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SUMMARY: The warm wind blows, carrying with it wisps of a shattered dream. As the aether core begins to consume your brain, your life morphs into a race against time. Even as your body withers, until your last breath, Sylus's hands will remain clasped in yours.

CW: MDNI. Illness, needles, amnesia trope, husband!Sylus, nausea, slight suggestive themes, identity loss, traumatic episodes.

W.C: 7.3k

A/N: lmk if you want to be added to the tag list <3

| PART 2 |

The day of your birthday, you awoke in an unfamiliar room, gazing at an unfamiliar man, while being cradled in his unfamiliar arms.

Streaks of protruding silver emerging from his head, warm, crimson eyes, abundant of worry leering into yours, thick eyebags drooping below his lashes; the stranger moved back, allowing you space to breathe.

Your eyes squinted, as if attempting to recall something that lingered at the tip of your tongue. But to the silver-haired man's dismay, despite your best attempts, his name would not resound from your lips.

Curiously, the man left, only to return clutching a leather-backed journal close to his chest, decorated with bursts of colour that felt particularly pleasant to your eyes.

You watched with great fascination as he licked his index finger and skipped through the pages. He stopped on a page far from the first.

Silently, he pushed it up to your face. His taut finger pointed at the text penned roughly in a familiar handwriting.

Amongst the inscriptions, a name was listed, which the writer had made abundantly clear was yours, alongside your age, job, and what you coddled the most. But what piqued your curiosity was the larger, text right below the previous reading:

“His name is Sylus. We have been married for a year. He is your husband.”

Perplexed, you raised your head to stare back into the pools of red that eagerly bore into your soul.

“Do you remember?” he sighed. “You wrote that last night.”

“Sy... Sylus?” you whispered. His name rolled so smoothly off your own tongue, almost as if you’d buried the 5 letters into your being long before. “Sylus.”

The man’s face crumbled. For a moment, you thought he was about to burst into tears; an accumulation of the months of pain he seemingly bore on his back. So, you waited, heart half-open, ready to draw him in, but the tears never came. His face rejuvenated back to its initial tenderness, and not a single tear escaped his eyes.

You tilted your head, amused, before reaching out toward the journal he’d set down and tracing your fingers over it.

On it, a sky was painted in your favourite hues, while the protagonist sat perched: the one lone crow sitting sombrely under a veil of doves chasing the setting sun. You wondered why the birds were leaving the crow behind, and why it could not spread its wings and join them itself. But the question lingered in the air, for the author had forgotten it all, ransacked by something they called a variant of anterograde amnesia.

You flipped the journal over, only to see a blank lea ther cover largely untainted save for a few splashes of paint that happened to trickle into its domain.

“I don’t why, but” you hummed, “These colours make me feel safe.”

Sylus retrieved the journal from your hands. His gaze sought for permission before interlocking your fingers together.

“They’re your favourite.”

“They are?”, your eyes brightened. “I have good taste.”

The man chuckled brought the diary to his lap and traced over it with your hand. “We painted it together the day you were diagnosed.”

“Diagnosed..." a sorrowful frown graced your lips. “Ah... right."

His hand went taut. You nearly shuddered at the sudden coldness.

“I’ll make it better.”

He brought your wrist to his lips. “I promise.”

You flinched instinctively; though another part of you yearned to melt into his touch, your brain flagged him as a stranger, and you scrambled to withdraw it from his grasp. “Shit, I’m sorry—”

Except, your husband did not frown. Instead, his fingers only inched closer to yours, seeking silent permission once again. And this time, willingly, you let him run his lips along them.

Your head drooped, now glued to the hem of your shirt. “I don’t know why I... what’s wrong with me?” you mumbled.

Sylus’s gaze flared. “Nothing is wrong with you. I’m at fault as well—I’m... not used to this.”

So, it was your first time, huh?

You found yourself drawn to the fire that cackled behind his eyes. You noticed how his right eye bore a precise sparkle that, like the invisible strings wrapped around your limbs, maneuverer you closer into it’s depths. A force other than love or allure—a deliberate, synthetic one—chanting your name like a siren lurking beneath still waters.

Subconsciously, your hand shot out to caress the dark, heavy bag hanging under Sylus’s right eye. A faint force flickered in them, and then, suddenly, a vortex of fragmented memories sucked you in.

Your world flipped.

A burden penetrated your skull. It seeped through the tissues of your brain. It wrung them dry. Pain hit you in sudden jolts. You began ripping at your hair.

