunder rolled. The endless cycle remained untouched. Fuma lowered his head, fishing the broken watch from the pocket of his trousers. The motion, after centuries of standing perfectly still, almost felt monumental.

A breath escaped her as she slowly reached into her pocket. The handkerchief. The one embroidered with the letter F.

Carefully she unfolded it. Inside laid a single petal of bluebell. She placed it upon the windowsill between them.

A quiet offering.

For the boy by the river.

For the young man on the ship.

For the ghost in the storm.

Then she looked at him and smiled sadly.

"You can stop now."

The words nearly broke her because no one had ever said them to him.

Not in life.

Not in death.

Then the air in the room changed.

At first she thought it was her imagination. The rain sounded different. Softer. The thunder more distant. She turned toward the window and found the storm was fading. Weakening. As though exhausted. As though it had finally been allowed to rest.

The clouds shifted and sliver of light appeared beyond them. Gold. Warm. Her breath caught as sunlight broke through. The first sunlight she had seen since arriving. It spilled through a break in the clouds, crossed the sky and touched the forest. Touched the mansion. Touched the window.

And finally touched him.

She froze because for the first time she saw him clearly.

Not a silhouette. Not a shadow.

A young man with kind eyes, dark hair and a face softened no longer by sadness but by peace. The expression suited him far better. The sunlight passed through him, turning him translucent as the edge of him fading slowly. Inevitably.

She felt tears gathering again. Not from grief this time, but from understanding.

Fuma looked out at the clearing sky. Then at her. And for the first time since she had arrived at the mansion—

He spoke.

His voice was quiet. Rough. As though centuries had passed since its last use and perhaps they had.

"Thank you."

Two words.

Nothing more yet they carried the weight of every blueberry.

Every blanket.

Every lit torch.

Every open door.

Every silent moment spent beside her.

She laughed through her tears.

"You're welcome."

A small smile appeared.

Gentle.

Almost shy.

The kind of smile belonging to a boy sitting beside a river instead of a ghost trapped inside a storm. Then he looked toward the sunlight once more.

"If there is another life..."

His voice nearly disappeared with the wind.

A soft breath.

A final confession to the universe.

"I think I'd like to be braver."

And then he was gone. Like mist touched by morning as the space beside her stood empty.

The sunlight remained, and the storm did not return. Silence filled the room, slowly warming from the sunlight.

She stared at the place where he had stood. Minutes passed.

Perhaps longer.

Then—

Tick.

Her breath caught.

Tick.

Slowly she turned and find the pocket watch rested upon the windowsill. Its hands now moving.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

Time had begun again.

Outside, sunlight spilled across the forest. Inside, the mansion breathed its first quiet breath in centuries. And somewhere beyond sight, beyond storms, beyond grief and regret, a lonely ghost finally went home.

Author's note: I'm crying big blueberry tears over this one, I swearr. My fever-induced frenzy brain be like, "Hey, aren't you craving a tragic ghost Fuma who looks like a duke snacc straight out of a Renaissance painting?" And the answer was unfortunately yes.

So I sat down, possessed by the spirit of angst, grief, endless storms, and a suspicious amount of blueberries, then proceeded to finish this entire draft in one night.

This is another self-indulged Fuma fics, and honestly? I had the best time making myself emotional over a ghost who communicates exclusively through blueberries, blankets, and yearning.

Anyway. I love this one a lot. Hope you all enjoy it too. 🫐🌧️💙

[ravynisyew]

Thinking about Duke Ghost! Fuma haunting a mansion deep within a forest where the storm never ends.

She was shivering, breath fogging the cold air as rain lashed against her skin. The storm rolled overhead, loud and merciless, soaking her clothes until they clung heavily to her body.

She must have taken a wrong turn somewhere. Because this place didn't feel real. It felt like she had wandered into another realm entirely—one abandoned by the sun and forgotten by time.

The sky was impossibly dark. No moon. No stars. Nothing but thick storm clouds swallowing every trace of light. She couldn't even remember which direction she'd come from anymore.

She walked.

And walked.

And walked.

Until her legs trembled from exhaustion and the cold had settled deep into her bones. Then she saw a flicker of warm light in the distance. Almost cruel enough to be a trick. Almost obvious enough to be a trap. But she had no other choice. Like a moth drawn to a flame, she followed it through the rain.

And there, hidden among twisted trees and curtains of mist, stood a mansion.

Ancient.

Silent.

Waiting.

The door hinges creaked loudly, the sound cutting through the storm as she pushed the massive wooden doors open, warmth greeted her immediately. A hearth blazed at the far end of the entrance hall, its fire crackling and hissing as it devoured logs. The glow painted the dark room in shades of gold and amber.

No one was there. No footsteps. No voices. No sign of life.

Only the fire.

Perhaps the cold had finally gotten to her. Perhaps she had wandered so long through the endless storm that she was beginning to imagine things. She didn't care. With trembling legs, she dragged herself across the hall toward the hearth.

The heat was real.

The flickering flames were real.

The sharp scent of burning wood was real.

She sank onto the floor before it, close enough that the fire kissed her skin and dried the rain from her clothes. Almost dangerously close that a stray spark could have caught in her drenched hair. Still, she moved closer. Greedily. Desperately. She stretched both hands toward the flames and closed her eyes.

Warm.

For the first time in hours, she felt alive again. The feeling seeped into her aching muscles, loosening every knot of tension buried in her body. The shivering eased. The exhaustion she had been outrunning finally caught up to her.

Heavy.

So unbearably heavy.

Her eyelids drooped, clumped lashes brushing her cheeks before they closed. And at last, she surrendered to sleep. Unaware of the figure standing motionless in the shadows beyond the reach of the firelight. A pair of eyes, ancient and patient, never leaving her face.

She woke to the sound of thunder rolling overhead. With a startled gasp, she pushed herself upright.

The hearth was still blazing.

Heat rushed against her skin, almost uncomfortably warm after hours spent freezing in the storm. She scooted back across the rug until the fire no longer felt close enough to scorch. For a moment, she simply sat there, trying to gather her thoughts.

Her clothes were dry. Her body no longer ached with cold. Someone had even draped a blanket over her shoulders. How long had she been asleep?

She glanced toward the tall windows.

Still dark.

Beyond the glass, rain lashed endlessly against the panes. Lightning flashed every few moments, illuminating twisted trees swaying beneath the storm. The forest looked no different than before as though morning never came here.

A strange unease settled in her chest.

She turned to push herself to her feet when her palm landed on something soft and wet. She frowned and lifted her hand. Blue stains marked her skin. Nestled beside her was a crushed blueberry.

"Oh."

More lay scattered across the rug. A small handful. Fresh and plump. Tiny droplets of mist still clung to their skins as though they had been picked only moments ago. Her stomach growled immediately as the sweet scent reached her. Before she could stop herself, carefully, she picked one up and turned it between her fingers.

Was it wise to eat food left by a who knows who in a mansion hidden inside a storm that should not exist?

Probably not.

Then again, none of this made any sense.

And if whoever lived here had wanted to harm her, they had plenty of opportunities while she slept.

After a moment, she popped the berry into her mouth. The sweet juice burst across her tongue, washing away the dryness in her throat. She closed her eyes.

It tasted like sunlight. Like summer. Like something that did not belong in this endless rain.

Before she knew it, she was reaching for another. And another. Until every last berry had disappeared. Only then did she notice the wet footprints leading away from the hearth.

Large.

Fresh.

And definitely not hers.

Unafraid. She always had been. And she suspected she always would be. Besides, someone had brought her inside, dried her clothes, and left food while she slept. The least she could do was offer her thanks. Her grandmother had raised her better than that.

Pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders, she rose and followed the wet footprints leading away from the hearth. The deeper she ventured into the mansion, the darker it became. The warm glow of the fire soon disappeared behind her, swallowed by endless corridors and towering shadows.

The place felt impossibly large like a maze built from darkness and silence. Only the occasional flash of lightning through the enormous windows offered any light at all. She followed the footprints along the hall, her reflection flickering in the glass every time the storm illuminated the world beyond.

Then a long stretch of darkness returned. Nothing but the distant growl of thunder and the sound of her own breathing, and the strange feeling that the mansion itself was listening.

A shiver slipped down her spine.

She slowed from awareness. From the sensation of being watched.

Then lightning split the sky. For a heartbeat, the entire hallway blazed silver-white. And she saw a man stood at the far end of the corridor.

Tall.

Broad-shouldered.

Motionless before a towering window.

The storm raged beyond the glass, yet he stood with his hands clasped behind his back as though merely observing a pleasant afternoon rain.

Her breath caught. The footprints. The berries. The blanket. It had to be him.

Another flash of lightning illuminated the corridor. This time he was turning toward her. And for the briefest moment, she saw his face. Dark hair. Eyes that seemed almost luminous in the stormlight. Their gazes met. Then the darkness returned for only for a second before the lightning flashed again, and he was gone.

No footsteps.

No opening door.

No retreating figure.

Nothing.

The corridor stood empty as though he had never been there at all.

She stared, then frowned.

"...what is that."

Her voice echoed softly through the hall.

"If you're going to feed me blueberries, the least you can do is let me thank you properly."

[ravynisyew]

The Lost Prince of Atlantis

ACT V: The Final Tide

Chapter 38: The Tamed Tempest (Final)

The storm rolled in before dawn.

Not the gentle kind that sang against the windowpanes, but a roaring, twisting chaos that clawed at the cliffs of Lhysanthir. The ocean frothed wild beneath it, waves rising high enough to kiss the sky. The air tasted of salt and lightning.

And in the middle of it, naturally, stood Maki.

Soaked, shivering, and grinning like a lunatic.

“I told you the pulse was calling this way!” he shouted over the roar of the wind.

Taki surfaced beside him, waves cresting around his shoulders. “You said that yesterday! You also said the pulse was calling you toward lunch!”

“Yeah, well, this time it’s stronger!” Maki pointed toward the storm-torn horizon, where something vast churned beneath the waves, a shape of living mist and rage.

Harua landed behind them, his wings slick with rain but his stance unshaken. “Focus. It’s feeding on the chaos of the storm.”

He lifted a hand, eyes narrowing. “It’s no ordinary beast.”

Lightning struck the water and the creature rose.

It was huge, like a manta ray carved from thunderclouds and rainwater, translucent fins stretching wider than ships. Its body shimmered between forms, mist and muscle, light and shadow. When it moved, it roared like a hundred storms at once.

“The Folk calls this one the Tempestray,” Harua said grimly. “It’s pure imbalance. You can’t fight a storm with a sword.”

Maki’s chest glowed faintly, his pulse syncing to the rhythm of the thunder. “Good thing I’m not planning to.”

He stepped forward, rain slicking his hair to his face, breath steady even as lightning danced too close for comfort.

He could feel it beneath the panic of the waves, beneath the howl of the wind, the same dark hum that he’d felt when the glass serpent writhed under his palm.

Chaos, twisted and trapped.

Not evil, just hurting.

He closed his eyes and breathed.

In through the noise. Out through the rhythm.

The Tempestray dove. Harua’s shout cracked through the air. “Maki!”

But the prince stood unmoving, hands raised, his glow spreading through the storm.

The light rippled outward in gold against gray and the rain began to bend, spiraling around him like a halo. His heartbeat matched the storm’s pulse, and for a moment the world seemed to pause.

When he spoke, his voice wasn’t loud, it didn’t need to be. It thrummed with something older, softer.

“Breathe with me.”

The monster hesitated. Its massive wings shuddered midair, its roar breaking into a low, trembling hum. The wind softened, folding inward like a sigh. For a heartbeat, light and storm pulsed in harmony.

And then it was still.

The creature lowered itself toward the sea, its form dissolving slowly into mist. As the rain lightened, Maki’s glow dimmed back to its normal golden warmth. The clouds began to part, streaks of sunlight breaking through.

Taki floated closer, eyes wide. “You… tamed it.”

Maki exhaled shakily, wiping rain from his face with a sheepish grin. “No big deal. Just gave the storm a little therapy.”

Harua stepped forward, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder. “You didn’t tame it,” he said quietly. “You listened. You let it find its rhythm again.”

Maki blinked, lips parting slightly before smiling, small but real. “Then I guess I’m finally doing what I’m supposed to.”

They stood in silence for a while, watching as the last threads of mist faded into the morning light.

The forest had grown used to their footsteps.

By now, even the birds didn’t scatter when Maki came tromping through with a staff too long for him and confidence far too big for his body. Harua trailed a few paces behind, calm as sunrise, and Taki slithered through the low stream that wove between the roots.

They were following the sound of crying.

Except this one rumbled the ground.

The trees opened to a clearing where a creature crouched, a massive mossback tortoise, shell cracked by black veins that pulsed with shadowlight. Its low moans vibrated through the soil. A patch of flowers near its claws had already wilted from the dark energy leaking out.

Maki winced. “Aww, poor guy. Looks like someone swallowed too much emotional baggage again.”

Harua raised an eyebrow. “You make it sound like therapy.”

“It is therapy,” Maki said, stepping closer. “But with extra sparkles.”

He closed his eyes, feeling the hum beneath his feet, the Pulse, the same rhythm that had taught him to listen instead of fight. The tortoise’s pain thrummed wild and uneven, tangled in fear. Maki exhaled, soft and steady, and tuned himself to it.

“Hey there, big fella,” he murmured, voice low. “You don’t have to hold it in anymore. Breathe it out, yeah?”

Light flared faintly from his hands. The cracks along the shell shivered, then exhaled a plume of black mist that melted into the air. The tortoise groaned once, long and relieved, before collapsing onto the grass with a sound like thunder rolling away.

Taki whistled. “You just de-traumatized a mountain.”

“Yep.” Maki beamed. “Certified emotional support prince.”

Harua’s wings rustled, but his lips twitched. “You’re getting better at this. Your rhythm didn’t waver once.”

Maki preened. “What can I say? I’m in sync with the world now. We vibe.”

The tortoise blinked its huge amber eyes and very carefully nudged Maki’s shoulder with its snout before lumbering toward the river. Wherever its feet touched, the grass sprang back to life. The air seemed to hum again.

As they walked back, the villagers met them on the path. Someone shouted Maki’s name. Someone else pressed a woven crown of glowing petals into his hands. Before he knew it, he was surrounded with laughing folks, fae with fruit baskets, even one of the elders bowing slightly.

“You’ve given Lhysanthir breath again,” she said.

Maki fumbled for words. “Uh—well—I just talked to a turtle about its feelings—so, you know, pretty normal day.”

They laughed, and he found himself laughing too. For once, it didn’t feel awkward to be thanked. It just felt… right.

That night, he couldn’t sleep.

The air was too soft, the stars too bright, and the island too alive to ignore. Lhysanthir glowed under the moon like a dream still awake, the sea sighing against the sand as if even the tide had learned to rest.

Maki slipped out quietly, padding barefoot toward the beach. The sand was cool and glittering faintly under his steps, tiny lights flickering like the pulse beneath his skin. Every grain felt familiar now, each wave whispering a greeting, each breeze brushing through his hair like a friend saying there you are.

He found the tortoise again, half-submerged in the shallows. Its shell, once marred by dark cracks, shimmered smooth and whole under the silver light. It lifted its head when it saw him and let out a low rumble that rippled across the water.

“Hey,” Maki said softly, lowering himself to sit in the sand. “Feeling better?”

The tortoise blinked its slow golden eyes. A deep, contented sound rolled out, vibrating through the ground and his chest alike. Maki smiled, a quiet, proud sort of smile that reached deeper than words.

He leaned back on his hands, watching the starlight scatter over the waves. This was different. The island didn’t just feel alive, it felt aware. The flowers along the dunes glowed faintly with his rhythm; the tide seemed to pulse with his heartbeat. And for the first time since this whole Heartstone mess began, he didn’t feel like an outsider looking in. He felt like he belonged to Atlantis, and it belonged—just a little—to him.

He thought of the villagers’ laughter earlier trailing after him, of Harua pretending not to be proud and failing spectacularly. Even Taki, who mocked him endlessly, had looked impressed for a whole three seconds before turning it into a joke. Maki could still feel that warmth the way the island had hummed with joy when the tortoise was freed.

A quiet pride bloomed in his chest, bright and steady. Not the reckless, desperate pride he used to fake, but something truer. Something rooted.

Behind him, footsteps rustled through the grass.

Harua sat beside him without a word, the faint shimmer of his wings catching the moonlight. They watched the horizon together, the sea breathing in long, slow rhythms, the stars mirrored in the water like scattered jewels.

