𝖆 𝕮𝖚𝖗𝖊 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝕱𝖎𝖗𝖊 ــــــــــﮩ٨ـ ᴀᴇʀɪᴏɴ ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ x oc
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: 𝖶𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝖺 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍-𝗒𝖾𝖺𝗋 𝗆𝖾𝖽𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅 𝗌𝗍𝗎𝖽𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝖶𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗈𝗌, 𝖾𝗌𝖼𝖺𝗉𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗀𝗈𝖺𝗅, 𝗎𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗅 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗈𝖿 𝖠𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝖳𝖺𝗋𝗀𝖺𝗋𝗒𝖾𝗇, 𝖺 𝗉𝗋𝗂𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝖿𝖺𝗋 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝖽𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗅𝖽 𝗌𝗁𝖾'𝗌 𝗍𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝖾𝗌𝖼𝖺𝗉𝖾.
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ﮩ status ــــــــــﮩ٨ـ ongoing ﮩ
𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖊𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙𝖊𝖊𝖓 ── 𝖜𝖆𝖙𝖊𝖗
Still. Endless. Silver beneath moonlight.
I stood upon it without sinking—not realizing it was wrong.
The surface beneath my feet did not ripple, nor did it sink. It held my weight like glass—smooth, and unmoving—beneath the feeble glow of the moon above. Around me darkness stretched endlessly, swallowed by mist so thick it looked as though the world itself had ceased to exist beyond it.
A shadow formed just in front of me.
Far ahead, a woman walked across the water. Slowly. Bare feet gliding the silver surface without sound. Her dress was white. Light. Old. Not the soft white of silk nor lace. The fabric drifted around her like mist caught in motion, pale curls spilling down her back, almost glowing as the shine surrounded her.
My first step should have drowned me but instead, the water held. As did every other step after that.
Cold shimmered beneath the soles of my feet, spreading outward in thin silver cracks before stilling. My breath caught as I looked down briefly, watching my reflection distort as the water rippled away from me.
Then my eyes drifted back at her.
She kept walking, unhurried. As though she already knew I would follow. Something pulled me toward her. A deep twist—A strange ache beneath my ribs tightened with every step I took closer to her, sharp and insistent enough that I almost mistook it for fear.
The woman stopped—slowly turning her head.
Her eyes. They buried into me as the soft glow of them rooted me where I stood.
The woman tilted her head slightly, brows pulling together.
The word struck strangely. A faint recognition laced her voice.
I blinked, my mouth parting though no sound came out. Somehow, my feet moved anyways, another slow step carrying me closer. The nearer I got, the heavier my body felt. Like wading through something unseen.
The woman turned fully now. And I stopped.
She began walking toward me—slowly. Each step soundless against the barrier we stood on.
“Dweller.” Her voice did not echo. I barely saw her mouth twitch. The world echoed around it instead.
I stepped back instinctively. She stepped forward, as the side of her lips curved upward.
She continued forward—her nails digging at my neck, late whispers stringing along the hem of my ear.
“Do you recognize me now?”
Memories. Small ones. Sharp ones. A wring of thoughts I did not remember thinking.
A voice in the back of my mind whispering words I had dismissed as my own.
Right. How could I have known what that was?
My breath caught violently.
Those thoughts were not my own. Not memories either. They were intrusions. Her voice. Her instruction.
I looked back at her, and understood. She had always been here.She’d been watching. Speaking. Waiting.
She cut me off softly. The name sent waves through the space we were suspended in.
I stared at her. At myself. No—not myself. And yet something inside my chest twisted with sickening familiarity.
She watched me quietly now, those dark violet eyes unreadable.
“All this time,” I murmured.
My stomach turned. The water beneath my feet trembled faintly.
“The Gods are unhappy,” She continued softly. “They urge. They scream.”
As she spoke the world around us shifted. Not visibly, but I felt it. Pressure built suddenly inside my skull, sharp enough to make me stagger. Distant sounds clawed beneath the silence around us—not voices exactly, but something disturbingly close to that. Something vast and furious, scraping against the edges of this world.
The water darkened beneath our feet.
The words came out smaller than I intended.
“Bring me back to where you stole me from.”
My voice cracked, as her laugh echoed softly. Her gaze lowered briefly toward my lips.