Images flashed past, too quick to be defined as anything other than a blur. Noises screeched in your ears—a gunshot, the mighty wail of a fallen dragon, your own frantic voice begging as images of Sylus with a bullet lodged in his chest passed, strings of laughter erupting, and the wails of children as they were dragged by cruel men in white.

But just as you reached into the vortex, prepared to embrace your past alongside your discarded memories of yesterday, it all vanished in a blink. The noises stilled at once, and your eyes slowly began to adjust.

A figure towered over you. When had you fallen back onto the bed? When had he moved on top of you...?

Sylus rushed for a syringe, and after lazily stuffing it with a yellow chemical, he straightened your arm and pressed the tip against your vein.

The fat needle punctured your skin. Tears welled up in your eyes; the pain felt worsened by the dizziness that followed the episode.

Your body jerked as the chemical rushed into your bloodstream. Your heartbeat rang in your ears, piercing your eardrums with its rhythmic beat and rendering you deaf to the solace Sylus mouthed.

And just as fast, to reality, you returned.

White noise spilled into your ears as they popped. Your heartbeat, still throbbing in your throat, slowed to a safe pace. And with it, your tears stopped as well.

Your body shuddered. A damp cotton pressed against your punctured skin. You hissed at Sylus, your eyes flaring protectively, despite knowing it was out of his control. But your spouse did not flinch. Only exhaustion lingered.

Your teeth sunk into the plush of your bottom lip. You quickly withdrew your hand, snatching a bandage from the nightstand at the same time and messily slapping it onto your arm.

“I can do it myself.” Your gaze hardened.

Sylus’s lips tugged into a deep frown. His eyes bore into yours with a sharpness that cradled you in its arms—the look that screamed I can see through you. Though intimate, a part of you could not help but fear.

The corner of his mouth twitched. “You’re mad at me.”

“You refuse to tell me what’s up with me.” Tears pricked your eyes once more. Why were you crying?

You grimaced internally at the weighty sigh that escaped your husband’s lips. You didn’t need to look up to notice his right fist trembling from the force with which it was clenched, a torrent of emotions raging inside his head. You realized only then that perhaps, it would destroy him to say it out loud—after all, who would enjoy being reminded of their spouse’s disintegration time and time again? And who could they blame when the reminder came from themselves?

But before you could reclaim your words and convince him otherwise, Sylus parted his lips.

“When you looked into my eye, the frequences of our evols combined. It overwhelmed your brain.”-- he muttered. A certain burden lay beneath those words. An unhealing slit that never ceased to bleed—the only weakness of his that you’d managed to pick up thus far.

An uneasiness settled. You didn’t know what an aether core was, but you didn’t like hearing its name. Brief flashes of white lab coats surfaced in your mind. But this time, those distorted faces did not fragment nor wither away.

Unconsciously, your fingernails dug into the sheets.

“What’s... an aether core?” You swallowed your disgust to ask.

Sylus fixed his gaze reluctantly upon your face. “Something capable of distorting and influencing space, and perhaps more. But what matters is this—it consumes the one who carries it, until its desires are satisfied.” A hand brushed beneath his right eye. “I have one in my eye, and,” The man paused. His gaze fell. “Yours lies in your brain.”

Your stomach churned. Blood drained from your gut.

A haunting realization dawned upon you—that if anything where to go wrong, if the ravenous aether core adopted a hunger insatiable, Sylus could live without an eye, but you could not live without a brain.

“Is there—”

Sylus moved before you could, stealing your wrists and desperately pulling your pulse point to his lips. He inhaled a deep breath as your pulse beat helplessly against his skin. You’re alive, you’re here.

His shaky breath fell upon your wrists. His silence responded for you, but beneath his swirls of deep, endless crimson mist, you sensed a determination that believed there was still a way. Perhaps naive, but you would label it the naivete of love.

Rather than snatching your hand away, you melted into his touch, allowing him the confirmation he needed to know you were alive, respiring.

Sylus released your hands to gently cup your face. The soft gleam of love radiating from his actions bolstered your heart. What had you done in your life to deserve such adoration? You wondered.

“I prepared something for you.”

You tilted your head. “Why?”

His smile faltered the smallest amount—but it was enough to cast you into panic as you fumbled over what you could have done wrong. But before you could ponder further, Sylus flicked your forehead.