After a long silence, Harua finally said, “You’ve changed this place.”

Maki tilted his head, eyes still on the horizon. “I just helped it remember how to smile again.”

Harua’s lips curved, soft and honest. “That’s the thing that only you could do.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was alive. The world seemed to breathe between them, the sea, the stars, the pulse of the earth and Maki sat in the middle of it all, glowing faintly like the lantern he was always meant to be. For once, the light didn’t feel borrowed. It was his.

He closed his eyes and listened. The island’s pulse beat in perfect time with his own. And somewhere deep down, the world whispered a single word back to him.

Home.

By morning, Taki found them both half-asleep on the rocks and immediately ruined the peace.

“Did you two seriously have an emotional bonding session without snacks? Tragic.”

Maki groaned without opening his eyes. “It was sacred! There were vibes!”

Taki handed him a mug of tea. “Yeah, yeah. Drink your feelings, sunshine.”

Maki sat up, hair a disaster, and took the mug. “You’re just jealous the island doesn’t vibe with you.”

Taki flicked a droplet of water at him. “Please. I am the vibes.”

Harua sighed, wings twitching as faint golden dust caught the morning light. “You two are insufferable.”

Maki smiled into his tea, the warmth of it curling through his chest like the steady hum of the world beneath his feet. For the first time in a long while, peace didn’t feel fragile. It felt earned.

From Maki’s Journal — Entry Thirty-Eight: I Became The Therapist of Monsters

Okay, so. Today I gave therapy to two different natural disasters.

One of them had fins. The other had a shell.

I’m officially a professional. Please address me as Maki, Certified Emotional Support Heartstone.

The first was a Tempestray. Big, loud, dramatic, basically me if I was made of thunderclouds. It tried to eat the horizon, which, rude, and I may or may not have walked into the middle of a lightning tantrum because I felt the vibes. (Harua says that’s not a strategy. I say he has no imagination.)

Anyway, turns out the poor storm was just screaming too hard. So I told it to breathe, and it actually did. Then it left. Like, just melted into the sky all peaceful.

So, yeah, I emotionally disarmed a weather phenomenon.

Then, later, I met a giant turtle that had anxiety. (Understandable. Same.)

He was all cracked and glowing ominously, but after some “heart-to-heart resonance talk” and a few sparkles, he’s fine now!

Walked away looking like a shiny moss mountain on vacation. The villagers even thanked me. One gave me a crown made of flowers. Another said I gave Atlantis its breath back, which is a lot of pressure for someone who still burns toast and his hair sometimes.

But tonight... I get it.

The air feels different. Softer. The sea hums like it’s listening. The ground doesn’t feel like it’s rejecting me anymore, it’s welcoming me.

And when Harua said, “You’ve changed this place,” I didn’t argue.

Because for once, I didn’t feel like I’d just stumbled into the story.

I felt like I was part of it.

So yeah. The world’s pulse and I? We’re finally on the same beat.

I belong here.

(Also, Taki called me “Atlantis’s most chaotic therapist,” and honestly? I’ll take that title.)

— Maki 🌊✨

The End.

<masterlist>

[ravynisyew]

The Lost Prince of Atlantis

ACT V: The Final Tide

Chapter 37: The Blooming Isles and the Fertilizer Incident

The morning sun spilled honeylight across Lhysanthir, painting the island gold. Dew clung to every blade of grass, every glittering leaf, as if the world had decided overnight to shimmer a little brighter.

Maki noticed first, of course he did. “Is it just me,” he said, squinting dramatically, “or is everything around here sparkling extra hard today?”

“It’s called morning dew,” Harua muttered, adjusting his sword strap. “Nature exists beyond your personal aesthetic preferences.”

“Yeah, but look at this!” Maki bent down, poking at a cluster of glowing buds pushing through the soil. “They weren’t here before, right? Right?” He turned toward Taki for validation.

Taki shrugged, tail flicking lazily behind him as they walked. “You’re asking the guy who lives underwater.”

The trio followed the winding path deeper into the orchards. The air smelled of salt and sweet nectar. Branches bowed heavy with unseasonal fruit; blossoms trailed from vines that had been barren only a few weeks ago. And at the heart of it all stood a fairy with her hands on her hips and a grin too smug to be pure.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the Heartstone himself,” Nalia said, her tone dripping with mock reverence. “Back to grace my garden with your… divine chaos?”

Maki rolled his eyes. “Do I know you?”

Nalia’s wings twitched in amusement. “Please keep not knowing me.”

“You’re the girl from the wraithlurker cave,” Taki said politely. “You’ve been tending the orchards?”

Nalia’s wings flickered with pride, clearly waiting for someone to acknowledge her hard work. “Yes! I’m the orchard fairy. And for your information, I’m doing great now—thanks to you.” She gestured proudly at the rows of fruit-laden trees. “The mortal managed to be my fertilizer, apparently.”

Maki froze mid-step. “...Excuse me?”

“Well, not literally,” Nalia said, tapping her chin with a smirk. “But ever since he passed through here, the soil’s been alive again. The trees haven’t bloomed like this in decades. His presence was enough—I don’t even need to compost him to do this.”

Taki snorted so loudly he had to pretend it was a cough. Harua covered his mouth, clearly fighting back a smile.

“Oh yeah?” Maki folded his arms, puffing up indignantly. “Maybe your garden just missed my charm. It probably bloomed from sheer joy knowing I wasn’t dead.”

“Or,” Nalia said sweetly, “it bloomed because it absorbed the leftover energy you leak everywhere. You’re like a magical compost pile—glowing, loud, and mildly concerning.”

“I am not compost material!” Maki snapped, stomping his foot hard enough to make dust puff up. “I’m sacred essence of balance and light!”

“Sure, fertilizer,” she said, leaning against a tree. “Sacred, smelly, same difference.”

“Say that again, blossom-for-brains!”

“Oh, I will, sparkle-tragedy!”

Harua sighed, rubbing his temples as Maki and Nalia devolved into what could only be described as a divine kindergarten argument about “photosynthetic respect” and “proper gratitude toward heroic fertilizers.” Taki, meanwhile, was absolutely thriving on the chaos, tail flicking in amusement.

It took Harua finally stepping between them, wings shimmering faintly with restrained authority, to put an end to the nonsense. “Both of you—enough. Maki, she’s right in one thing.”

Maki huffed. “That I’m a walking miracle?”

“That your presence heals,” Harua said simply. “You’ve changed the rhythm of this place. The earth feels it. The air hums with it.”

That quieted him. Maki blinked, the heat in his cheeks fading into something more thoughtful. Around them, the orchard rustled, not just alive, but awake.

Nalia softened, just a fraction. “Guess the world’s remembering what it feels like to breathe again,” she murmured.

Maki looked down at his hand, flexing his fingers as a faint golden shimmer rippled through his skin, the same heartbeat he’d felt in the world since Faeryn. “...Maybe it’s remembering me too.”

Taki grinned, slinging an arm around his shoulder. “Don’t get cocky, ‘fertilizer.’”

“Oh, I hate you,” Maki groaned, but his smile said otherwise.

The next morning dawned soft and golden, the sea breeze carrying the scent of ripe fruit and salt. Maki stretched across Harua’s kitchen table, chin propped on his arm as Taki carefully poured tea into three cups. For once, the world felt… quiet. Peaceful. Like Atlantis itself was humming in a major key.

That peace lasted exactly until someone banged on Harua’s door.

Harua frowned, already halfway out of his seat. “It’s too early for visitors.”

The door swung open before he reached it. A young fairy messenger stumbled in, wings buzzing breathlessly. “Sir Harua! Urgent summons from the Circle!”

Maki bolted upright. “We’re not in trouble again, are we?”

The messenger blinked at him, then grinned wide. “No trouble, sir Heartstone! A celebration! There will be a wedding tonight—at the Sacred Circle!”

“A what?” Taki nearly sloshed his tea.

“A wedding,” the fairy repeated, eyes gleaming. “The first since the last king’s reign. The High Priestess herself is officiating! All of Lhysanthir is invited—by name and blessing.” He handed Harua a scroll tied with coral ribbon. “You three are guests of honor.”

The silence that followed was violently brief.

“WE’RE GOING TO A WEDDING?!” Maki shouted, shooting to his feet so fast his chair fell over. “THE wedding of the century? Oh, this is huge. Monumental. Historic!”

Taki’s tail flicked in excitement. “I’ve never been to a land-folk wedding before. Do they serve seafood?”

“Focus,” Harua said, unrolling the scroll but the corners of his lips twitched upward despite his best efforts.

“Oh, don’t pretend you’re not happy,” Maki teased, pointing dramatically. “Your wings are literally sparkling. Look at that glitter storm!”

“They’re not—” Harua began, only to glance back and see faint gold dust shimmering from his wing tips. He exhaled through his nose, resigned. “...Fine. Perhaps it’s been too long since Atlantis celebrated anything.”

“That’s the spirit!” Maki crowed, twirling an imaginary cape. “Now! Important matters—we’ll need attire that radiates grace, charm, and just a hint of ‘divine chaos incarnate.’”

“That sounds like a cry for help, not a dress code,” Taki said, smirking.

“Do we even own proper clothes?” Harua muttered.

“Not to worry,” Maki said, already scheming. “I’ll find something. I was royalty once, remember? I can make anything look—uh—mostly decent.”

Taki groaned. “This is going to end with you in something that glows, isn’t it?”

“Obviously,” Maki said, beaming. “If I’m going to attend Atlantis’s first wedding in centuries, I intend to outshine the bride.”

Harua sighed into his tea. “You should have stayed in Faeryn.”

Taki grinned. “You’ll missed us.”

Harua didn’t answer but the faint golden shimmer at the edges of his wings said enough.

By nightfall, Lhysanthir shimmered like a dream. Lanterns floated along the shoreline, soft globes of light that bobbed gently on the tide, casting gold ripples across the water. Fair folk filled the Sacred Circle, wings glinting like shards of starlight. The air itself seemed alive, humming with joy.

Maki had never seen anything like it. “Okay,” he whispered, tugging at Harua’s sleeve as they stood among the gathered crowd, “if this is their version of casual, I think I’ve been underdressed my entire life.”

“You’re glowing,” Harua murmured without looking at him. “You’ll be fine.”

“That’s just stress,” Maki hissed.

Taki elbowed him lightly. “Relax, you look like a very tall lantern.”

Before Maki could retaliate, the crowd hushed. Music—soft and strange, like chimes underwater—filled the air. The bride and groom stepped into the Circle, hand in hand, their expressions luminous with something deeper than joy.

The High Priestess raised her staff, her voice weaving through the air in words older than memory. The ocean breeze stilled. The stars above seemed to listen.

Maki swallowed hard. Something in the cadence of the vow tugged at him—at the pulse beneath his skin, at the rhythm he’d come to recognize as the heartbeat of the world. He mouthed the words as they were spoken, quiet at first, then louder.

“Two hearts,” the priestess intoned, “called by the same current. Two souls, joined by the same light. In unity, may you become the breath between tides, the dawn between stars.”

Maki repeated it under his breath, eyes wide. “The breath between tides,” he whispered, tasting the words like they were honey and salt and something eternal. “The dawn between stars.” It felt like poetry, or prayer, or both.

Beside him, Harua’s expression softened in reverence, eyes reflecting the glow of the Circle’s flame. He didn’t notice Maki’s whispering at all, didn’t hear the half-choked awe in his voice.

Taki, on the other hand, did. He said nothing, watching the golden glow spread through the air like dawn rising beneath the waves. For the first time in centuries, love sparked openly in Atlantis. He could feel it tingling on his skin, vibrating in the water that lapped at the shore.

When the couple kissed, the Circle erupted in light. Flowers burst open across the island, glowing petals drifting upward like stars reborn. The pulse beneath the ground thrummed steady, strong, alive.

Maki laughed softly, breath catching. “It’s like the world’s saying ‘welcome back.’”

Harua looked at him then, faint smile curving his lips. “Maybe it is.”

For the first time, Maki didn’t crack a joke. He just looked up at the sea of light blooming over them, and thought, maybe this is what healing sounds like.

Life in Lhysanthir finally found its rhythm.

Or rather, Maki did.

Dawn meant training, Harua’s version of training, which usually involved getting tossed into the air by a burst of wind and told to “find balance before gravity does it for you.” Noon meant nursing his pride (and the occasional bruised elbow) while Taki floated lazily nearby, pretending to meditate but really judging both of them in silence.

Between lessons, Maki still found ways to annoy Harua. Sometimes it was harmless chatter; sometimes it was spontaneous experiments with his newfound magic, like setting his own sleeve on fire “for research.” But lately, the fire bent to his will. The last spark that flicked from his palm didn’t burn his fringe this time. Harua called it progress. Taki called it a miracle.

By dusk, Maki wandered through the forest trails, where the air hummed faintly with Faeryn’s energy that had spread across the island. The mist that once veiled the groves was lifting now, light streaming through the canopy like a promise. Flowers glowed softly in the underbrush, vines heavy with fruit, and somewhere beneath his feet, the pulse of the world thudded in quiet rhythm with his own heartbeat.

Taki had suggested—half seriously, half superstitiously—that he walk the island every day. “You know, bless the ground or whatever. Maybe it keeps the weeds from rebelling again.”

Maki had rolled his eyes, but he obeyed anyway. Because when he walked, the air seemed clearer. The earth steadier. The island alive.

And when night came, his glow no longer flickered unevenly like it once had. Now, it was steady and soft like a lantern that remembered the sun.

“Solar-powered prince,” Taki had teased once, watching him from the shore.

Maki only grinned, kicking up sand that shimmered faintly under his light. “Better than dim, seaweed-powered merman.”

Harua sighed behind them, but his lips curved faintly. For the first time since Atlantis began to wake, peace felt like something more than a dream.

From Maki’s Journal — Entry Thirty-Seven: I No Longer Set Myself on Fire (Mostly)

So, apparently, I’m healing the world now.

Like, casually. No big deal. Just walking around and—bam!—flowers bloom, soil breathes, everyone’s crops are thriving. I’d say “you’re welcome,” but the orchard fairy still calls me “magical compost,” so maybe I’ll save the gratitude speech for later.

Life’s... calmer now. Which is weird. No monsters, no running for my life, no lectures about “the balance of existence” (okay, fewer lectures). Just mornings filled with Harua yelling “again!” while I’m upside down mid-air, afternoons where Taki pretends he’s meditating but actually plotting how to roast me next, and evenings where I can hear the heartbeat of this island hum like a lullaby under my feet.

The funny thing is…

It feels like I finally fit. Like Atlantis isn’t just a place I stumbled into, but something that’s starting to know me back.

I still can’t get used to the glowing, though. Harua says it’s “steady now.” Taki says I look like a nightlight.

(They’re both right. I’m offended.)

But if this is what peace feels like, mud on my boots, wind in my hair, light under my skin, then maybe I can live with that.

Anyway, I glow steadily now. Like a solar-powered flashlight. I don’t even need to try… it just happens. Taki says it’s distracting. Harua says it’s “manageable.” I say it’s fabulous.

I still miss Faeryn’s honey biscuits.

— Maki 🌊✨

<Next>

[ravynisyew]

The Lost Prince of Atlantis

ACT V: The Final Tide

Chapter 36: The Serpent Beneath the Tide

The sea was angry that morning.

Waves hurled themselves against the black rocks, frothing white under the gray dawn. Wind howled through the salt spray, tugging at cloaks and hair, carrying the sharp scent of brine and thunder. Somewhere beyond the surf, something moved.

Three figures crouched behind a jagged boulder that shuddered every time a wave slammed into it.

Taki’s voice was low, clipped. “There. You see it?”

Harua squinted toward the break line, eyes narrowed. “See what? There’s nothing but—”

The next wave broke and the world shimmered.

For a heartbeat, the sea bent wrong. A shape rippled through it, huge and serpentine, its body coiling just beneath the surface. It was made of water and light, almost invisible but for the refraction of dawn across its scales, like glass twisting in motion. Each turn of its body caught the light, turning it razor-sharp.

Then it dove, vanishing, the sea swallowing it whole.

Maki’s breath caught. His heart thrummed harder.

“I can see it,” he whispered.

Taki shot him a side glance. “That’s because you’re tuned in now, right? The Heartstone resonance?”

“Yeah,” Maki murmured, eyes unfocused, glowing faintly with gold. “It’s not just water. It’s energy—living energy. It’s pulsing like…” He hesitated, brow furrowing. “Like the heartbeat of the world, but off-beat. Twisted. There’s something inside it.”