“The moment your soul touched mine,” she said quietly, “was when fate sealed our deal.”
Cold crawled slowly down my spine.
“No—You can’t. I never agreed to this!”
Then she moved suddenly. Fast enough that I barely saw it. Her hands slammed against my shoulders—and suddenly, I was beneath her.
The water did not break. Instead it hardened against the back of my skull. Glass-like beneath my back as she pinned me there, pale curls coiling toward me like snakes that consumed me.
I tried to move—but I couldn’t. My body felt wrong. Heavy. Distant. I tried to speak. To scream. To fight. Nothing moved. Panic slammed violently into my chest. My body refused to save me.
“Save my blood,” she whispered, leaning closer, her sharp nails digging at my forehead, her grip tight, “and you shall receive your reward.”
She stared down at me calmly, ancient certainty burning behind those dark violet eyes, looking at me as she bestowed my fate.
“As for now,” she murmured softly, “my vessel is yours.”
She shoved my head abruptly against the hardened water. The world trembled violently around us. Again—the pain burst through my skull. Again—and the surface beneath me shattered as the cold swallowed me whole.
Water rushed into my lungs instantly, piercing—and freezing—dragging me downward into endless darkness. My body remained rigid no matter how violently my mind screamed at it to fight.
Above me, pale white fabric drifted through the black water like a dying star.
A gasp tore through me as I lurched upward violently, coughing against air. My lungs burned. My chest heaved hard enough to hurt, fingers clawing instinctively at my throat as though I could rip the river back out of it.
Only a blur. Canvas walls. Lanternlight.
“Aesa! No—No, no—please—”
The sound reached me distorted, muffled beneath the violent ringing in my ears. My vision blurred in and out of focus before finally landing on Tirza kneeling in front of me, tears spilling freely down her face.
“Aesarys,” she cried again, her voice shaking now. “You’re— You weren’t waking up—”
Her hands cradled my face carefully, one behind my head, the other trembling against my cheek as though she needed to make sure I was truly there.
The words slammed back into me.
My body froze. The voice. Her voice.
My stomach twisted sharply as panic crawled cold beneath my skin. My thoughts came apart all over again, scattered fragments colliding against each other violently.
You must listen—carefully.
Tirza took a step back, catching herself, her breath heaving—frightened. Her eyes wide. “You dropped and then you just—you wouldn’t wake up and I thought…”
Her voice cracked apart into another sob.
“Tirza? Sorry—I…” I managed weakly, though even saying her name felt strange somehow. Distant. Like I was speaking through someone else’s mouth.
My breathing still hadn’t steadied. I could still feel the water in my lungs. I could still feel pale fingers digging into my skull.
I swallowed hard, my gaze lowering slowly toward my own trembling hands. And for one horrible moment—I couldn’t stop thinking about what she said. A sick feeling curled violently in my stomach.
Tirza still knelt in front of me, tears streaking down her face, but now that the haze of panic had begun clearing from my head, I noticed something else beneath her expression.
The tent flap shifted open before I could finish.
Cold air swept inside alongside Aerion, who stepped in without warning—silver hair slightly damp from the night air outside. His gaze moved between the two of us at first, unreadable, before stopping entirely on me. Not my face, but my hands. Still trembling against my half-worn dress,
His eyes lifted slowly after that, studying me in silence long enough to make my skin tighten.
His voice was calm, but his eyes were not.
“It was just a nightmare,” I said immediately. Too quickly.
Something flickered on his face. Suspicion laced his eyes like threads pulling at his expression.
Aerion took another step closer—and I flinched. It was small. Barely there. Instinctive more than intentional. But he noticed.
Only then did he finally glance toward Tirza properly. She still looked pale, frightened in a way she was trying very hard to hide.
The word sat heavy enough to make Tirza straighten.
“She just…” Tirza swallowed. “She dropped suddenly. She wouldn’t wake up for a while and I thought…”
Aerion looked back at me slowly, and something about the way he did it made my stomach tighten. He wasn’t looking at me the way people normally did anymore. Not confused. Not concerned. Like he was trying to fit pieces together.
“What did you dream about?” he asked.
“Yes,” he replied softly. “I gathered that much.”