“You forgot.” Once again, said like fact that was painfully true for the both of you. You nuzzled into his palms with the expression of a kicked puppy etched into your face.

“It doesn’t matter.” His hand slipped into yours and before long, you found yourself being guided gingerly off the bed. “You’ll understand once I show you. However...”

He averted his gaze. You assumed he didn’t do that often. “Perhaps, you should sleep in today.”

You shook your head. “I’m feeling better.”

“Don’t be stubborn,” he gently scolded, but you could be stubborner, as he must have known well. “I speak the truth. If I feel drowsy, I’ll have you bring me back to bed.”

As if he had done this a thousand times before, Sylus pinched his brows and relented with a sigh.

Once you were onto your feet, you examined your clothes and hummed, “Should I change first?”

Sylus scanned over your form and shook his head. “You look perfect.”

You laughed. “I’m in a shirt.”

“Well,” he turned to face you, “You look best when you’re comfortable.”

A warmth was sprinkled onto your cheeks, turning them the bright red hue, he always adored.

You opened your mouth to suggest cleaning up first, but the smile he delivered you as he laced his fingers with yours had already rejected it before you could speak.

“Besides,” he continued, “There’s nobody in the living room to flaunt you to aside from Luke and Kieran perhaps.”

Your eyes narrowed at the names, but you couldn’t muster up enough courage to ask. Nonetheless, your husband picked up on your perplexed reaction, and his own brows furrowed in response.

“You’ll meet them soon enough.”

The rest of the walk down was silent. Partially due to the earlier conversation that had transpired against the favour of you both, but mostly due to your amazement with the interior of the house you’d apparently lived in for more than a year.

You gaped—partly in awe, partly in search of anything that could awaken any lost fragments of memory.

What you first noticed about the interior of the house was its stark contrast with your shared bedroom. Whereas the decor marking your room had made you feel warm and safe, the hallways bore a coldness uncharacteristic to yourself. Perhaps, it was his taste, which you could respect.

You had come across a large, red leather chair somewhat resembling a throne a little while back, and something about it filled you with deep, unplaceable loathing. The sound of one, single gunshot thudded in your ear at its sight. You could only assume it was tied to a bad memory from your past, judging by how your hands trembled as if clutching a heavy burden.

You glanced up at Sylus as he led you by your hand. His steps were slow. The grand lights above softly illuminated a side of his face. His eyes, although pointed and intimidating, were curved around the edges. His brows were slack on his forehead, and his lips relaxed into a neutral line. And above all, he cradled your palm tenderly in his own.

You wondered then—how could such a warm, doting man live in a lair such as this? A home that exuded only precision and danger, with its dark accents and firearms racked on the walls could not shelter such devotion. It could not hold something as fragile as you so delicately.

Your eyebrows knitted in thought—something Sylus seemed to pick up on from the corner of his eye.

“Not fond of my taste?”, he cooed. There was no bite in his voice.

You shook your head. “No. Just... surprised. You’re so gentle, and yet your home... it’s so dark. And cold.”

His chest rumbled with a deep chuckle. “When you first came here, you thought this place suited me quite well.”

“Really?”, you giggled. “Were you mean and scary back then?”

He pretended to raise his head and hum in thought. “You could say that.”

“What changed?” You tilted your head.

A beat passed, and only then did Sylus reopen his lips.

“You.”, he murmured. Soft, sincere, final. As if loving you had chased away the shadows that lurked in this lifeless lair.

You averted your gaze and pursed your lips. A warmth travelled through your veins, crawling from your chest and ending at your cheeks. You felt yourself warm up at the words you knew to be more than flattery.

An audible smirk tugged at his lips. Satisfied, he turned back and continued leading you by your hand.

The place was enveloped in luxe—the kind that makes you ponder the man’s profession and your place in his home. You learned that your husband bore quite the fondness for firearms, as you noticed many more disassembled, laying lonely on glass tables. You also picked up on his adoration for vintage trinkets. You had spotted quite a handful placed carefully on shelves with impressive lighting. Taking a mental note, you carried on.

After only 10 or more steps, your body began to falter. You found yourself slumping against Sylus as you struggled to get your legs to function. Your chest burned from breathlessness.

Sylus did not waste time in slipping a hand under your knees and lifting you against his chest. His movements were serene, yet you’d noticed the brief furrow of his brows that (your gut had assumed) stemmed from something far deeper than the inconvenience of carrying you. He was frustrated, and you didn’t know why. Neither did you have the courage to pry for answers.