“What kind of something?” Harua asked.

Maki swallowed, pulse racing faster. “Dark. It’s like… smoke, maybe? No, thicker. Black fumes inside the core. Like the world’s pulse got infected.”

Taki exhaled sharply. “So basically, it’s a possessed sea snake made of glassy water.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Harua muttered.

The ground beneath them vibrated softly at first, then building to a low hum. Pebbles danced across the stone.

Maki blinked. “Uh. Is the rock supposed to be purring?”

Before anyone could answer, the water exploded.

The serpent rose from the tide in a tower of translucent fury. Its vast, glasslike body arching through the surf, mouth yawning open with a sound like a gale roaring through a canyon. Its eyes—if they could be called eyes—burned faint gold from within, veins of black smoke writhing through the body like ink trapped in crystal.

“Gods,” Harua hissed, drawing his blade. “That thing’s enormous.”

Taki’s gills flared as the salt spray hit them. “You think? That thing’s half the shore!”

Maki peeked from behind them, eyes wide, wonder and terror locked in equal measure. “It’s beautiful,” he whispered and then, with perfect Maki timing, “in a horrible, I-don’t-want-to-die-today kind of way.”

Harua didn’t even look at him. “Stay behind me.”

“Technically, I’m behind the rock, so I’m way ahead of you there.”

The serpent’s body slammed into the shore, sending up a wall of water that drenched the trio. The impact rattled through their bones. Maki gasped as the pulse beneath his skin thrummed in sync with the creature’s rhythm—a deep, discordant beat that clawed against his ribs.

“It’s… connected,” he choked out. “It’s feeding off the world’s pulse!”

Harua glanced over sharply. “Can you stop it?”

Maki grimaced, glowing faintly brighter. “I mean, define stop—”

“Before it kills us.”

“Oh. Then no promises!”

The serpent reared high above the rocks, its body glinting like a column of shattered glass, each motion refracting light into jagged rainbows. Its roar wasn’t a sound but a pressure, a deep vibrating force that hit the chest first, then the bones, then the soul.

Maki’s ears rang. The pulse inside him answered.

“Move!” Harua shouted, dragging him away just as the serpent slammed down where they’d been crouching. The rock splintered. Seawater hissed against the ground, boiling faintly from the energy it carried.

Taki shot forward like a silver streak, cutting through the spray. “I’ll draw it off! Harua—keep him alive!”

“That’s the only plan we ever have!” Harua yelled back, wings snapping open as he leapt into the air, sword igniting in a flare of white-blue light.

The serpent struck again. Taki dodged under the water’s curl, slamming his trident into the beast’s side. It howled, a shimmering distorted screech that shook the shoreline. The translucent flesh rippled like water struck by a stone, each vibration spreading as if echoing through a living tide.

Harua dove in, wings slicing arcs of light through the stormy air. His blade flashed a vertical stroke that cleaved through the serpent’s upper jaw and refracted light splintered in all directions, scattering like shards of crystal rain. The wound healed instantly. The serpent coiled, furious, whipping its tail through the air.

“Maki!” Harua barked, twisting midair to avoid the strike. “Whatever you’re feeling — use it!”

Maki stumbled to his feet, drenched and shivering. The pulse was screaming inside him now, bright and erratic, like it wanted to tear out of his skin. He could see it! lines of golden rhythm connecting him to the serpent, the same pattern, but wrong. A corruption. A discordant note.

He pressed a hand over his heart, gasping. “It’s mimicking the world’s pulse! That’s why it’s alive!”

Taki’s voice rang out between crashing waves. “Then un-sync it!”

“Oh, sure!” Maki yelled, sparks flickering under his palms. “Let me just hack the metaphysical frequency of creation real quick!”

“Maki!”

“Okay, okay, I’m doing it!”

He dropped to his knees, hands slamming into the soaked sand. The water vibrated, answering his call. His glow flared bright gold wildly, crackling from his body uncontrolled. The serpent’s body trembled mid-strike, its form flickering between solid and formless. For a moment, it looked confused, its rhythm stumbling.

Harua seized the moment. He dove, blade first, cutting across the serpent’s throat. This time, the wound burned. Steam hissed up from the gash as a pure gold light spilled out, and burning through the black veins inside.

Taki shouted over the roar of collapsing waves, “It’s working!”

Maki grit his teeth, sweat mixing with saltwater as his pulse fought the serpent’s. “Then tell it to stop fighting me back!”

The beast surged toward him, eyes glowing with golden fury and slammed its head into the sand where Maki knelt. The impact sent him tumbling backward, light flickering wildly. His body skidded across the rocks, air knocked out of him.

“Maki!” Harua swooped low, catching him before the next wave could swallow him whole. “Stay with me!”

Maki’s eyes snapped open, pupils glowing faint gold. “I—I need to tear it out,” he rasped. “The black smoke—it’s like… a heart made of rot.”

Taki burst from the water again, trident raised high, glowing faint blue from the channeling sea energy. “I’ll pin it! Maki, finish it!”

The serpent coiled for another strike, massive, roaring, dripping seawater like liquid glass. Taki launched forward with a battle cry that split the storm. His trident drove deep into the serpent’s core, pinning it to the shoreline with a crack of lightning and spray.

“Maki! NOW!”

Maki’s hands shook. He could feel both pulses now, the world’s and the creature’s clashing in his veins. They burned, bright and violent. His skin lit from within, gold spilling out between his fingers, outlining every heartbeat.

“Okay,” he whispered. “Stay with me, world.”

He reached forward not with his hands, but his pulse and pushed.

Light exploded through the beach.

The serpent screamed, shattering from the inside out. Its translucent body cracking like glass under pressure, splintering into a thousand glittering fragments that scattered across the tide. The black smoke erupted upward like ink breaking free then evaporated, dissolved by the golden light that rippled through the air.

Silence fell.

Only the hiss of retreating waves remained. The dawn broke properly now, sunlight catching the crystal fragments drifting on the tide.

Maki dropped to his knees, gasping, every breath trembling with exhaustion. The faint glow on his skin faded back into something human.

Harua touched down beside him, wings folding in tight. “You did it.”

Taki climbed from the surf, drenched and panting, shaking his trident once before grinning. “You actually did it.”

Maki looked up weakly, eyes dazed. “...Did we win?”

“Unless that was a very elaborate mirage,” Taki said, “yeah.”

The shards dissolved into foam.

Beneath the crash of waves, another rhythm thudded deep, steady and familiar.

His.

And the serpent’s fading pulse… it wasn’t gone. It had joined the world again, soft and clean, like a note finally falling back into tune.

“I didn’t kill it,” Maki whispered. “I fixed it.”

The words felt right in his mouth, heavy with the same warmth he’d felt when Faeryn’s trees had bowed to him. Yuma’s voice drifted through his memory: The Heartstone is not the sword. It is the song.

Maki flopped backward into the sand, eyes closing as the morning wind washed over him. “Wake me up when the universe stops humming.”

Harua’s sigh sounded dangerously fond. “You’re impossible.”

“Thank you,” Maki mumbled faintly. “It’s called talent.”

The sea had softened to a hum. The storm that once churned the shore was now a quiet, glimmering expanse painted gold by the dying sun. The trio sat near the fire, its flames crackling in time with the slow rhythm of the tide.

Maki stood a few steps away from them, eyes gleaming, palms raised to the breeze. The air bent playfully around him as he coaxed a small whirl of wind to dance between his fingers. Then, grinning, he took a step forward, onto nothing.

His feet found the air as if it were water. He swayed, arms flailing for balance, before hopping again, light and buoyant. Each leap left ripples of faint light beneath him, the waves answering his laughter.

Taki leaned back, propping his arms behind him, a crooked grin curling on his lips. “Show-off.”

Harua didn’t reply. His eyes stayed on Maki, on the way the boy’s laughter mingled with the ocean wind, the way the faint glow of the Heartstone within him pulsed in harmony with the world. For a moment, Harua saw not the lost, frightened prince he’d met months ago, but someone who had begun to belong to Atlantis, to them.

“...You don’t need to worry anymore,” Taki said softly beside him, voice uncharacteristically gentle. “He’ll belong.”

Harua exhaled, a rare, quiet smile tugging at his mouth as Maki stumbled midair, yelping before managing to catch himself with a gust of wind. The sight drew a laugh from him he didn’t bother to hide.

“Maybe,” Harua said. “Though I don’t think the world’s ready for that kind of Heartstone.”

Maki, overhearing, turned around dramatically midair. “Excuse me! I’m a graceful symbol of balance and hope!”

He promptly tripped on a gust of his own making and fell face-first into the sand.

Taki wheezed. Harua facepalmed. The sea laughed with them.

From Maki’s Journal — Entry Thirty-Six: Serpent, Sunsets, and Superior Air-Stepping Skills

We fought a GIANT glass noodle today (Taki said it was a serpent, but it looked suspiciously like the world’s angriest aquarium decoration). Anyway, I (yes, I, the majestic Heartstone) saved the day by not getting eaten and accidentally “resonating” it back into peace.

Harua said I’m improving. He also sighed while saying it, but I’m sure that’s just how fairies express love.

Taki laughed so hard when I slipped midair he nearly choked on his fish skewer. Rude. But I think he was proud too, in his own fishy way.

The world feels different now. Like I can hear it breathing, soft, alive, waiting. It’s scary sometimes… but also kinda beautiful.

Tomorrow, I’ll try walking on air again. Gracefully, this time. Probably.

— Maki 🌊✨

<Next>

[ravynisyew]

The Lost Prince of Atlantis

ACT V: The Final Tide

Chapter 35: Exiled (Again)

Dawn broke over Faeryn with the delicate serenity of dew on silver leaves. Birds trilled. The air glowed faint gold. And somewhere in that divine morning peace, Yuma decided he’d had enough.

“I mean, Harua would love this tea,” Maki said dreamily, swirling the cup in his hand as if narrating a royal ball. “He’d pretend he doesn’t, obviously, but I know he secretly likes floral blends. It matches his tragic personality.”

“Mhm,” Taki said flatly, stuffing dried fruit into a satchel.

“And when I tell him about the biscuits—oh, he’ll be so proud! He always says, ‘Maki, maybe use your mouth for eating, not talking.’ I think he’ll cry when he hears how wise I’ve become.”

From across the clearing, Yuma’s left eye twitched.

“Harua this. Harua that,” Taki muttered. “It’s been three days, Maki. Just admit you miss him.”

“I don’t!” Maki shot back too quickly. “I’m simply keeping him spiritually informed through the wind.”

“The wind doesn’t want him back,” Yuma said, his tone too calm to be safe.

Maki blinked. “What?”

“I said,” Yuma repeated, wings twitching once, twice, “the wind has delivered your many spiritual messages. Loudly. Repeatedly. Some of us were trying to sleep while you were composing your ‘Harua Ballad of Eternal Brooding’ at two in the morning.”

“That was an artistic expression!” Maki protested. “You can’t silence art!”

Yuma smiled a smile that looked suspiciously like the edge of divine wrath.

“I can certainly escort it out of my forest.”

Taki looked up. “Wait, are you—”

“Yes,” Yuma said, voice sweet as venom. “You’re both leaving. Now.”

“But—” Maki started.

“Now,” Yuma repeated, and the ground itself rumbled faintly in agreement.

Ten minutes later, Faeryn’s sacred forest witnessed the rare sight of its dependable Sentinel personally dragging two very noisy guests toward the sea. Maki flailed like a dethroned monarch, protesting every step.

“This is an injustice to travelers everywhere! You can’t just exile a royal heartstone because he talked too much!”

“You’ve been exiled before,” Taki reminded him, walking unbothered beside them. Yuma’s other hand clutched mandatory on his collar.

“Yes, but that was different!” Maki huffed. “I was young and charming. Now I’m older and more charming.”

“You’re louder,” Yuma muttered, wings shimmering dangerously.

Jo, the timid librarian, peeked from behind a mossy column as they passed, whispering a fervent prayer of thanks to any god still listening. One of the ancient books fluttered open on his chest in sheer relief.

At the edge of the forest, where dawn met sea, Yuma stopped. The waves glimmered pale gold under the first light. Lhysanthir shimmered faintly in the distance, waiting.

“I trust you’ll find your way back,” Yuma said evenly. “And that Faeryn’s peace will, perhaps, recover in time.”

Maki frowned. “Wait, that sounds like a farewell. You’ll miss me.”

“I’ll heal,” Yuma said dryly, giving him one final push with an airy flick of his fingers.

A swirl of golden butterflies erupted, sweeping around Maki and Taki like a gleaming tide, gentle but firm. Then, with a soft whoosh, the wind caught them both and carried them off the cliffside, gliding toward the sea.

“YUMAAAAA! THIS ISN’T HOW GOODBYES WORK!” Maki’s voice echoed, indignant. “TELL JO I’M SORRY FOR EXISTING!”

Taki sighed mid-flight. “You could’ve just said you missed Harua.”

Maki crossed his arms, hair whipping in the wind. “I will not admit emotional dependency while airborne!”

“You’re yelling it while airborne.”

“That’s different!”

The sea embraced them with familiar salt and foam. Lhysanthir’s glowing shores stretched ahead like a dream. Maki exhaled, letting the wind slow their descent until their feet met the water’s surface before sinking gently beneath.

As the shimmer of the Blooming Veil faded behind them, Maki glanced back once the faint golden glow of Yuma’s forest lingering like a heartbeat.

“…He really kicked us out,” Maki murmured, half-offended, half-awed.

“Be grateful he didn’t turn you into a frog,” Taki said, swimming ahead.

Maki floated for a moment, watching the ripples spiral outward where his light touched the sea. The pulse thrummed faintly beneath his skin again softly, constant and alive.

Maybe Yuma was right to send him back. Maybe it was time.

Lhysanthir was just as he’d left it: crystalline waters lapping at coral streets, shells gleaming in soft dawn hues, the faint music of currents humming through the city’s spires. And right in the middle of the plaza stood Harua with arms crossed, sword strapped to his back, expression carved from pure disapproval.

Maki froze mid-step. “Oh. He’s here.”

Taki smirked. “You’ve been talking about him for days. Now’s your chance.”

“I didn’t mean immediately!” Maki hissed, trying to fix his hair (which was absolutely beyond saving).

Harua raised one brow. “You’re back.”

Maki spread his arms, grin wide and uncertain. “Surprise!”

Taki leaned close. “You sound guilty.”

“I am guilty!” Maki whispered back. “He’s giving me the sword face!”

Harua’s gaze flicked to Taki, then back to Maki. “You caused trouble again, didn’t you.”

Maki laughed nervously. “Define trouble!”

Harua’s silence was definition enough.

But then Harua’s mouth twitched. The tiniest, reluctant curve at the corner. “You’re not glowing evenly.”

Maki blinked. “What—oh gods, not again!” He twisted, trying to see his reflection in the water. “Is it my cheek? My butt? Which side?!”

Taki snorted. “Both. Congratulations, you’re bioluminescently unbalanced.”

Harua sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re hopeless.”

Maki grinned sheepishly. “You missed me.”

Harua turned away. “You’re insufferable. Still, welcome back, idiots.”

“HEY! That’s plural” Taki prostested, splashing a bit of water of his way while Maki, beaming like a small sun, decided it was worth being kicked out of Faeryn a hundred times over.

Dinner, according to Maki, was peaceful.

According to Harua, it was chaotic.

According to Taki, it was just… normal.

They gathered around the low table by the window, plates gleaming under the soft glow of driftlight shells. Maki ate like he hadn’t seen food in years, talking with his mouth full and nearly spilling sauce on the map Harua had rolled out to study.

“So,” Harua said, voice deceptively calm, “what did you learn in Faeryn?”

Maki perked up immediately. “Oh! A lot! Did you know the late king used to resonate with the world’s heartbeat? And I can kinda do it now too! Watch this!”

Taki’s fork froze midair. “Please don’t—”

But it was already too late.

Maki shut his eyes, took a dramatic breath, and floated. Just a few inches off the chair, his body as light as the air itself. His grin stretched wide in triumph… right before the teacup in his hand tilted.

A full stream of steaming tea cascaded over Harua’s head.

The world stopped.

Maki’s face drained of color. Taki turned purple trying not to explode with laughter. Harua… just sat there, dripping, his jaw clenched so tight the air trembled.

Maki squeaked, “Uhh—surprise demonstration?”

“Surprise execution,” Harua muttered, flicking droplets from his hair like a cat about to maul someone.