I glared at him. “Why are you interrogating me over a dream?”
“People do not usually become unresponsive from nightmares.”
“The child seems to disagree.”
“Tirza panics over everything.”
“I do not,” Tirza muttered weakly.
“Enough.” The word came out harsher than I intended.
Silence fell immediately after.
Pain split through my head so sharply I sucked in a breath. My fingers pressed instinctively against my temple as another pulse followed behind it, stronger this time, like something scraping violently against the inside of my skull. My vision blurred briefly.
My body froze. The voice again. The pain worsened instantly.
I shut my eyes tightly, breathing uneven.
“Aesarys?” Tirza’s voice sounded farther away now.
Another pulse slammed through my head hard enough to make my stomach twist.
I felt a sudden cool wrap around my wrist, and the pain eased. Slowly. Gradually. Enough that I could breathe again.
Aerion stood closer than before, his hand still loosely around my wrist.
The voice had gone quiet.
Aerion finally released my wrist.
And for the first time since entering the tent, he did not ask another question.
Tirza sat awake beside Aesarys, fingers loosely curled around the edge of her sleeve as though letting go would somehow make the one person she admired the most to be taken too soon. It frightened her. The thought of seeing Aesarys go mad. Because it wasn’t the shaking that haunted her, it was because for a moment—she had looked like someone else entirely.
Possessed—as though the Gods were trying to pull her soul out of her own body.
Tirza swallowed uneasily at the thought, glancing toward the sleeping figure beside her. A loose strand of pale silver hair rested against Aesarys’ cheek now, softened beneath the lanternlight. Peaceful. Like nothing had happened at all.
As though she had not looked moments away from death only an hour earlier.
The wind brushed past the entrance of their tent—shifting violently—sending a wave of cold air inside.
Tirza looked up immediately.
Aerion still sat outside near the entrance, one arm resting over his knee, silver hair faintly illuminated beneath the dim torchlight outside the camp.
Though strangely enough, that no longer surprised her.
“She’s asleep now,” Tirza said quietly.
Aerion glanced toward the bed briefly but did not move to enter.
“If you require anything, my lord,” Tirza continued softly, “I could fetch it for you.”
Aerion looked at her then, expression unreadable for a moment before his hand disappeared into the folds of his coat. He pulled something small free.
Dark glass wrapped carefully in cloth.
“For her stomach,” he said simply, holding it out toward her.
Tirza blinked, caught off guard as she reached for it carefully. The glass still felt faintly warm against her palms.
“She looked unwell the past few days.”
That was all he said. Nothing more. No explanation. No attempt to soften the gesture into something lighter than it was.
Tirza stared quietly at the vial in her hands. The concoction. A brew that looked too familiar—and yet it was too rare for him to know. Ones from her house—given to the girls. A wretched drink that allowed them to endure the monthly pain.
But they did not sell these.
These took days to make, and only Madam knew of the recipe.
Something tightened strangely in her chest at the realization.
Her gaze lifted slowly toward him again.
Aerion had already looked away, attention drifting back toward the dark camp beyond the tent. He stood—preparing to leave.
And he did. The tent flap settled behind him, leaving only silence and the soft rise and fall of Aesarys' breathing.
Tirza looked down at the vial again. Her fingers tightened around the glass.
People gravitated toward Aesarys strangely. Not because she asked for it, but because they wanted to. Prince Valarr listened to her. Madam indulged her. Even Prince Aerion, who seemed determined to dislike everyone, could not stay away from her for long.
A small smile touched Tirza's lips despite herself.
Of course. Aesarys had always been that way. As though the world bent itself ever so slightly around her.
Some people truly did seem born beneath kinder stars than others.
The thought came quietly. Instinctively. Sharp enough to make her stomach twist. Because she loved Aesarys.
The guilt settled quickly after. Tirza lowered her gaze. What a terrible thing to think.
She looked toward the sleeping girl on the bed. Then, she wondered what it must feel like to be loved so easily.
The thought sat strangely in her chest.
But it wasn't as though she needed such things. Aesarys was loved enough for the both of them.
Taglist:@oh-miniso, @snorklingfae, @mckaylarkendra5608
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How are we feeling about Aesarys so far? Thoughts?