And so, you let him carry you a few steps more, before finally, he set you down before a large set of double-doors. As you shifted your weight on your feet, Sylus’s fingers swiftly slipped into yours, slotting perfectly into the gaps between your own.

“Ready, sweetie?”

You nodded. A gleeful smile spread across your face.

Your husband’s grin mimicked your own. And after sparing you one last glance, he pushed the door open.

“Surprise!” Two male voices chanted in unison. “Happy birthday!”

A cluster of party poppers burst with a snap, showering you in confetti. You blinked, frozen in the doorway, as the confetti trickled down your face.

Before you were two identically masked boys staring you down with eager postures. Despite your bubbling curiosity for the masks adorning their faces, you did not judge, for you could think of a thousand reasons why they could prefer to cover their faces. And quite frankly, it was not your place to ask. (Though, you would admit, the design was quite shady.)

You blinked once, again, and turned to Sylus.

“They are…?”

Sylus turned to the pair, and with a single, knowing look, the boys deflated. Their shoulders slumped, and their heads drooped.

Guilt bubbled deep in your chest. Were they people you were supposed to remember?

"It’s alright,” one smiled. “I’m Kieran. And my brother is Luke.”

“Luke… and Kieran. You mentioned them before.” You glanced at Sylus. He nodded in response.

You studied the pair. “Are you guys twins?”

A motherly pride bloomed in your chest— the mother-hen instinct to wrap them in your embrace and pull them close to your chest. You found yourself grinning widely at their antics.

But...

You squinted. Your eyes raked over their forms. “You guys… seem too old to be our children.”

A beat passed unhurried, accompanied by heavy silence.

Luke coughed into his fist, and Kieran rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. As the two fumbled over their words, you seized the chance to glance at Sylus.

Out of nowhere, your husband’s face flushed scarlet, and the man notorious for unbridled eye contact tore his gaze away for the first time.

You stared. Perplexed. “Wait. That’s not—was that not a reasonable guess?”

“Children?”— Luke wheezed— “, Why would you—“

You turned to Sylus with a grin. “You sure you didn’t forget to tell me something?”

The flustered man, still refusing to meet your gaze properly, nodded sharply. “Positive.”

The tension snapped as you broke into a fit of laughter. “Alright. Fine. Not our kids.”

Sylus cleared his throat. “Why would you even assume that, sweetie?”

“I mean—they seemed so close to us. So, I thought… maybe…”

Sylus smirked as if he had not been flustered out of his mind just a minute ago. You wanted to smack that look off his face, and judging by the twins’ groans, you assumed they wished the same.

“By the way—is today my birthday?” You looked up at Sylus. Your gazes met, and his body began shuffling towards your own.

His hand slipped under your head and his head drooped as he planted his lips upon your forehead.

“Happy birthday, sweetie.” He rumbled. Low and soft, as if it was meant for only one pair of ears.

A compelling force tugged on your lips, pulling them into a warm smile.

You turned to the twins, and they immediately straightened themselves with unrestrained enthusiasm.

“Miss, the three of us have worked hard to put together this party.” You could feel Kieran beam through his mask.

Luke nudged his brother and interjected—”We brought gifts too!”

“Oh, and boss made you a present as well!”

Your eyes lightened, and your mouth opened to form a soft “O”. You beamed at the man, who only smiled and crossed his arms.

“Well, now I’m curious.”

You feel a gentle force nudge you from behind, and almost immediately, the twins scatter to the sides. But with a small pout on your lips, you grasp their hands and tug them to your side.

“Come on.” Your fingers tighten around theirs. “We’re family...right?”

Luke, who had been nestled in the middle as your (merely) two hands grip onto Sylus and Kieran’s, dropped his head and stilled. No emotion radiated from beneath the mask’s shade. His shoulders were taut. His lips unmoving. You released your hands and burst into a frenzy.

“I’m sorry, just—I’m dazed, just woke up and—”

“No,” Kieran interrupted, “Luke’s just... fine.”

You tilted your head with knitted brows. Why? You had an urge to ask. But the words would not leave your lips.

A part of you ached, as if already aware of the reason behind Luke’s silent grief. But your mind refused to recall. It always did. In times like this, your brain was your worst enemy.

Without knowing, and without understanding, you stepped towards the dismal boy tapped thrice on his head.