Taki finally lost it, collapsing against the table in a fit of wheezing laughter. Maki hurriedly floated down, trying to mop Harua’s head with a dirty napkin and making it worse.

Harua exhaled slowly through his nose, droplets still sliding down his temple. Instead of throttling Maki like every cell in his body demanded, he reached for his cup, poured himself more tea, and took the slowest, most deliberate sip known to fairykind.

Maki dared not move.

Taki dared not breathe.

When Harua finally set the cup down, his voice was calm, too calm. “So,” he said, as if he hadn’t just been baptized in hot tea, “you’ve learned to tune into the Heartstone’s pulse?”

Maki blinked. “Uh… yes?”

Harua raised a brow. “Without bleeding yourself again, I assume.”

Maki’s grin faltered. “...Mostly.”

Taki snorted into his drink.

Harua ignored him and leaned back, studying Maki in that quiet, assessing way that always made the prince sit up straighter. “Your progress is impressive,” he said finally. “But control comes before power, Maki. The pulse isn’t a tool—it’s alive. It will answer you, but it can also drown you.”

Maki nodded, eyes wide, the usual glimmer of mischief dimmed for a moment by something like awe. “I’ll be careful,” he murmured, earnest.

“Good,” Harua replied, though his tone softened slightly. “Because next time you try to demonstrate, I expect not to end up soaked.”

Taki wheezed. “You mean you don’t like being tea-infused?”

Harua’s expression went flat as glass. “Careful, merman. You’re next on my list.”

The rest of dinner dissolved into laughter, Maki’s too loud, Taki’s wheezy, and Harua’s quiet sighing one that almost passed for contentment.

From Maki’s Journal — Entry Thirty-Five: Officially Uninvited from Faeryn

So, this morning I was kicked out.

Yes. Evicted. Banished. Politely escorted out by divine butterflies. (I’m still picking glitter out of my hair.)

Reason? “Too loud.”

Unbelievable. I was sharing culture.

Apparently, talking about Harua for seven consecutive hours counts as “disturbing the ecosystem.” (Sorry to the squirrels who overheard my monologue titled “The Heroic Tragedy of My Grumpy Fairy Best Friend.”)

Yuma said I was “spiritually disruptive.” Which sounds fancy, but I think it means he wanted to throw me into the ocean before sunrise.

To be fair, I did sing at 2 a.m. again. But inspiration doesn’t keep time, you know?

Anyway, we made it back to Lhysanthir! The air’s warmer here, and everything glows less judgmentally. And the best part… Harua was there. Trying so hard to look unimpressed, like he didn’t nearly smile when he saw us. He totally did though. I saw it. (Taki saw it too. We agreed to never tell him.)

Dinner was… nice. Peaceful, if you ask me. Not so peaceful if you ask Harua. “Normal,” according to Taki, which says a lot about our standard for normal.

Harua grilled me for every detail about Faeryn: Yuma’s training, the pulse, my “meditation attempts,” the shadow thing, everything. When I told him I could float now, he raised one skeptical eyebrow. So obviously, I had to prove it.

It worked! For about three seconds. Then my teacup followed me midair and performed a perfect dive onto Harua’s head.

I’ve never seen three colors happen on one face before: red, murderous, and “contemplating adoption papers to disown me.”

He didn’t yell, though. Just patted himself dry, took a deep sip of tea (his third cup), and talked about “control and balance” like he hadn’t just been assaulted by my enlightenment. Honestly, I think that’s progress for both of us.

Still, I can’t help but feel… happy. Like the world’s finally breathing right again.

Taki’s sarcasm, Harua’s lectures, the smell of tea and sea salt… it’s home, in all its chaotic glory.

I’ll master this Heartstone thing. I’ll learn to balance the pulse, the light, the shadow, everything.

(Preferably without splashing anyone next time.)

But if Harua ever says he “missed us,” I will record it in ink and frame it forever.

— Maki 🌊✨

<Next>

[ravynisyew]

I really need to start posting the last arc of Lost prince makiiii 😞

[ravynisyew]

The Lost Prince of Atlantis

ACT IV: The Promised heir

Chapter 34: The Snack Enlightenment

By sunrise, the peace of Faeryn’s ancient library had been shattered.

Jo, the stuttering round-glassed librarian had never begged before in his life. Yet He begged now.

“P–Please,” he whispered to Yuma that morning, clutching a stack of scrolls like a shield. “Silence the mortal. And the merman. Before the archives revolt.”

Yuma blinked. “Revolt?”

“The books tremble, sir.”

Then Jo dramatically fled behind a bookshelf before his ears started glowing from stress.

Yuma had seen many questionable things in his life cursed mushrooms, sentient teapots, one very traumatized unicorn, but this? This was new.

There, in the middle of Faeryn’s sacred meditation garden, sat Maki of Atlantis, cross-legged, glowing faintly like a campfire with too much personality. His eyes were squeezed shut in deep concentration.

In one hand: a half-eaten biscuit.

In the other: a steaming cup of tea that was definitely not sanctioned by any meditative order.

Crumbs dusted the moss around him like fallen petals. Every few seconds, he chewed, swallowed, and then solemnly exhaled, as if the biscuit was somehow part of his spiritual awakening.

Yuma pinched the bridge of his nose. “You cannot be serious.”

Without opening his eyes, Maki murmured serenely, “Shhhh, I’m syncing my soul with the universe.”

“You’re syncing your jaw with snacks.”

“I meditate better when nourished!” he protested, one crumb catching on his lip. “The world feeds on energy — I’m just returning the favor!”

From his spot against a nearby tree, Taki didn’t even look up from his drink. “Don’t bother, Yuma. He’s convinced enlightenment tastes like honey biscuits.”

Yuma rubbed his temple. “I was summoned here to silence you. The librarian begged me. The books begged me.”

Maki cracked one eye open, a grin spreading wide. “And here I thought you came because you missed me.”

“Missed the peace, actually,” Yuma deadpanned.

Maki gasped, placing a hand dramatically over his chest. “You wound me, my dear cat-fairy.”

And just as Yuma was about to retort, Maki’s cheek lit up. Only his cheek. A tiny patch of golden glow pulsed like a confused lantern.

Taki lost it. “You’re glowing from one side, Maki. You look like a half-cooked dumpling.”

“Oh no,” Maki whispered, both horrified and fascinated, “does that mean my butt glows too?”

“Please,” Yuma muttered, rubbing his face, “stop talking before Faeryn itself collapses.”

Yuma had clearly reached his limit. With a single motion, he flicked his fingers, and a faint shimmer of sound-dampening magic snapped over the clearing like a translucent dome.

Finally, silence.

Well, except for the faint rustle of moss and Maki’s distant muffled attempts at talking through the spell.

Taki snorted. “Best spell you’ve ever cast.”

Yuma exhaled like a saint who had earned his rest. “If his voice breaks through that ward, I’m leaving the island.”

Inside the barrier, Maki crossed his arms, puffing out his cheeks. He couldn’t speak, but he could think, and oh gods, did his thoughts have volume.

Okay, he told himself. Meditate. Feel the pulse. Breathe. In, out, in, out. Easy.

Wow, the moss is really soft. I wonder if fairies cut it like hair. Do they have moss salons? Wait, focus, Maki breathe.

Okay, heartstone pulse. Pulse of the world. How does one feel a pulse that’s not your own? Do I have to—wait, do trees have pulses? Oh no. Am I sitting on someone’s heartbeat right now?

He peeked one eye open. The moss did not respond. Good sign.

He shut his eyes again. Right. Calm. Empty mind. Inner stillness. Inner…

I’m hungry.

No, wait, that’s outer hunger. Focus.

But maybe inner peace needs outer snacks?

Outside the barrier, Yuma watched his expression shift from peace to panic to existential revelation to what looked suspiciously like a daydream about cake.

“This,” Yuma muttered shaking his head in slow motion, “is agony.”

“He’s trying,” Taki said, suppressing a grin.

“He’s thinking loudly. I can feel it through the ward.”

The dome shimmered. A faint spark of gold flared under Maki’s palms. For one miraculous second, the air stilled like Faeryn itself held its breath.

Yuma’s ears twitched. “Wait — he’s actually—”

Maki’s eyes flew open.

“OH! I FELT SOMETHING! — oh, sorry.”

The dome shattered like glass.

Yuma stared at him.

Taki facepalmed.

Maki beamed. “That counts, right?!”

The new dome that Yuma casted still shimmered faintly as Maki shifted to reach into the small tin beside him. A half-eaten stash of Faeryn biscuits the cook had pitied him with earlier. He popped one into his mouth, chewed thoughtfully, then another. Then half the tin. His eyelids began to droop.

Just a short nap while meditating, he thought. That still counts, right? I’m meditating horizontally if I fall.

Taki rolled his eyes when Maki’s head lolled forward slightly. “Is he — eating and sleeping through meditation?”

Yuma pressed a hand over his face. “This is a moral test.”

Inside the ward, Maki’s mind began to drift, thoughts dimming into slow ripples of sleepy half-awareness. The world softened. The forest hum that had been so loud earlier sank into a low, rhythmic pulse. For once, his head wasn’t filled with words. Just the faint echo of something vast and deep like a heartbeat that didn’t belong to him.

The air changed.

Something shifted, too cold, too still.

Then, from the corner of his eye, a thick, dark shapeless shadow loomed. It wasn’t the absence of light, but something alive in the darkness. The world pulsed again, off-beat, wrong. Maki’s breath hitched. His chest tightened. His brow furrowed, sweat beading across his skin.

Taki noticed first.

“Maki?” His voice sharpened. “Hey — something’s wrong.”

Maki’s body slackened, the tin of biscuits clattering to the ground as his hands trembled. His lips parted soundlessly, breath shallow too fast, too wrong.

Yuma moved before thought. The dome shattered like spun glass as he darted forward, catching Maki just before his body fell sideways into the moss. The faint gold glow that had always clung to him flickered then turned sickly dark, wavering between gold and black.

“Maki!” Taki dropped beside them, panic rippling through his voice.

The prince’s breath stuttered, then hitched again like he was drowning in air. His eyelids fluttered once, twice, before he gasped awake, jerking upright with a sharp, raw inhale.

“What — what is that?” His voice trembled, wild eyes darting around, searching the corners of the clearing where the shadows had been.

“What did you see?” Yuma demanded, one hand steady on his shoulder, the other hovering close as if ready to cast a ward.

Maki’s gaze flicked up fear-struck, pupils wide and shining. “It was… dark. It felt like something watching me from inside the world. Not like a spirit, not alive — not dead either. Like a hollow that breathed back.”

Silence stretched. Taki shifted uneasily. Yuma’s ears angled slightly forward, his expression tightening as if old knowledge stirred at the back of his mind.

After a long moment, he spoke, voice low.

“Whatever it was,” he said slowly, “you succeeded in tuning with the pulse.”

Maki blinked, dazed. “I — did?”

Yuma nodded grimly. “The pulse isn’t just the light that sustains Atlantis — it’s balance. All that breathes in this realm hums with it: light and shadow, creation and decay. The darkness you saw is what’s been festering ever since your ancestor left the sea. The balance broke. The shadow filled what the light abandoned.”

The words sank like stones in still water. Even Taki, usually unflappable in sarcasm, fell quiet.

Maki swallowed hard, his voice small. “...I’m not sure,” he murmured, staring at his shaking hands. Then, after a beat, his lip twitched upward.

“But I think I dropped my biscuits.”

Taki groaned, half in relief, half in disbelief. “Only you would nearly pass out from divine communion and worry about snacks.”

Yuma exhaled slowly, the faintest tremor of tension leaving his shoulders. “He’s fine.”

“Define fine,” Taki muttered.

Yuma didn’t answer. His eyes lingered on Maki’s trembling hand, the faintest trace of black dust smeared along his palm where the shadow had touched him. It shimmered faintly, wrong against the golden light of his veins, as if the dark itself refused to let go.

Maki sat perched on the wide, spongy cap of Yuma’s mushroom house like some sad, sleepless owl. The night air smelled faintly of rain and crushed herbs, soft wind curling through his hair. He had climbed up there with the help of a few lazy gusts, finally light enough on his feet to let the air carry him, if only for a moment.

He thought it would help.

It didn’t.

The darkness he’d seen earlier wasn’t like the night sky, nor the kind that lurked beneath the ocean’s depths. This one breathed. It watched. It was hunger made form and something about it had coiled tight around his chest ever since, leaving a foul taste that refused to fade.

The moonlight wavered as small, delicate wings fluttered nearby. Yuma landed softly beside him, his bare feet brushing moss, a faint shimmer of golden spores rising where he sat. His gaze flicked toward Maki, calm but knowing.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

Maki snorted quietly, hugging his knees to his chest. “Oh, you know, just having a normal evening. Existential dread, sudden cosmic responsibilities, minor demonic hallucinations. The usual prince routine.”

Yuma’s lips curved faintly. “You make terror sound almost charming.”

“I try.” Maki’s grin was lopsided, weak around the edges. He rubbed at his forearms absentmindedly. “It’s just — when I close my eyes, I still feel it. The pulse. Like it’s crawling under my skin, whispering. Not words, just… thumping. And that shadow—” His breath hitched slightly before he forced a laugh. “I know I sound crazy. Don’t say it.”

Yuma didn’t. He watched the boy’s trembling hands, the way his laugh cracked near the end. Then, gently: “You’re not crazy. You’re attuned. That comes with… awareness. The world breathes through you now. You’ll hear it when it’s in pain.”

Maki’s voice softened. “It’s in pain?”

“Yes.” Yuma looked up at the stars. “But it’s also alive — and so are you. The darkness can’t swallow the pulse if you keep it moving.”

Maki turned to him, brow furrowed. “That sounds poetic and vaguely terrifying.”

“Most truths are.” Yuma smiled faintly.

“If you ever find yourself lost, don’t try to bear it alone. Atlantis will always answer your call, but more importantly — your friends will. Let them lead you when you can’t see the way.”

For a moment, neither spoke. The pulse beneath Maki’s skin thudded once — gentler this time, steady, like the rhythm of a heartbeat syncing with his own.

He exhaled slowly. “You know, that was actually comforting until you mentioned the ‘world breathing through me’ part. Now I feel like a walking lung.”

Yuma chuckled under his breath, wings flicking softly. “You’ll adjust.”

“I better. Because if the world sneezes, I’m suing someone.”

The fairy only shook his head, smiling, and turned his gaze back toward the horizon. Maki followed it out past the glimmering treetops, where the sea shimmered faintly under moonlight. Somewhere out there, he thought, something had stirred in the dark.

And yet, with the wind under him and the world humming faintly through his veins, he didn’t feel entirely alone.

From Maki’s Journal — Entry Thirty-Four: The Art of (Not) Meditating

So today I learned that “inner peace” is just code for “sit still and suffer quietly.”

Apparently, the old kings of Atlantis resonated with the world’s pulse by meditating for years. Years. Which is unfair, because I can’t even sit for eight minutes without inventing new snack theories.

The librarian (Jo, bless his shaky soul) begged Yuma to silence me. Begged. Actual trembling wings and everything. I think I’m banned from the library’s west wing now.

Anyway, Taki and Yuma said I need to “listen to the heartbeat of the world.” But all I heard was my stomach growling.

Apparently, I’m “in tune” now. Whatever that means. Yuma said it like it’s supposed to be a good thing, but excuse me when I tried to meditate, I met the cosmic embodiment of anxiety and death. Ten out of ten, would not recommend.

Also, fun fact: when your body starts flickering between gold and black, it’s either divine resonance or you’re becoming an otherworldly disco ball. Either way, it’s alarming.

Yuma says I managed to “feel the pulse of the world.” Yeah, I felt it all right. It thumped back at me like, “Hey, nice to meet you, I’m the eldritch horror living in your subconscious!”

Taki says I’m dramatic.

Taki also screamed when a mushroom sneezed earlier, so his opinion is invalid.

I climbed up to Yuma’s roof tonight (don’t ask how it involved my friend the wind, questionable life choices, and one broken flowerpot). The stars were nice. Quiet, even. But the dark still feels different now… too alive. Like if I stare too long, it might stare back.

Yuma sat with me for a bit. He said Atlantis will always answer when I call, and that I should trust my friends when I can’t find the way. Which is very wise and poetic until you remember my “friends” are Taki, who threatened to drown me for eating the last shrimp dumpling, and Harua, who’s probably sharpening his sword somewhere in case I eat the last dumpling again.

Still…

When the wind hummed through the trees, I felt that pulse again. Quieter. Calmer.

Maybe it’s not just the world’s heartbeat.

Maybe it’s mine too.

(But if the darkness tries to talk to me again, I’m throwing a rock at it.)

— Maki 🌊✨

<Next>

[ravynisyew]

The Lost Prince of Atlantis

ACT IV: The Promised heir

Chapter 33: The Librarian, the Heart, and Two Walking Nightmares

Faeryn’s morning air tasted like dew and dusted gold. Maki sat cross-legged on the mossy veranda outside Yuma’s quarters, a scroll in hand and an expression of exaggerated seriousness plastered on his face. Taki lounged beside him, flicking nonexist water from his hair out of habit and watching him with half-lidded disinterest.

“So,” Maki began dramatically, “our mission—no, our destiny—is knowledge. Forbidden, ancient, powerful knowledge.”

Taki raised a brow. “You’re talking about reading, right?”

“Yes, but with extra flair,” Maki shot back.

Moments later, Yuma emerged from his room, looking as though he’d aged three decades overnight. His eyes immediately found Maki and Taki. His sigh was audible all the way to the next tree.

“You’re both going to the library and leave me alone,” he said simply. “Now. Before I lose what’s left of my sanity.”

Maki blinked, all innocence. “Oh, then are you coming with—?”

Yuma’s wings flared once, sharply. “No.”

And that was that.

The Ancient Library of Faeryn loomed like something carved from memory itself. Great vines draped across arched stone, and luminous script drifted across the air like fireflies of language. The inside smelled of parchment, moonlight, and peace—something that immediately began to wither the moment Maki walked in.

“HELLOOOO?” Maki’s voice boomed through the halls, making a dust cloud shiver off a shelf. “ANYONE HOME? I’M LOOKING FOR THE HEARTSTONE SECRETS SECTION—OR THE EXTREMELY POWERFUL BUT POSSIBLY DANGEROUS KNOWLEDGE SECTION?”

Taki groaned. “You don’t have to shout. It’s library!.”

“Yeah, but don’t they miss the enthusiasm?” Maki grinned, cupping his hands around his mouth. “HELLOOO—OH HI!”

A startled squeak interrupted his next declaration.

From behind a stack of books emerged a fairy wearing round glasses, soft wings that looked like folded petals, and a voice so quiet it barely made ripples in the air.

“Um… g-good morning. I’m… J–Jo. C–can I… help you?”

Maki beamed as though he’d just been handed the sun. “Hi Jo! I’m Maki, this is Taki—don’t mix them up—and YES, you absolutely can! I need to know everything about the Heartstone! Its origin, how it glows, if it can explode, if it can talk, or maybe if it has a theme song—”

Jo blinked. “…A… theme song?”

“I’m just saying, if I were a divine rock, I’d have one,” Maki said earnestly. “Maybe with drums.”

Taki muttered, “Oh gods, not the drums again.”

Jo’s small, trembling hands wrung the hem of his robe. His eyes darted from Maki’s radiant grin to Taki’s long-suffering sigh. “O–of course. I’ll—show you—the section.”

“Perfect!” Maki chirped, clapping his hands. “You’re amazing, Jo!”

Jo squeaked at the volume, nearly tripping over his own feet as he led the way between towering shelves. Scrolls hovered overhead like sleepy birds. The deeper they went, the quieter the air became until even Maki seemed to lower his voice to a whisper (which, for him, still counted as “slightly less thunderous”).

Jo stopped at a grand aisle glowing faintly with runes carved into the arch. “This… this is the Heartstone collection. Every record, theory, and historical account Faeryn has about it is here.”

Maki’s eyes sparkled like starlight. “OHHHHH this is incredible—look at that binding, Taki! Look! It’s older than both of us combined!”

“Barely,” Taki muttered, peering at an old tome.

Jo adjusted his glasses, looking equal parts proud and terrified. “If you have any questions, please hesitate to ask.”

Maki blinked. “You mean don’t hesitate to ask.”

Jo stared at him for a long, serious second. Then:

“…No. Please hesitate.”

And before Maki could protest, Jo turned on his heel and bolted vanishing behind a row of levitating encyclopedias.

Maki stood in stunned silence for all of two seconds before turning to Taki, grinning ear to ear. “I think he like me.”

Taki snorted. “He fled for his life, Maki.”

And with that, Maki rolled up his sleeves, cracked his knuckles, and declared, “Time to learn how to be a responsible glowing prince!”

Taki muttered something about “this is why Yuma drinks,” but followed anyway.

Scrolls and tomes piled high around them, some whispering softly to themselves when brushed, others sighing as if grateful to be opened after centuries. Dust motes danced in the filtered light of Faeryn’s canopy, and finally Maki went quiet. Mostly because he was trying to read six things at once.

Taki had long since resigned himself to cross-legged boredom, flipping through a thick volume labeled Resonance and the Heartstone Lineage. Maki, meanwhile, had discovered a particularly shiny scroll and was holding it up to the light like a child with a soap bubble.

“Ooooh,” Maki murmured, eyes wide. “Listen to this—‘The late kings of Atlantis were not masters of magic, but conductors of the pulse.’”

“The pulse?” Taki asked, glancing up.

“Yeah—‘The pulse of the Heartstone beats not within one body, but within the very bones of the world. The king, when truly resonant with it, commands not through force, but through harmony. The seas rise and the winds shift because they hear him.’” Maki’s voice went soft for a rare second, wonder threading through his tone. “So… he sang to the world, and the world sang back.”

Taki’s gaze flicked to him, half intrigued, half amused. “You saying your great-granddaddy invented ocean concert?”

Maki snorted. “No! I mean—yes, kind of? But in a regal, magical way!”

He bent closer to the scroll, eyes darting over the delicate ink strokes. “It says that to reach resonance, one must train their mind until it aligns with the Heartstone’s rhythm. That means meditation, breathing, stillness, balance…” His voice trailed, frowning. “Basically all the things I’m bad at.”

“Shocking,” Taki muttered.

Maki shot him a look, then tapped the scroll thoughtfully. “Okay, but that’s it? Meditate? Feel the pulse? That sounds doable.”

Taki’s lips twitched, sarcasm practically vibrating off him. “Yeah, like it’s the easiest thing in the world for you. You know what meditate means, right?”

“Of course I do!”

“It means no talking. For hours.”

Maki’s jaw dropped like a brick. His eyes widened, horrified. “For—how long did you say?”

“Hours.”

“Like, multiple? Consecutive? As in silent silence?”

Taki nodded, a little too smug. “You’ll combust by the first ten minutes.”

“I will not!” Maki huffed, arms crossed, face scrunching in defiance. “I can be serene and meditative and spiritually aligned!”

A quiet pause stretched between them.

“...I can!”

A floating book above them gently fell shut on its own, as if even it didn’t believe him.

Taki grinned. “We’ll see. I give you five minutes before you start narrating your thoughts out loud.”

Maki pointed a finger at him dramatically. “Ten! I can last ten! You’ll see, I’ll be one with the pulse of the world before dinner!”

Taki smirked. “And I’ll be one with the peace and quiet. Finally.”

Maki gasped, clutching his chest in mock betrayal. “You wound me, my aquatic brother!”

“You wound my eardrums. Daily.”

The two of them glared then burst into laughter that echoed through the rows of enchanted books, making the scrolls flutter and Jo, somewhere deep in the stacks, visibly flinch.

For a moment, amid the laughter and light and dust-dancing air, the idea of resonance didn’t seem so impossible. Maybe if he could quiet the noise long enough to listen, Maki might finally hear what the world had been trying to tell him all along.

The library lent them a quiet garden tucked between crystal-latticed walls, a place meant for reflection, silence, and the kind of stillness that Faeryn took very seriously. A circle of moss marked the center, ringed by softly glowing runes that pulsed like a heartbeat.

Perfect for meditation.

Perfect for disaster.

Taki sat cross-legged immediately, eyes half-lidded, already settling into something eerily calm. It was unfair how serene he looked. His breathing matched the rhythm of the glowing moss.

Maki, on the other hand, had never looked more uncomfortable in his life.

He sat. He fidgeted. He adjusted his posture five times. Then ten. Then eleven. He inhaled, exhaled, and immediately forgot what to do with his hands.

“Okay. Easy,” he whispered to himself. “Still mind. Empty thoughts. Feel the pulse of the world. I can do that.”

Silence.

…for approximately seven seconds.

Then came the thoughts.

Okay, pulse of the world. Pulse. Heartbeat. Do I have to match its BPM? What’s the BPM of the planet? Maybe 60? 80? Oh gods, what if it’s 200, is the world anxious? Wait, no, focus. Inhale, exhale. Breathe like Harua said. Oh no, I thought about Harua. Stop thinking about Harua. I missed Harua . Okay, fine, just one thought: what’s he doing right now? Probably looking all majestic and serious and not bleeding from self-inflicted glow injuries. Great. Breathe. Don’t move. Oh my leg’s asleep. How long has it been? Two hours? It has to be two hours.

He cracked one eye open.

Taki hadn’t moved. Not even a twitch.

Maki leaned slightly toward him. “Hey. Taki. How long’s it been?”

“Eight minutes,” came the flat reply.

“EIGHT MINUTES?!”

His shout echoed across the garden, startling a nearby flock of spirit butterflies that immediately fled like witnesses to a crime.

Taki sighed without opening his eyes. “Congratulations. New record.”

Maki flopped backward onto the moss, arms spread dramatically. “This is impossible. My brain has too many tabs open to meditate.”

“You don’t say.”

“I swear the world was pulsing, though! I think I felt it for a second—unless that was my foot dying. Which counts! Because life is a cycle, right?”

“Sure,” Taki muttered. “You and the dying foot are one with the universe.”

“Ha! See? Progress!” Maki declared, sitting up triumphantly. “Eight minutes of pure enlightenment! I’m practically glowing with wisdom—oh wait, I am glowing again—WHY AM I GLOWING, TAKI?!”

Taki cracked one eye open, unimpressed. “Because the universe is telling you to shut up.”

Maki gasped. “The pulse spoke to me.”

Taki groaned. “No, I did.”

“Same difference!”

Maki’s grin was radiant, his hair glowing faintly at the edges as if the world itself had decided to humor him just this once.

Maybe it wasn’t perfect harmony. Maybe it wasn’t even meditation. But somewhere, buried under his chaos and chatter, the Heartstone pulsed and for one heartbeat, it almost matched his own.

From Maki’s Journal — Entry Thirty-Three: Meditation and Other Forms of Torture

Today I learned that “meditation” is just a fancy word for “sitting still until you start arguing with your own thoughts.”

Apparently, the old kings of Atlantis used to tune their souls to the rhythm of the world. Sounds cool in theory! Except I can’t even tune my mouth to stop talking for ten minutes. Taki says I lasted eight minutes, which I think is unfair because internally, I was very peaceful for at least four of them.

Anyway, the world supposedly “pulses” with the Heartstone’s beat. I might have felt it! Or it was just my leg falling asleep. Either way, progress! Harua would be proud. Or exasperated. Probably both.

Tomorrow, I try again. Maybe I’ll bring snacks. The universe can’t stop me from meditating and eating at the same time, right?

— Maki 🌊✨

<Next>

[ravynisyew]

The Lost Prince of Atlantis

ACT IV: The Promised heir

Chapter 32: The Cat, the Prince, and the Path of Regret

The forest of Faeryn hummed with life. The fluttering wings, whispering leaves, the distant trill of something that may or may not have been a frog opera. Sunlight cut through the canopy in golden blades, painting Maki’s hair in shifting light as he strode ahead, humming off-key and talking far too much for the peace-loving woods.

“So if I were a tree spirit, right, I’d pick this one, big trunk, nice moss, good sunlight, perfect for napping and scaring travelers. Taki, don’t you think I’d make a good spirit?”

“You’d make a good haunting,” Taki shot back, kicking at a root. “Every spirit in Faeryn would file a noise complaint.”

“Oh, please. You’d miss me if I turned into bark.”

“I’d build my house from you.”

“RUDE!”

Their bickering bounced between the trees, climbing up the vines, making a flock of glowing sparrows take off with offended squeaks. It was all laughter and leaves until something else answered them.

A low, exhausted groan rolled through the woods. Ancient. Aggrieved. The kind of sound from someone deeply tired of everything.

Both froze.

Then, fluttering wings. A ripple of golden dust. From between the shadows, a familiar figure emerged, his catlike eyes flicking irritably, his tail twitching once like a whip about to strike.

Yuma.

He looked exactly the same and also done. So, so done. The fairy’s sharp eyes swept over them, then narrowed into flat disbelief.

“…Not you again,” he said, voice monotone but heavy with suffering.

Maki’s grin spread slow, dangerous, like mischief caught mid-bloom.

“I knew it!” he crowed. “I knew if we were loud enough, he’d come!”

“Do you—do you think being loud worked the same as summon spell?” Yuma asked, blankly.

“Technically, yes. Worked like a charm,” Maki chirped, flashing a victorious smile that made Taki bury his face in both hands.

Something about the presence of Yuma makes Taki wants to hide.

Yuma stared between them for a long, pained moment. Two idiots in travel-stained clothes, one glowing faintly, the other looking like he regretted his life and finally sighed so deeply that the wind itself seemed to deflate.

“…Follow me before you summon something worse.”

And with that, he turned around, wings flicking out as he trudged ahead, muttering under his breath about “mortals with too much enthusiasm.”

Maki followed cheerfully, whispering to Taki, “See? Strategy. Volume always wins.”

“Your strategy’s going to get us hexed,” Taki muttered.

“Worth it.”

They passed through the first barrier, a shimmer of gold and silver that brushed against Maki’s skin like cool silk. He blinked at it in awe. Then another layer, and another, each humming faintly as if the air itself sang to them.

Yuma led the way in practiced silence, but his ears twitched back at the sound of Maki and Taki’s footsteps squelching on moss.

Halfway through the fourth barrier, Yuma’s nose wrinkled. “Is that… blood?”

Maki blinked, following his gaze. The neat white bandage on his forearm had bloomed into red, the water from their swim having reawakened the wound. “Ah, yeah! That’s me.” He lifted the arm cheerfully, ignoring Taki’s strangled sigh. “It’s nothing major—well, okay, it was a little deeper than intended—”

Yuma’s eyes narrowed. “What did you do to yourself?”

He shouldn’t have asked.

“SO, picture this—me, Taki, Harua, and a fairy who once threatened to use me as fertilizer—long story, lovely person now, probably. We were in this cave, pitch black, reeked like rotten magic and despair, and we had to save her from a wraithlurker—oh, you should’ve seen it! Shadow everywhere, creepy webs—anyway, Harua said we needed light, but I haven’t exactly figured out how to make the glow work on command, so I thought, hey, last time I almost died, I was glowing, maybe I just need a little encouragement, right? So I nicked myself—small cut! Okay maybe medium—and BAM! I was glowing like the morning sun! Or a divine lantern! Or—well—”

“Maki,” Yuma said, voice flat as a stone.

“—a firefly with emotional baggage,” Maki finished with a proud grin, ignoring him entirely. “Even my—uh, well, let’s just say everything was shining. I may or may not have lit up the entire cave from every angle—don’t laugh, Taki!”

Taki was, of course, wheezing.

Yuma just stared at him. The stare suggested he was reconsidering ever answering their noise in the forest. His tail twitched once violently.

“You… cut yourself,” he said slowly, “to glow.”

“Exactly! Efficient, right?”

“Idiotic.”

“Hey! Effective and idiotic. I’ll take that.”

Yuma pinched the bridge of his nose. “When we reach the village, you are not moving until I fix that arm and put a ward on your brain.”

Taki muttered, “Make it two wards. Maybe three.”

Maki only hummed happily, completely unbothered by the sarcasm by now. “Aww, you guys do care.”

By the time they reached the heart of Faeryn, the air was heavy with the scent of dew and wildflowers. The light bent differently here, almost softer, like it didn’t dare burn the forest that breathed beneath it.

Fairies stopped mid-flight. Whispers fluttered through the air like pollen.

“The Heartstone…”

“Is that blood??”

“He glows even when injured?”

“Is he… smiling while bleeding?”

Yes. Yes, he was.

Maki grinned sheepishly, cheeks flushed pink as he waved at literally everyone. “Hi! Morning! Love your wings—oh wait, are those mushrooms or hair decorations? Very stylish!”

Taki groaned behind him. “Can you at least pretend to be embarrassed?”

“I am embarrassed,” Maki whispered back with a grin so bright it could blind gods. “I just happen to process it verbally.”