Luke slowly lifted his head, and you found yourself staring back into a dark, lifeless mask’s eyes.

Whatever you’d done, it seemed to have worked, as a warmth began exuding from the boy once more.

A soft silence passed before Luke adjusted his mask and raised his shoulders back high. “Alright. Enough of that. I’m stealing the birthday girl’s spotlight.”

Kieran brought a fist to his mouth and snorted. “Took you long enough.”

Luke jabbed his elbow into his brother’s side and laughed. “Okay. Now, gifts. Before boss starts crying that his one’s the best.”

Sylus cocked and eyebrow. The corner of his lip twitched, threatening to form a smile. “Starts crying?”

“Yep. See? It’s already happening.”

You slapped a hand over your mouth and giggled to your heart’s content. “Father and son. I dare you to convince me otherwise.”

You beckoned the men close, and together with them, you finally entered the living room.

The sight stole your breath.

The room was dressed (much like your own bedroom) in your favourite hues. Balloons of complementary colours were arranged in ropes twisted around pillars like garlands. At the center was a large banner displaying the words “Happy birthday” followed by your name in a stylish font.

Subconsciously, you stepped toward the archway. The mushiness of a fur rug tickled your feet. Your hand ran over the banner, tracing the letters carved into it. Entranced, your fingers lingered over the curves of your name. You spelled it a few more times.

A faint flicker drew your attention to the resplendent ebony table. A large, decorative paper box with a silk ribbon tied on top laid as the centrepiece, and countless glass dishes with various food items were arranged in a circle around it. Your eyes landed on the source of the flicker—an array of candelabra lined up on the table.

“They insisted,” Sylus chimed in. “I think these decorations are childish. But if you like them...” Warm terracotta flickered in his eyes. He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to.

Still equally as spellbound, you drift to the assortment of velvety gift boxed stacked atop one another—some larger than others, and some lazily hand-wrapped with funky wrapping papers.

But what enticed you the most was a precious network of memories excluded from the occasional decor—the walls that were seemingly deliberately blended in with its surroundings, dotted with a plethora of square and rectangular picture frames. Some depicted grinning faces of you and your spouse, some of the four of you, and others included solo-shots of both you and Sylus.

Although quite a number of them seemed to have been professionally taken, a few pictures were casual. Blurred around the edges, as if meant only for four pairs of eyes.

Amongst them, one photo stood out. One hidden away behind one of the large, looming lamps. There, you were grinning ear-to-ear with frosting smudged across your face and with a party hat sliding off your head.

That version of you looked happier than the “you” today. Smily, chirpier, and most importantly, healthier. The dark eye bags, which were so deeply ingrained under your eyes that you’d initially believed them to be a part of your natural appearance, were absent from your features. You were standing upright, firmly on one leg—your limbs could not bear your weight anymore.

Before you, smudging cake onto your face, was a gleefully smirking Sylus holding out his frosted fingers and shoving it mischievously in your direction. Out of instinct, or perhaps out of fear, you studied his face with scrutiny, embedding every detail into your fragile memory.

He appeared happier, too. His eyes brighter, and his signature exhaustion missing from his adorably handsome countenance. The cameraman must have been skilled, you thought, for them to be able to capture even the overwhelming glint of joy twinkling in his eyes.

The type of mirth you’d cruelly ripped from his eyes.

You quickly averted your gaze towards the howling, hunched-over figures of the twins in the background, and a small smile spread across your lips. Clad in the same mask they donned today, bearing the same juvenile playfulness they showcased, they remained less-than-enigmatic figures lingering in the background, filling the air with some much needed laughter.

With a deep sigh, your hand lifted on its own to the twins’ faces, moved to your own, before finally landing upon your husband’s. You traced his cheeks through the thin layer of dust coating the glass.

Involuntarily, your finger rested upon his right eye, tracing soft circles upon it before a shadow was cast over the memory. You didn’t need to look back to confirm the identity of the bringer of such darkness.

Sylus’s larger hand dwarfed your wrist. In one gentle motion, he lifted your fingers off the glass’s surface and brought it to your side.

“Come on,” he inhaled sharply, “Don’t you want to unwrap your gifts?” There was a tease in his voice, but not his usual snarky remarks. Rather, it was a coverup. A denial of knowledge of your inner turmoil. A badly orchestrated lie.

You donned the brightest smile you could muster before turning to him and delivering a dramatic nod. Tightening your fingers around his, you skipped toward the table and beckoned Luke and Kieran close.