Yuma was a storm of patience and regret, tail flicking in sharp, irritated arcs as he marched them through the mossy archway of the healer’s pavilion. Every fairy they passed dipped their head in reverence to him and side-eyed the walking bandage advertisement he dragged behind.

The pavilion itself glowed from within, silver vines pulsing faintly as the healers looked up in alarm. One of them gasped. “Sentinel Yuma—your guests are—oh stars, he’s bleeding!”

Maki quickly lifted his arm. “It’s fine! Really, just a scratch. A very heroic scratch, mind you—”

“Sit,” Yuma ordered.

Maki sat. Immediately.

He perched obediently on a glowing stool as a pair of fairies swarmed around him, tutting and dabbing ointments that sparkled like liquid dawn. Maki winced once, twice, then grinned again widely, sheepish, so utterly Maki.

“Sorry,” he said softly as one healer tightened the bandage. “Didn’t mean to cause a fuss. I’m just… happy to be back.”

The room paused for a heartbeat. Even Yuma’s ears twitched back softer this time. Then Maki ruined the moment entirely.

“Oh—uh—by the way,” he added with a whisper-shout. “Please tell me my butt wasn’t glowing from last time. I’m still recovering emotionally from that discovery.”

The healer dropped her bandage spool. Taki choked on air. Yuma busy muttering prayers to every deity in Faeryn to grant him patience.

The healers lasted exactly eight minutes. Eight minutes of Maki’s mouth moving faster than any magic they possessed.

“How did you do that? It doesn’t even hurt anymore! Wait, are you sure it’s not hurting you? I mean—healing magic has a cost, right? Harua said magic cost your life. Did you give up a year of your life? Oh stars, please don’t say you gave up a decade—”

“Maki,” Yuma ground out through clenched teeth, tail flicking like a whip. “They’re professionals, not martyrs.”

But Maki was already turning to another healer, eyes wide. “Right, right, but like—hypothetically, if you were martyrs, how long would you last?”

The poor fairy made a sound somewhere between a squeak and a prayer, dropped her vial of salve, and fled. The others followed in a flurry of glittering robes and muttered excuses, leaving Maki blinking after them in bewildered silence.

“Well,” he said, cheerfully. “Guess I’m too charming for my own good.”

“Too loud,” Yuma corrected flatly, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Meanwhile, Taki sat cross-legged on the far side of the room, completely engrossed in watching how the lingering glow from the healing magic threaded through Maki’s skin. “Fascinating,” he murmured. “It’s almost like light woven into his veins. The way it fades is—”

“Don’t encourage him,” Yuma hissed.

Taki looked up, innocent as a saint. “I wasn’t.”

Maki beamed at him. “You were a little bit.”

That was when Yuma’s jaw twitched so hard it looked like divine intervention was the only thing keeping it attached. “If either of you speaks again,” he said slowly, “I will use you as fertilizer for the northern garden.”

Maki gasped in delight. “Ah, just like old times!”

Yuma left the room. Immediately.

From Maki’s Journal — Entry Thirty-Two: Healers, Halos and My Near-Murder (Again)

I’m fine! Totally fine! My arm’s all better now! The healers said so! (Well they didn’t exactly say so, because they kind of ran away screaming halfway through my questions, but sometimes silence counts as confirmation, right?)

Anyway, apparently my blood glows when healed. Like, actual sparkle-glow. Taki said it looked like light was stitched into my veins, which sounds super poetic until you remember it’s literally just my blood doing a rave. I think Yuma was impressed too, though his eye twitch sort of ruined the effect.

Oh, and the healers? Poor souls. They were all nice and floaty until I asked whether healing costs them a piece of their lifespan. Then suddenly everyone had “urgent business elsewhere.” Suspicious. I might have traumatized an entire medical team again. (Note to self: bring apology cookies next time. Or a fruit basket.)

Taki, meanwhile, is fascinated. He kept poking at the faint shimmer on my wrist like it was the prettiest seashell he’s ever found. And Yuma kept muttering things like “why did the gods curse me with this idiot” under his breath. Honestly? It’s kind of sweet.

Anyway, I’m all patched up, glowing less (tragedy!), and once again alive despite all odds.

If that’s not progress, I don’t know what is.

— Maki 🌊✨

<Next>

[ravynisyew]

The Lost Prince of Atlantis

ACT IV: The Promised heir

Chapter 31: A Light Too Bright

The dawn was slow to rise over Lhysanthir. Mist curled between the silver trees, softening the edge of every leaf and memory. Harua stood by the balcony rail, his tea long gone cold, his thoughts anything but calm.

The image from last night would not leave him: Maki, arm bleeding, light spilling from his skin in panicked brilliance. It had worked, yes, the cave had filled with gold and safety and Maki’s stubborn laughter, but Harua’s heart had clenched at the sight.

That light had come from pain. And that wasn’t how it should be.

Maki had the Heartstone within him, a magic older and wilder than the sea, yet he wielded it like a boy fumbling with a sword too big for his hands. Every time he smiled through another scorch mark or nick, Harua’s worry carved itself deeper behind his calm.

Taki had laughed it off, calling Maki “a one-man lighthouse,” but Harua couldn’t. Not this time.

He set down the cup and turned to where the mortal prince still slept, tangled in blankets, mouth half-open, faint bruises glowing greenish-purple along his arm from training. So fragile. So bright. Too bright.

They had reached the limits of what Lhysanthir could offer him. The elders’ scrolls spoke little of the Heartstone, only myths and fragments. And the library’s keepers knew less still. But Faeryn… Faeryn was where where the ancient archives might hold something real.

Harua sighed, brushing a thumb along the edge of his wing. “You’ll burn yourself out at this rate,” he murmured quietly, more to the morning air than to the sleeping boy. “You’re light, Maki. Not flame. You’re not meant to hurt to shine.”

Behind him, Taki stirred on the couch, muttering something about “tea explosions.” Harua let a faint smile ghost across his lips, then straightened his coat. His mind was already made up.

They would return to Faeryn. Before Maki bled himself dry just to keep glowing.

Maki woke to the faint song of windbells and the smell of roasted roots. His first thought was that his arm hurt. His second was that his head felt like it had wrestled a thundercloud.

He groaned, squinting down at his bandaged forearm, evidence of Harua’s neat handywork, then blinked at the state of himself. His hair looked like a bird had nested and abandoned it midway. He yawned so wide it nearly cracked his jaw, scratching absently at his chest as he stumbled into the kitchen.

Harua was already there, serene and neat as always, his wings tucked, tea cup balanced delicately between his fingers. The contrast was… painful.

Maki collapsed onto the chair like a puppet with cut strings, then reached for his own cup and sipped. A hum left him, satisfied and soft. For once, he didn’t complain about soreness or bruises, just let himself melt into the morning light.

Harua’s grimace said enough. “You look nothing like a prince.”

“Good,” Maki said through another yawn, “means I’m adapting to local culture.”

Taki shuffled in next, his hair looking like wet seaweed. He flopped onto the seat beside Maki and grabbed his cup. “Morning. Tea’s still bitter.”

“Means Harua brewed it,” Maki said cheerfully.

“Means you’re banned from brewing anything,” Taki shot back.

It might’ve gone on forever, quiet sipping, easy warmth, the sound of the forest sighing outside if Harua hadn’t decided to ruin it.

“You two are going back to Faeryn.”

The words landed like a dropped stone.

Maki blinked up at him, half a biscuit hanging from his lips. “You two? Wait, does that mean— we get to see Yuma again?”

Harua didn’t answer immediately. His silence said plenty.

Then Maki’s brain caught up. “Wait— you two? What about you?”

Across the table, Taki groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “No, no, no, you are not leaving me alone with this twerp again.” He jabbed a thumb at Maki. “Do you know how many times he’s nearly set the kitchen on fire trying to ‘experiment with toast’?”

“I was testing the limits of carbohydrates!” Maki protested.

“Exactly my point.”

Harua exhaled slowly through his nose, the picture of saintly restraint. “Faeryn has what you need to learn about the Heartstone. Their archives are older, their priests wiser. You’ll be safe there.”

Maki’s smile faltered a little, the edges trembling. “But you’re not coming?”

Harua’s gaze softened, though his tone stayed firm. “Not yet.”

“The borders have been stirring again,” he said quietly. “The forest near the southern reef — the barrier is thinning. Someone has to hold it.”

Maki’s half-eaten biscuit stilled midair. “You mean… you’re staying because of the border?”

Harua nodded once. “It’s my duty. Lhysanthir can’t afford to be left unguarded right now.”

For a heartbeat, none of them spoke. Even the usual morning hum seemed to hush, the forest listening, waiting.

Taki broke it first, setting down his cup with a dull clack. “So you’re just sending us off? Like luggage?”

Harua’s lips twitched. “You’re hardly luggage, Taki. More like—”

“Baggage?” Maki offered helpfully.

The fairy warrior pinched the bridge of his nose. “Exactly.”

Maki let out a laugh that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Well, that’s fine. I mean, I can totally handle this, right? I’ll just go learn some ancient blood-magic-thingy with a bunch of mushroom fairies. No big deal. Totally not dangerous or emotionally damaging or—”

“Maki,” Harua said, soft but firm. The single word cut through his spiral.

The mortal prince froze, his mouth still half open.

Harua’s voice gentled. “I trust you. Both of you. This isn’t punishment—it’s preparation. You’ve come far, Maki, but what’s inside you… it’s growing faster than you understand. If you keep learning by hurting yourself—” his gaze dropped briefly to the bandage on Maki’s arm—“you’ll destroy more than your body.”

Maki’s fingers instinctively brushed the wrappings. The burn of embarrassment and fear flickered beneath his ribs, and he looked away, jaw tightening.

Taki leaned back in his chair, arms crossed but quieter now. “So, you’re making us study with mushroom fairies while you go monster-hunting alone. Great plan.”

Harua gave him a look that could polish steel. “Someone must.”

Then, more softly, to both of them: “When you’ve learned what you need, when Faeryn’s elders say you’re ready, you can come back. I’ll be here.”

The promise settled in the air like morning mist.

Maki forced a grin, small but genuine. “Then you better be. Because if you die while I’m gone, I’ll— I’ll haunt you.”

Harua’s lips curved faintly. “I’d like to see you try.”

Taki groaned into his hands. “Ugh, can we not start the day with emotional threats and tea that tastes like tree bark?”

“My tea has personality,” Maki said.

“Your tea has issues.”

The laughter that followed was softer than usual, frayed at the edges but real, and full of reluctant hope.

The sky stretched wide above them, pale gold spilling into the sea. The waves lapped against their ankles like soft goodbyes.

Maki fidgeted beside Taki, toes digging into the wet sand, eyes darting between the horizon and the still figure standing behind them. Harua looked carved out of morning light, calm, distant, wings folded tight. Too composed for someone about to be left behind.

Taki adjusted the strap across his chest and sighed. “We’re wasting daylight. The current’ll be strong enough now.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Maki mumbled. His chest felt too tight for air. The thought of the ocean swallowing the distance between them and Harua twisted something in him.

He stared down at the tide brushing over his boots. “I don’t want to leave without Harua,” he said, but the words came out small, swallowed by the surf before anyone could hear.

“Huh?” Taki blinked.

Maki jerked upright. “I said—I’M READY TO GO SEE YUMA AGAIN!” he blurted, too loudly, voice cracking like cheap glass.

Taki gave him a suspicious look but didn’t press.

Harua stepped closer, the water darkening the hem of his coat. His hand found Taki’s shoulder, firm and unyielding. “Guard him well,” he said.

Taki rolled his eyes but nodded, something quiet and fierce in the gesture. “Yeah. I swear it.”

Harua’s gaze shifted to Maki, that steady, soft kind of gaze that always felt like it could see through him, straight to every trembling piece he tried to hide.

Maki turned his head quickly, pretending to adjust his bag. A single tear slipped free, catching the light like a tiny gemstone before he wiped it away with the back of his wrist. “Alright, Harua, don’t miss me too much!” he shouted, grin too wide, voice too bright to be honest.

The fairy only exhaled through his nose, the faintest curve touching his lips making a smile that was all pride and a quiet sort of ache. “Go, prince.”

The waves surged forward, wrapping around Maki’s knees. Taki gave one last wave before diving cleanly beneath the foam, legs turn into a strong tail that flashing gold. Maki lingered a heartbeat longer, looking back over his shoulder. Harua stood still as the tide reached his boots, one hand resting against the hilt of his blade, his expression unreadable, but his eyes gleamed with something warm.

Maki’s throat worked. “See you soon,” he whispered, and plunged into the sea.

The ocean swallowed them whole, leaving behind only ripples and a faint shimmer of light and Harua, watching the horizon until the last trace of glow faded from sight.

By the time they surfaced, the sun had already started its slow tumble westward. The sea was calm, gold glinting off its ripples as they trudged ashore two dripping figures against the pale sand.

Maki stretched his arms high above his head and groaned like a man reborn. “Land! Sweet, solid, non-drowning land!”

Taki flicked saltwater at him with his fingers. “You weren’t drowning, you were screaming.”

“I can multitask.”

The shore was quiet, the forest ahead nothing but a wall of green shadows and dappled light. The air smelled sharp and alive, different from Lhysanthir’s airy brightness. Here, it hummed low, ancient.

They stood there for a beat, dripping, catching their breath, neither quite ready to move but both pretending they were.

Finally, Maki slung his satchel over his shoulder and took the first step into the trees. “Alright! To Yuma’s! Shouldn’t be too hard, right?”

A beat passed. Then he turned to Taki. “You… know the way, right?”

Taki blinked. Then shrugged, utterly unbothered. “Oh, come on, dude. I’m a seafolk. How could I know the way up here in the land?”

Maki’s grin faltered. “Yeah, me too. I was… kinda busy catching glowing dragonflies the last time I was here. Harua led the way.”

Taki’s brow twitched. “Then we’re doomed?”

There was a long, tragic pause. The forest rustled ominously, like it agreed.

And then both of them burst into laughter, still soaked, still sandy and still ridiculous. The kind of wild, breathless laughter that made their stomachs hurt and drew curious birds from the branches.

“Broken duo,” Maki wheezed, wiping tears from his eyes.

“Lost idiots,” Taki agreed, grinning.

And so, with nothing but misplaced confidence and a shared sense of doom, the two wandered straight into the deep, glittering wilds of Faeryn where surely, nothing could go wrong.

From Maki’s Journal — Entry Thirty-One: Lost, Wet, and Definitely Not Panicking (Yet)

So. Harua decided we (read: me and Taki) should go back to Faeryn.

Alone.

WITHOUT. HIM.

Apparently, I “need to learn about my magic properly” and “shouldn’t keep stabbing myself for illumination.” (Look, it was one time. Okay, maybe twice. Science demands sacrifice!)

Anyway, this morning started normal enough with bittersweet tea and yawning, Harua glaring at my hair for existing and then boom, “You two are going back.”

You two.

Not we three.

I almost choked on my tea. Taki groaned like someone just told him leg day is back. Harua just stood there being gorgeous, shiny, and emotionally unavailable as usual.

Fast forward, now we’re here at Faeryn’s shore again. The ocean spat us out like expired clams, the sun’s halfway down, and guess what? Neither of us knows where we’re going!

Taki’s all “I’m a seafolk, not a map,” and I’m like, “Same, bro!” because the last time I came here, Harua led the way while I was too busy naming mushrooms.

So yeah, two geniuses, lost in the most magical forest known to exist.

Heaven help us.

On the bright side, Taki’s keeping me company! On the not-so-bright side, I think he’s already regretting every life choice that led him here. He tried to look serious about “navigation,” but we ended up following a very confident squirrel for fifteen minutes. (Spoiler: it did NOT lead to Yuma.)

I miss Harua already. His “patience” sighs, his lectures, his way of pretending he doesn’t secretly like me. Don’t tell him that though, I’ll never hear the end of it.

Anyway, we’re camping here tonight. Taki’s making a fire (with actual control), and I’m pretending I know how to set up a tent. It’s… definitely tent-shaped. Sort of.

Tomorrow, we find Yuma. Or a dragon. Or death.

Whichever comes first!

— Maki 🌊✨

<Next>

[ravynisyew]

The Lost Prince of Atlantis

ACT IV: The Promised heir

Chapter 30: Maki’s First Quest!

Maki had changed.

Not in the “suddenly became quiet and wise” way (thankfully, Harua thought), but in the way that made his steps sound steadier, his swings sharper, and his laughter come from a stronger chest. He no longer tripped over roots every five minutes. His grip no longer wobbled when he held the training sword. And when he ran downhill, the wind no longer bullied him, it followed him.