“All right, boys.”, you declared with your head lifted high, “Much to your beloved boss’s dismay, I’ll allow you two to decide which gift I should unwrap first.” Sylus shot you a light-hearted glare, and you grinned at him in response. The two of you watched with amusement as the giddy twins scurried off to surf through the piles of neatly packed boxes before bringing you the two messily wrapped presents you had predicted were theirs.

Just like enthusiastic children, you smiled.

Luke shoved Kieran out of the way before shoving the boss up to your face. You swore you could see an imaginary tail wagging behind him with fervour. The poor boy had gone speechless from excitement.

You retrieved the present from his hands and weighed it carefully. The bow accompanied by the silly doodle sketched beside it warmed your heart.

Inside laid a glass dome with a flat bottom, inside which bloomed a small flower, crimson, much like his eyes, with crooked, venomous petals. It was sealed in resin, preserved in time, undying. You could see how it resembled your husband. You compared it to Sylus, holding it near his face, eyes flitting between the two as if they were two distant cousins. At your antics, he only quirked a brow.

“A... da... hm.” You stammered, unable to recall the name. “A datura. From our behalf.” He slung an arm over his brother’s shoulder.

You shot the pair a smile. “Thank you,” you held the gift to your chest, “I will cherish it.”

“Kitten,” you smiled at the familiarity of that nickname, “There’s still a gift waiting to be unravelled.”

You shifted your focus to the enormous heap stacked atop one another on the floor. Did you have that many relatives? You hummed in thought.

“Which one’s yours, Sy?”, you finally asked.

“All of them.”

You froze. Your mouth hung agape.

“All of them?”, you confirmed.

He smirked. “Can I not spoil my wife?”

Your face flushed involuntarily. “W-Well… it’s not that—“

Before you could fumble over your words some more, Sylus lifted himself off the couch and retrieved a velvety box from the pile before placing it on the table before you.

“Better get to work, sweetie. There are about… 10 more in queue.”

“Oddly modest for you.” You teased. But your words held fact— judging by the estate alone, 10 seemed fairly... modest.

He grinned. “Ten gifts. One for each year I’m hoping to buy you back.”

A smile graced your lips. You stared lovingly into his eyes.

“Then 10 years is too short. Why not a hundred?”

Sylus’s right eye glimmered.

“If I went with a hundred, you’d accuse me of being melodramatic.”

But it's really because I don't deserve a hundred years of your life.

You closed your eyes.

If only he believed himself worthy, you’d grant him a hundred times more than that if you could.

But would he ever know?

At the very least, you could spend the remainder of your withering days to engrave the truth into his soul.

One by one, you surfed through the gifts. While many appeared ordinary on the surface, such as pieces of lavish jewelry , bottles of high-end perfumes with names that would not roll from your tongue, a custom hot chocolate set, and a silk robe in your favourite colour—some gifts were picked and packed with such love and precision that your heart bloomed with a scenic burst of colour.

They included shoes specifically designed to carry your dwindling feet, instrumental records of songs Sylus swore you once proudly played to him in person, a (what you assumed to be) silver bracelet embedded with a holoprojector displaying your most cherished memories with him, and most importantly, what caught your eye the most—

Sylus retrieved a box nearly the size of his palms and set it down in front of you. The contents inside shuffled in low, hollow clanks.

His expectant gaze lingered on your countenance as he signalled for you to begin unwrapping your present. The usual cocky smirk dissolved from his face, and the snarky remarks that would follow each present ceased.

Your hands were quick to begin its work. Slowly, lifted the laced lid and brought the delicate gift inside into your arms and set it beside the box. The rectangular box within felt cold in your arms. It was even a bit heavy, in spite of its small size.

Before your brain could process what the gift had been, you perked up at the strong scent of lacquer permeating from it.

Finally, as your gaze focused, an intricately carved wooden box began to shape itself into view.

You ran your fingers along its sides, where feathers and draconic fiends laid elegantly engraved upon charcoal wood. The surface was smooth. Flawless, even. And the carvings, although none of it provoked any substantial memories, resonated with you in maudlin ways.

In fact, they reminded you quite a bit of your husband.

Sylus, despite being a loving behemoth of a spouse, displayed characteristics of a fiend quite naturally in his person. And you wouldn’t have made the comparison if it were not for the unreadable tide of lethal emotions that swirled carelessly beneath his red irises. The subtle, smouldering rage of a fiend, capable of setting worlds ablaze.