Every morning, before dawn fully cracked the sky open, Maki trained.

Every evening, when the fireflies began to hum, he trained again.

He was still talkative, still chaotic, but there was something else beneath it now, an ache that wanted to belong.

And then came the day Harua finally said, “You’re ready.”

The word hit Maki harder than a thunder spell. Ready. His first real quest.

At dawn, the house was already awake, mostly because Maki made sure of it.

He had brewed “victory tea,” which turned out to be half tea leaves and half water. The result was so bitter that Taki spat his first sip back into the cup, while Harua just stared at his in silent existential dread.

“You put how many leaves?” Harua finally asked.

“Enough to win!” Maki said proudly, wincing as he forced another gulp down. He flinched, his entire face scrunching up. “...Note to self,” he muttered under his breath, “leave the tea to Harua next time.”

Taki blinked slowly. “I can taste my soul trying to leave my body.”

Still, by the time the sun peeked over the horizon, all three were geared up, Harua sharpening his twin blades, Taki polishing his trident, and Maki bouncing on his heels, trying not to explode from excitement. His first quest. His first.

The cave breathed from the outside.

Not air, not life, just a low, pulsing exhale of something foul and ancient. Every step they took echoed, swallowed again by the dark. Then a scream tore through the quiet. High, desperate, familiar.

Harua’s head snapped toward the sound, his voice low and clipped. “Nalia.”

Maki blinked. “Wait—that Nalia? The ‘I’ll-turn-you-into-fertilizer’ one?”

“The same.” Harua’s expression didn’t shift. “Stay close.”

The air changed. Heavy. Wet. The reek of rot and salt and iron rolled through the tunnel, thick enough that Maki gagged.

Taki grimaced, voice a low hiss. “That stench… Harua?”

The fairy’s jaw tightened. “Wraithlurker.”

Harua raised a palm, fire flared to life, weak but steady, painting the cave in trembling gold. It threw jagged shadows over slick stone. The light trembled with his movement; he couldn’t hold both light steady and fight.

“Too dark,” Harua muttered. “Maki—light the cave.”

“Right—sure—just light the cave,” Maki said, eyes darting wildly. “No big deal, I’ll just summon the power of a thousand glowworms out of my—”

The cave screamed again, closer. Maki flinched, stumbling back. His pulse hammered against his ribs, fear and adrenaline clashing. He remembered the only times he’d glowed before were when he thought he’d die.

Oh no.

Oh yes.

He swallowed, raised his dagger, and hissed through his teeth, “Sorry, arm.”

The blade nicked his forearm, shallow, enough to sting.

The sigils beneath his skin woke. Light bled out like liquid dawn, racing along his veins until his whole body flared bright as sunrise. The darkness peeled back and the creature from hid in the dark shrieked.

It was wrong.

All too many limbs, slick and jointed like spider legs but ending in fingers. A face or something pretending to be one, stretched from its chest, eyes like gaping holes that swallowed Harua’s firelight whole.

Taki swore. “That’s not a creature—that’s a mistake.”

“Less commentary,” Harua snapped, drawing his blade. “More aim.”

Maki tried to steady the light, but it pulsed with his heartbeat, flickering whenever panic spiked. The monster shifted every time the light dimmed, disappearing, then lunging from another angle.

“Harua!” he shouted. “It’s—moving—every time I blink!”

“Then don’t blink.”

“I—CAN’T—NOT—BLINK!”

The Wraithlurker lunged, claws sweeping down. Maki yelped and dropped flat as the air exploded above him. Harua’s blade caught its limb in a flash of white, slicing through smoke and flesh alike.

Taki’s trident shot out, lightning through water. “Back to the pit, ugly!”

The creature reeled, shrieking, light searing through its transparent hide. Maki’s glow wavered again, but he forced himself to feel it, the fear, the adrenaline, the stupid reckless will to not die here.

“Alright, alright, okay,” he muttered, voice shaking. “Don’t panic, don’t panic, you’re fine, you’re shining, you’re the world’s dumbest flashlight but that’s fine—”

He flared brighter. The Wraithlurker convulsed, letting out a howl that shook dust from the ceiling before it dissolved into mist and scattered into the dark.

Silence fell, sharp, trembling.

Maki stood there, chest heaving, dagger slick with blood and light both. Taki’s voice came from somewhere behind him.

“So… is it dead or just angry in another dimension now?”

Harua exhaled, lowering his blade. “Gone. For now.”

Maki grinned, half delirious. “Well, that wasn’t terrifying at all! Do we get badges for this? Or therapy vouchers?”

Harua shot him a flat look. “You’re bleeding.”

Maki looked down at his arm. “Oh. So I am. But—hey—it worked, right?”

Harua sighed, half exasperation, half relief. “Next time, try glowing without self-harm.”

Maki beamed. “Next time I’ll sparkle on command.”

Taki groaned. “Oh no. He’s going to practice, isn’t he?”

The air in the cave was heavy again, this time not with malice, but with silence. The kind that hangs after danger, the kind that hums with leftover fear.

Harua stepped forward, blade still drawn, scanning the walls.

“Stay close,” he warned, voice low. “If it nested here, there’ll be—”

He didn’t need to finish.

The cave opened into a wider chamber and the smell hit them first. Damp rot, burnt stone, something sweet and foul beneath. Then Maki saw it. A thick web cocooned across the far end of the wall, glistening like oil under his faint glow. Inside, tangled wings twitched weakly.

“Oh, no,” Maki breathed. “That’s—someone.”

Harua didn’t hesitate. He slashed at the webbing, his sword slicing through the sticky layers with clean precision. The cocoon peeled apart with a wet sound, and a limp figure slumped forward.

Nalia. Her once-shimmering wings were plastered in black sludge, her skin pale and sticky with residue.

Maki winced, his nose wrinkling. “Ugh, that’s—okay, ew. That’s… actually ew.”

“Help her,” Harua ordered, kneeling to cut the rest of the threads.

Maki blinked. “What? Me? But—Harua, she’s literally marinated in ooey-gooey—”

Harua didn’t even look up. “You’re glowing. I need both hands free.”

“What about Taki?” he looked around and find the merman already on his way out the cave.

Maki groaned dramatically but crouched beside Nalia anyway. “Alright, okay, fine—gentle hands, royal manners, don’t vomit on the fairy.”

He grabbed her arm to help her sit up and instantly regretted it. The sludge made a wet, sucking noise as his fingers met her sleeve.

“Oh gods—she’s sticky!” he cried, gagging a little. “I touched the goo!”

Nalia groaned faintly, her voice raspy. “Could you not scream in my ear?”

“Oh! You’re alive! That’s great!” Maki said, helping her upright. “You’re, uh, welcome, by the way. I saved you—sort of. Mostly I was the human flashlight, but it counts!”

They staggered out together, the light dimming as Maki’s heart slowed. The night air hit them first, cool, salt-touched and clean from rot stench.

Nalia blinked rapidly, her eyes adjusting to the dark now that Maki’s glow had faded. When her vision cleared, she froze.

Her gaze locked onto Maki’s soot-streaked face, wild hair sticking in every direction, grin too bright for someone who’d nearly died ten minutes ago.

“Oh,” she said after a beat, tone suspiciously light. “It’s the chatty mortal.”

Maki snorted. “Oh, you remember me? Last time we met, you called me ‘future compost material.’”

Nalia dusted herself off, leaving trails of web across her arms. “Mmm. Yes, well. Consider this my formal apology, your highness. Thank you for saving my very important, completely irreplaceable life.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.” Maki eyed the slime on his sleeves. “You’re welcome. Next time, though, try not to get kidnapped by nightmares, okay?”

Harua, overhearing that, simply pinched the bridge of his nose. “Let’s get her back to Lhysanthir before you both start another argument.”

“Start?” Nalia shot back. “He insulted my survival trauma.”

“I didn’t insult it—I just said it’s a bad hobby!”

Taki snickered from behind them. “You two sound like siblings.”

Maki looked horrified. “Don’t you dare suggest that.”

“Relax,” Taki said, grin sharp. “You’re not slimy enough.”

Nalia sniffed. “None of you are.”

“You’re literally covered in it!” Maki protested.

Once they reach the forest’s edge, Nalia’s wings finally catch a breeze, shaking loose the last bits of web. Harua walks ahead in silence, scanning the tree line, while Maki and Taki fall behind, still bickering softly.

When they pass the cave’s shadow, Maki glances back once, the black hole where the Wraithlurker had been feels almost too quiet now. His light’s gone, but his pulse still beats bright.

“Not bad for a mortal,” he mutters under his breath.

Harua catches the whisper but says nothing. The corner of his mouth tilts up, barely, almost imperceptibly.

From Maki’s Journal — Entry Thirty: “The Gooey Fairy and My Glowing Buttcheeks”

Okay.

So.

First of all, we fought a Wraithlurker.

A Wraithlurker! Creepy, eight-legged, half-shadow-half-nightmare thing that apparently likes to collect fairies like seashells. (Honestly, ten out of ten would not recommend meeting one unless you’re accompanied by a fairy knight, a merman with a weapon of mass sea destruction, and—uh—yourself, the flashlight.)

That’s right.

I glowed.

Not like a soft ethereal shimmer, no.

Like. A. Lantern.

Harua yelled “Light the cave!” and I panicked because I still haven’t mastered the whole “light magic” thing. So obviously my brain went, Oh! Self-harm time! and I nicked my arm and—boom—suddenly I’m a walking, talking sunbeam. It worked, okay? We saw everything. The monster. The webs. The slime. The fairy. The trauma. The glitter. (There’s always glitter with these people.)

We saved Nalia, yes, that Nalia, the one who once threatened to use me as fertilizer for Lhysanthir’s orchards. She said “thank you, your highness” like we didn’t both know she once planned my botanical doom. I was going to make a snarky comeback, but I was too busy trying to wipe goo off my shirt without throwing up.

But anyway, the glow wore off later when we reached the forest edge. Which, you know, made me think.

If my whole body glows when I do that…does that mean my buttcheeks glow too?

I don’t know why that thought hit me mid-step, but I froze. Absolutely froze. Harua thought I saw danger. Taki turned around all alert, like “what’s wrong?”

And I, oh, stars above, I had to look them in the eyes and say, “Nothing. Just… existential horror.”

If I’m shining from the inside out, does that mean my entire being becomes a torch? Am I the first royal firefly of Atlantis? Do I moonlight (literally) when I’m in danger??

Oh heavens, I’ve humiliated myself in ways no prince ever has.

But you know what?

Even glowing buttcheeks aside… I did it. I fought. I didn’t freeze. I helped someone. I shone. (In too many ways, apparently.)

Maybe this is what growing stronger feels like, not the glowing part, but the part where you’re brave enough to laugh at how ridiculous you are and still keep walking forward anyway.

Still.

Note to self: never glow in public without pants.

— Maki 🌊✨

<Next>

[ravynisyew]

The Lost Prince of Atlantis

ACT IV: The Promised heir

Chapter 29: Stillness (Sort of)

For the first time since Maki had arrived in Lhysanthir, the mornings were quiet. Not silent, nothing involving Maki was ever silent, but softer.

He still woke early. Too early, in Harua’s opinion.

There’d be a faint creak of floorboards before dawn, the soft shuffle of bare feet, then the door sliding open with a click that always sounded like mischief waiting to happen.

Except now, nothing burned. No suspicious crashes. No sudden “oops” followed by the smell of smoke.

Just… Maki. Sitting cross-legged in the clearing, hair still a little wild, eyes closed, pretending very hard that he knew how to meditate.

Harua had once stood quietly behind him, half expecting an explosion. Instead, he’d watched the boy breathe in and out, sunlight gathering faintly under his skin like embers remembering how to rest. Sometimes the glow in Maki’s chest pulsed faintly with his heartbeat, soft golden waves syncing with the hum of the forest.

Other times he’d get distracted by a passing owl, break into giggles, or try to imitate the coo until both the owl and Harua gave up on dignity entirely.

But still, there was calm.

Of a kind.

Harua didn’t say anything about it, but he noticed.

The way Maki no longer complained when the morning mist was cold. The way his magic flared less wildly, as if learning to listen to him. The way his laughter sounded less frantic, and more… free.

Even Taki noticed, though he’d never admit it. He only grumbled one evening, “He’s quieter lately,” while lazily floating in Harua’s pond.

Harua, without looking up from his book, said, “Relatively.”

What had changed?

No one knew for sure.

Maybe it was the hydra. Maybe it was all those dawn trainings and late-night jumps off the roof.

Or maybe, Harua thought, watching the faint trail of smoke from Maki’s still-singed fringe, it was simply the boy learning slowly, stubbornly that not all strength comes from noise.

Harua didn’t tell them where they were going.

He only said, “The dawn’s clearer at the summit,” as he slung his coat over his shoulders and stepped out into the silver-blue hush of morning.

Maki didn’t need more reason than that. He tugged on his boots, laced them tight, and fell into an eager jog beside him, face already bright with excitement. Behind them, Taki followed at an easy pace, trident strapped to his back, expression resigned but fond.

Harua moved lightly across the roots and moss, wings hidden beneath his long coat, relying only on his legs. The fairy’s stride was effortlessly quiet, balanced, while Maki’s was all clumsy determination and breathless joy.

The path wound upward, roots like tangled veins through glittering soil. The higher they climbed, the crisper the air became. By the first ridge, Maki’s lungs burned, his chest a fire of its own.

But he didn’t stop.

He slowed, just enough to steady his breathing, eyes locked on the shifting horizon. Every step forward was a promise, one he made to himself.

Harua kept his pace, silent but listening. When no sound of complaint or panting dramatics followed, his lips twitched. Just a little. Proud, even if he’d never say it aloud. Maki didn’t see that. He was too busy focusing on the rhythm of his breath and the solid beat of the ground beneath his boots.

Step. Inhale. Step. Exhale.

Roots. Rocks. Sweat. Sunlight climbing.

By the time they reached the highest summit, the sky had begun to bloom gold and rose. The wind came sharp and cold, tugging at Maki’s hair, chilling the sweat on his skin.

He stood on the last jagged rock, chest heaving, hands on his knees. His legs trembled but didn’t buckle. The world stretched wide before him, the forests of Lhysanthir bathed in molten light, the sea glinting far below like a promise.

For a moment, there was only silence.

Then Maki threw his head back, lungs burning, and screamed at the sun:

“YOU SEE THAT??! I MADE IT!! WITHOUT EVEN STOPPING!!”

His voice echoed through the peaks, wild and victorious. Then he laughed brightly, breathless, completely unrestrained before collapsing onto the grass in triumph. Harua smiled, that rare, unguarded curve of his lips, and sat beside him. Taki joined on his other side, legs sprawled out, tail flicking lazily as he sighed.

“You’re both insane.”

Maki only laughed harder.

“Maybe! But look—” he pointed at the horizon, still giggling through his gasps— “worth it!”

The three of them sat there as the first full rays of dawn spilled over Lhysanthir, painting the world gold. For a moment, they said nothing. Just breathed, laughed, and let the sunlight fill the quiet between them. The laughter that followed wasn’t loud, not even chaotic, just three tired, happy voices tangled together against the morning sky.

The laughter slowly thinned into quiet. Only the wind spoke now, curling through their hair, carrying the scent of salt and morning dew. Maki lay back on the dirt, chest rising and falling, eyes fixed on the wide, endless sky above.

He exhaled slowly, then said, softly at first, but gaining rhythm like always—

“You know… sometimes I think the sky’s too big for me.”

Harua blinked, half-smiling. “Too big?”

“Yeah,” Maki said, waving a hand toward it lazily. “I mean—look at that thing! It doesn’t even end. You two, you belong in it. You’ve got wings and fins and magic. I’ve got… blisters.”

Taki chuckled, but the sound died when Maki went on.

“I keep thinking—what if one day you guys fly too high, or swim too deep, and I can’t follow?” His voice stayed light, airy, but his fingers curled in the grass. “I mean, it’s fine! I’d just—stand here, I guess. And cheer really loudly. Like a human megaphone.”

The wind shifted. Even the sea below seemed to hush.

Harua turned his gaze toward him, eyes unreadable. “Maki…”

But Maki didn’t stop. The words were spilling now, loose and honest, all the ones he usually hid beneath jokes.