If it were you an hour or two ago, you’d laugh at the idea. The hands that cradled you so tenderly in its own embrace could not taint a soul. Let alone be resembled by a fiend.

But if that version of you had seen the flex of his fingers as they stilled atop your thigh, she would have been able to envision flowers wilting beneath its warmth.

But as with you, she would not have been fearful nor run away.

Rather, she would have found it disarmingly charming—the duality of a man who bore both a lover’s warmth and a fiend’s restraint would have captured her curiosity.

Your attention shifted to the draconic features of the fiend—the protruding horns, the flailing wings, and the tail wrapping protectively around its heart. The dragon, too, resembled Sylus. Its love for luxury, habits of hoarding, fierceness and passion, and its protective nature—you glanced at Sylus again at smiled at the quiet resemblance.

A music box. At least, the words emerged in your brain. An (aesthetically) antique music box potentially hand-crafted and meticulously made. You couldn’t pinpoint why, but it felt so inconceivably like him.

Yet there was something hidden in the gift that rivalled that statement.

Carved and painted onto the sealed lid was a single white dove with its wings fanned about, clutching a small, withered camellia akin to the colour of its fur.

The bursts of off-white against the dark, almost black wood caused your eyes to ache and tear up a little.

From beside you, a dark chuckle sounded.

“You look like you expect it to bear fangs, sweetie.” Sylus leaned back against the couch and shifted his leg atop another. “I assure you; the fiend stays in its place.” His iconic smirk widened.

You shook your head and waved your hands. “No, no—I'm just... surprised, is all. I’ve never seen something as... eccentrically beautiful as this.”

“Eccentric?”, he cocked an eyebrow. The type of look that urged you to say more.

“I mean—fiends and feathers, dragons and doves—there’s a pattern of contrasting themes. Usually, gifts stick to only one.”

“Is it a problem for you? I can get it fixed.”

Protectively, you brought the music box to your chest and clutched it tight. “No.”

His grin returned. “A territorial kitten.”

“Ugh, boss—” Luke pretended to gag—”Who calls their lovers ‘kitten’ anymore?”

Sylus’s gaze flickered towards Luke, half-lidded and unimpressed.

You set down the box and laughed. “Actually, I don’t mind.”

He slapped a hand over his mask and groaned. “Seriously? No wonder why you’re perfect for each other.”

“I mean—to be honest, if it were anyone else, I’d throw up as well.”

“Do I get special privileges then, *kitten*?” Sylus intentionally emphasised the nickname, enabling Luke’s next dramatic fit.

“Oh, stop teasing them. Shush, now. I’m opening the box.”

A soft, tender string of sound arose from the box. Classical music, you were easily identified. In tune with Sylus’s tastes but not straying too far from your own.

The room fell silent as the melody played. And slowly, a sculpture carved from the same wood began rising from below.

The gears whirred as they turned, lifting the platform up.

The first thing to peek up from beneath the box’s depths was a masculine head with fine, thread-like protrusions resembling a familiar hairstyle. A second later, a broad torso emerged, dressed in an elegant suit topped off with a brooch, and what followed was the sculpture of an equally familiar woman adorned in an ethereal gown. Interlocked with the man’s fingers were her own, and with their hands raised above their heads, the pair danced to the tune. Or at least, they would be if not frozen in time and bound by their physical limitations.

The platform beneath their feet turned with a soundless creak, establishing the illusion of a slow dance. The curved folds of the woman’s gown twirled enchantingly with each revolution they made. And all the while, the melody played on loop.

Entranced by their beguiling waltz, you almost failed to notice the soft beams of light shining from the cavity below. Despite the prior lack of your acknowledgement, the lighting was necessary in the mix. If not for the yellow kissing their forms, how could one make out the endearing beams plastered onto their delicate faces?

Behind you, you felt Luke about to open his mouth, and you felt his disappointment replaced with quick understanding as a quick glance from Kieran and Sylus shut his lips for good.

The tune rang in your ears, and you found yourself unable to move or breathe.

You felt the scratch of a plethora of memories itching at the threads of your brain. They begged for entrance, so close and so far, and yet despite your heart’s approval, your brain shut them out coldly in the dark.

And again, you found them slipping from your grasp. But this time, you made no effort to chase after them.