“I know I’m mortal,” he said with a soft, almost sheepish grin. “Like, painfully mortal. I burn my fringe trying to light candles, I trip on air, and I still can’t beat Harua in sparring. Even Taki can outrun me on land now. Which is—unfair, by the way.”

He laughed, but it trembled somewhere in the middle.

“I guess I’m just scared I’ll never catch up. That maybe—this world’s going to keep moving and I’ll just… fade out. You know? Like some side character who made everyone laugh once, then vanished between chapters.”

Silence.

Harua’s eyes softened. Taki’s tail flicked once, slow and deliberate.

“You won’t fade,” Taki said simply.

“Hmm?”

Taki didn’t meet his eyes, gaze fixed on the horizon. “You talk too much for that.”

Maki snorted, laughter bubbling up again. “That’s your poetic way of saying I’m loud, huh?”

“Very.”

Harua smiled faintly, his voice low and certain. “And loud things are hard to forget.”

For a heartbeat, Maki just blinked between them then he let out a short, breathy laugh that carried into the wind. His eyes were wet, but the grin never faltered.

“Good,” he said softly. “Then I’ll just keep being loud.”

The sun finally broke over the ridge, spilling light across his face. His grin widened until it hurt, bright as ever. Even in this land of wings and spells and gods, the boy who couldn’t fly still shone, not because of what he was missing, but because of everything he refused to lose.

Maki tilted his head back again, eyes following something above them.

A small flock of birds, sleek, glimmering like pearls in the morning sun cut across the sky in a clean, rising arc. Their wings flashed gold and white as they called to one another, voices light and fading.

“Five,” Maki murmured, counting them with a finger in the air.

He smiled faintly. “There’s five of them.”

Harua hummed absently. “You count everything, don’t you?”

“Mm,” Maki said. “It helps. There were five of us at home too. Mother, Father, my sister, my brother, and me. Though I was always the loudest. Surprise.” He let out a small laugh, but it was gentler this time, like a sigh disguised as humor. “We used to watch birds too, from the palace balcony. I’d name them all. Gave one a title once—Sir Flap-a-Lot. My mother wasn’t impressed.”

Taki snorted softly, but didn’t interrupt. Harua didn’t either. Maki kept talking not filling the silence, but shaping it, giving it a story.

“I wonder if she worries,” he whispered, eyes tracing the sky long after the birds had vanished. “I mean, she’s always been the worrying type. Would she even know where to look? I just… disappeared one day. No message, no trace. I hope they didn’t think I ran away.”

His hand curled slightly against his chest.

The breeze turned cooler.

“I was supposed to be the next in line, after my brother.” he said after a pause. “You know, the future of the kingdom, peacekeeper, royal pain — all that fun stuff. But now… I’m here. Lost, barefoot half the time, learning magic from a fairy who sighs more than he smiles, and eating whatever Taki finds in tide pools.”

“Hey,” Taki protested faintly.

Maki chuckled, then sighed again. “If they could see me now, they’d probably faint. Or laugh. Maybe both. I just… hope they’re okay. That’s all.”

The air shifted subtly at first. The light dimmed.

Harua looked toward the horizon, where a bank of dark clouds was slowly rolling in from the sea.

“Maki,” he said quietly.

But Maki didn’t seem to notice. His voice had softened into a rhythm, like a heartbeat.

“Sometimes, I think the sea didn’t just take me — it hid me. Like I’m stuck between places. Too human for here, too changed for home. But…” he glanced sideways, his smile small but real, “I guess if I’m going to be lost anywhere, this isn’t such a bad place to be.”

The wind picked up again , stronger now, brushing through their hair and carrying the faint scent of rain. Harua’s wings twitched beneath his coat. Taki looked skyward, brows furrowing. A low rumble echoed far off across the water.

Harua’s tone was calm but knowing. “The weather’s answering you again.”

Maki blinked. “What? Oh.” He looked up, realizing for the first time how the light had changed. “...Oh. Huh. Well, at least it’s not fire this time?”

Taki groaned. “Don’t jinx it.”

But Harua didn’t move to stop the clouds, not this time. He only watched, quiet, as Maki sat cross-legged against the rock, eyes shining faintly beneath the gathering shadow. For once, the boy’s voice had steadied. There was no panic, no wild cheer, only that soft, human ache that neither fairy nor merman could quite name, but both understood.

And as the first drop of rain touched the boy’s cheek, Maki smiled.

From Maki’s Journal — Entry Twenty-Nine: “Of Birds, Feelings, and Accidental Weather Manipulation”

I think I broke the sky today.

Okay, not broke-broke, but you know when you say something sad and suddenly the clouds are like, “same, bro”? Yeah. That happened. I was just talking about my family, five birds flew by (five! the exact number of us!) and before I knew it, the sun dipped behind a bunch of moody clouds like it wanted to cry too.

Coincidence? Harua says “no such thing when you’re a Heartstone.” Great. Now even the weather has feelings when I do.

Anyway. The hike was amazing, though. I made it to the summit without collapsing, well, okay, I collapsed dramatically for effect, but that’s different. I screamed at the sun because victory demands volume. Taki says I scared a family of squirrels. I say they witnessed the greatness of mortal determination.

Then… I don’t know. Something shifted. Maybe it was the view, or the dawn, or the way Harua and Taki were quiet beside me for once. I started thinking about home. About Mom and the others. About whether they still have breakfast without me, or if someone finally fixed that squeaky balcony hinge I used to kick just to annoy the guards.

I hope they didn’t think I ran away. (I didn’t! The ocean kidnapped me. Very rude of it.)

But then I looked around, saw Taki pretending not to cry from wind in his eyes and Harua pretending he doesn’t care and I thought, maybe being lost isn’t the worst thing. Maybe you just find new places to belong. Even if those places sometimes involve surprise thunderstorms.

Also, note to self: next time emotions start brewing clouds, try not to talk about dead birds or family. Talk about soup. Soup feels safe. Or I’m just hungry.

— Maki 🌊✨

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[ravynisyew]

The Lost Prince of Atlantis

ACT IV: The Promised heir

Chapter 28: The Mortal Among the Magical

Dawn came, and with it, pain. Again.

Maki used to think pain was temporary, that it faded like a bruise, or at least like Harua’s patience. But after a month of training with a fairy warrior and a merman who could bench-press a coral boulder, he’d learned pain could be a loyal companion. The kind that followed him from sunrise stretches to the quiet ache in his bones long after nightfall.

Taki was improving fast. Too fast, if anyone asked Maki. Within weeks, the merman moved with a rhythm nearly matching Harua’s. His movement with his legs were fluid. The trident flashed, the wind shimmered, and every bout ended with both of them grinning, respectful, competitive, equal.

And then there was Maki.

He still tripped over roots.

He still fumbled his sword.

And every attempt at channeling his Heartstone magic ended in either a spark that fizzled or a dramatic explosion that singed his hair again.

But Maki never gave up.

Not once.

Because somewhere between the sweat, the bruises, and Harua’s endless lectures, something inside him had started to change.

He woke up earlier now before dawn, when the dew still clung to the moss roofs and Lhysanthir hummed softly in its slumber. He’d sit outside Harua’s home, breathing in the cool air, feeling the pulse of the island beneath his palms. The fairies called it “attuning.” Maki called it “trying not to fall asleep on the grass.”

Still, he kept at it.

He wasn’t born with wings or fins or the ability to whisper to trees. He was just… him. Flesh and bone and chaos. But as he watched Harua practice his blade forms with quiet grace, and Taki laugh through the strain of land-bound training, Maki found something he hadn’t realized he’d lost… a purpose.

He wanted to keep up with them.

To fight beside them, not behind them.

To belong.

So when Harua barked at him to stand straight, or when Taki teased him for his snail-paced improvement, Maki grinned through his sweat and replied,

“Give me time. If I weren’t mortal, I’d be on top of both of you already.”

Taki had laughed so hard he nearly fell over. Harua just sighed, wings flicking with what might’ve been amusement or despair.

But they didn’t mock him when he picked his sword back up. They just let him try again. And that was enough.

Day by day, the training stopped feeling like punishment. It became rhythm. A strange, exhausting, wonderful rhythm. The kind that made him forget what he was supposed to return to. Because now, Maki wasn’t just surviving in Lhysanthir.

He was living it.

Harua often disappeared.

Not in the dramatic, “vanished into a glowing portal” way Maki liked to imagine, but in the quiet, reliable sort of way that said, “please, don’t burn my house down while I’m gone.”

Sometimes he left at dawn and returned by dusk, wings streaked with dust and sap. Other times, he’d be gone for days and by the time he came back, Maki and Taki would greet him like heroes greeting survivors.

“Did you fight a dragon?!”

“Did you get lost again?”

“Did you at least bring snacks?”

Harua, patient saint of Lhysanthir, would respond only with a flat stare and a weary, “I don’t get lost.”

Eventually, Maki learned the truth in pieces. Harua wasn’t off sightseeing, he was on duty. Lhysanthir’s borders were wild, pulsing with ancient energy, and sometimes… that energy birthed things. Things with too many teeth, or not enough sense to stay out of fairy territory. Harua hunted them down alone, because that had always been his burden.

And Maki, of course, hated that.

So when another dawn came and Harua strapped his sword to his back in silence, both Maki and Taki were definitely not awake, or so their limp, overly casual positions on the bed claimed. Harua cast them a glance, sighed in relief, and stepped out the door.

The moment his wings vanished between the glowing leaves, the front door creaked.

Two heads popped up from behind the door frame.

“Is he gone?” Maki whispered.

Taki yawned, already combing his hair. “He’s gone.”

“Perfect. Phase one: stealth pursuit.”

“Phase one failed the moment you said it out loud.”

Still, they crept out anyway, leaving the house in the same pristine state Harua prayed for every time he left (a prayer soon to go unanswered). Maki tiptoed down the glowing path with exaggerated care, arms flailing for balance, while Taki followed behind, sighing like a man already regretting life choices.

The morning forest shimmered, sunlight scattered through crystal dew, fae birds crooning somewhere high above. Harua’s silhouette moved ahead, silent, poised, completely unaware of the disaster duo trailing him.

Or maybe he was aware. Maybe the reason he didn’t turn around was because even he was curious how long it would take before they tripped over a root or startled something dangerous.

“Do you think he’s going to fight another monster?” Maki whispered excitedly.

“Hopefully one that eats loud mortals first,” Taki muttered.

But despite his grumbling, both of them followed, one out of thrill, the other out of loyalty, deeper into the golden woods of Lhysanthir, where sunlight cracked through the canopy like spears of glass.

And for once, neither of them spoke again. Because even for Maki, the forest felt different today.

Quiet.

Waiting.

They trailed for what felt like forever.

Or at least, that’s how Maki described it after fifteen minutes.

“Are we there yet?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“No.”

The forest thinned as the faint roar of waves bled through the trees. The air shifted, saltier, wetter and Taki straightened, eyes gleaming with the same instinctive pull as the tide. His fins fluttered under his skin, a telltale twitch that said home.

They broke through the last curtain of leaves, and the sand stretched out like pale glass under the morning light. Harua propped at a massive rock near the surf, boots leaving neat prints that the waves rushed to erase. He stood still at the crest, scanning the horizon.

Maki collapsed dramatically beside Taki with a grunt. “If I ever get a superpower, it’s gonna be ‘never get tired walking after fairy legs.’ Seriously, does he glide instead of walk?”

Taki smirked but said nothing, his gaze locked on the sea. The sound of it filled him, hissing, familiar, relentless. He could feel something moving beneath the surface, a pulse far too heavy to be just the tide. Harua felt it too. His stance sharpened.

Then the ocean rose.

A surge of water broke against the rocks as something enormous tore free from the depths. A serpent, no, three intertwined bodies of scaled black and fins like torn sails, each head crowned with jagged spines. Their eyes burned molten gold as they screeched, the sound splitting the air like shattering glass. Stench of rotten flesh filled the salty air.

Maki froze mid-gasp. “Oh, no, no, no—no one said anything about three heads! Harua?! Harua, are we sure he can’t—oh, okay, you’re fighting it, right, that’s fine too—!”

Harua leapt from the rock in one smooth motion, blade catching the sunlight in a golden arc. The serpent struck, one head for him, two snapping at the air and the clash echoed across the shore. Flame seared the surf where Harua’s sword met scale, steam billowing up in furious clouds.

Taki’s chest tightened. Harua was fast, but even he faltered against three converging strikes.

“Stay,” he muttered to Maki.

“Stay? STAY? Like a pet?!”

But before Maki could argue, Taki was already running, straight into the shallows. His trident flashed to life in his hands, summoned by the shimmer of water and light. He hurled it with perfect precision; it carved through the air and struck the serpent’s slender chest, piercing deep.

The monster screamed.

The sea convulsed and then fell silent.

Steam coiled around the shore as the serpent’s massive body sagged back into the waves, dissolving into shadow and foam.

Harua landed lightly beside Taki, drenched in salt spray and glowing faintly in the dawn light. For a long moment, neither spoke just the hiss of retreating water between them.

Then, inevitably,

“THAT—WAS—AWESOME!”

Maki’s voice shattered the quiet. He scrambled across the sand, eyes wide, hair full of twigs and awe. “You stabbed it! You just—whoosh!—and Harua did that flippy slash thing! I swear if I had a notebook right now, I’d start giving you both battle nicknames—”

“Maki.” Harua’s tone was somewhere between exhaustion and prayer.

“—like Flame Feather and Sea Doom—okay fine, I’ll work on the branding, but seriously, you gotta take me next time! I can help! I’ll—uh—throw rocks! Or emotional support!”

Taki wrung saltwater from his hair. “You’d be the monster’s appetizer.”

“That’s hurtful but fair,” Maki muttered.

Still, his grin didn’t fade as the sea went still again. For the first time, he’d seen what Harua really did when he disappeared. And for all his dramatics, a spark of something real glowed in his chest, admiration, fierce and bright.

He wanted to be part of it.

Even if Harua’s exasperated sigh suggested he’d just inherited another reason to grow gray early.

From Maki’s Journal — Entry Twenty Eight: “Hydra, Heroics, and My Future Career as a Dramatic Narrator”

Okay.

First of all.

HYDRA.

As in three heads, each the size of Taki’s ego (and that’s saying something).

I don’t even know where to start. One moment I’m innocently minding my own business (and by “minding,” I mean secretly tailing Harua because he’s so mysterious about his solo missions), and the next—BOOM! A triple-snake-sea-demon-thing just erupts from the ocean like it’s auditioning for my nightmares.

Let me tell you: I’ve seen big fish before. I’ve seen ugly fish before. But this? This was like someone took three dragons, dunked them in saltwater, and said, “Good luck, mortals.”

Harua, naturally, didn’t even flinch. He just stood there on a rock, hair all flowy and tragic hero-y like he’s posing for some divine statue. Meanwhile, I’m behind him trying not to scream (spoiler: I failed).

Then he jumped.

Like, who does that?! He just leapt into battle like gravity’s an optional suggestion. Fire everywhere, steam, slashing, he looked so cool it was borderline illegal.

And then Taki (who totally said he’d “just watch,” by the way) went all heroic too! He summoned his trident out of nowhere like shoom! and I’m standing there thinking, that’s it, that’s the coolest thing I’ve ever seen, right before he throws it through the hydra’s heart.

A triple kill. A literal one-shot sea monster deletion.

And me?

I was narrating the whole thing like a bard on too much sugar.

I don’t even remember half of what I said. Something about “oh gods he’s flipping, he’s actually flipping,” and “stab him again, Harua!” and “Taki’s trident is glowing, oh no, so am I, am I dying???” (Spoiler: I wasn’t. Just overly emotional.)

Anyway, after the chaos and the dramatic steam and the sea calming down like nothing happened, they just stood there. Like, totally unfazed. Meanwhile, I’m still hyperventilating in the sand thinking, we just fought a myth!

Okay, fine, they fought a myth. I fought my urge to faint.

But still! It counts!

Harua tried to scold us for following him, but I saw that tiny twitch in his mouth. He’s proud. I know it. (Or maybe he’s just holding back an aneurysm. Hard to tell.)

I swear though… one day, I’ll be out there with them. Sword blazing, hair perfect, cape flapping dramatically in the ocean breeze (note to self: get a cape).

Because today, I didn’t just see a monster fall.

I saw what heroes look like.

And maybe (just maybe) I’ll be one too.

Also, side note: Hydra blood smells awful. Harua made us clean the rock after. FOR FUNSIES. I think I’m still glowing a little.

Anyway, 10/10 adventure.

Would definitely traumatize myself again.

— Maki 🌊✨

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