*Because what did it matter if you remembered or not? Your heart would know. And it would always embrace them with open arms.*

A tear slipped past your defences, crawling down your cheek. And soon, without knowing why, another followed, and another. Before long, you had crumbled into a silent cry.

The twins stiffened, unaware of their next moves. Their eyes frantically whipped about the room before landing on the only force to subdue your grief.

The man hesitated for a moment himself. But it didn’t take long for him to reach up and place a hand atop yours.

The tears dropped onto your lap with quiet thuds, marking the space in damp, dark spots.

The two of you remained unmoving until the song’s grand conclusion. And once the figures had retracted into their spaces, you finally exhaled a breath you held for far too long.

Two hands worked to wipe the tears from your face—yours and his respectively.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled. But nobody replied. How could they, when it wasn’t your fault? How could they, when all the reassurances they could think of were nothing but white lies designed to cage hope?

You sniffled once more before donning the same mask—that of flowering buds and smiley suns, and that of falsity and ignorance concealing a broken truth.

You smiled at Sylus. The remnants of your tears glistened under the light.

“Thank you, Sy,” you sighed and clutched the box to your chest like before. “Truly— this is the best gift I’ve ever received.”

Sylus’s smile mirrored your own. He threaded into the loose strands of your hair gingerly before pulling you close and resting your head on his chest.

An hour and a half passed in grand feasts and idle conversation. You’d cut the two-story cake, distributed it amongst yourselves, and feasted wholeheartedly on the dishes prepared alongside it. With your tummies bulging and your hearts abundant of laughter, the afternoon blurred into the evening (although, you couldn’t tell, as not a single ray of light peeked through the massive curtains).

Tired, you found yourself slumped against Sylus’s chest, nestled comfortably on his lap. The twins had seated themselves as well, now engaged in passionate gossips as they whispered amongst themselves.

The fraying silence was broken by your husband as he pressed a kiss to your temple and began to speak.

“If I give you two hours to rest, do you think you’ll be able to handle a little more spoiling?”

You lifted your head and raised a brow. “Define ‘a little spoiling’.”

“I made a reservation,” he said simply, toying with a strand of our hair. “We’re going out tonight. Somewhere nice. You deserve more than just music and tears.”

You smiled sheepishly. “The gifts were great—really. You don’t need to do anything else.”

“And yet, I can, and I want to.” His lips met your forehead and left a chaste kiss. “Besides, I was hoping you’d put the last part of your gift to use tonight.”

You tilted your head. “The music box...?”

He smiled and flicked your forehead. “What? You thought the presents were over? You insult me.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you cleared your throat dismissively. “There’s more?”

On cue, Kieran exited the room, only to return with another slightly larger box in his hands.

Sylus retrieved it from his hands and placed it gently on your lap. “Open it when you’re ready.”

You stared down at the box, and then back at him. You blinked, and your mouth opened to speak. As if reconsidering, it closed again, and the room was left in silent anticipation.

“If you want to say something, say it.” Sylus reassured.

With a small sigh, you gathered your courage and spoke up.

“I’ve been meaning to ask... for a long time... uh...” You looked at Luke, Kieran, back at Sylus, at the gifts, and then back at Sylus again.

“What do you do for a living?”

The twins, who had been engaged in idle conversation amongst themselves, went rigid without warning. Judging by their reactions, you thought you’d asked a forbidden question; like you’d thrown a brick at an ancient beast.

You opened your mouth to withdraw your words, but before you could, Sylus smirked.

And then, he broke into a modest laugh. He ruffled your hair fondly. “Is that it?”

You frowned. “Why? Scared to tell me?”

Sylus tilted his head to the side. The white streaks of his hair followed the movement, falling upon his face gracefully.

“I deal in protocores,” he said at last, “Acquisition, trade, redistribution.”

You furrowed your brows, a bit disappointed.

“Oh,” you murmured, “That doesn’t sound too bad.”

Luke and Kieran snickered in the corner, gagging their mouths with their hands to silence themselves.

You shot them a look but received nothing in return.

“Protocore dealings... isn’t it a bit risky?”

“Depends.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “But it pays well, as you can see, and it’s something I can handle. High risk, high reward. A worthy gamble.”

“I’ll pretend I understand.”

Without another word, Sylus bent down and slipped his arm under your knees. His other hand gripped your slippers.

You startled slightly, arms thrashing around as they coiled around the box nestled in your grip.

“Wha-- hey! I’m being kidnapped!”

Sylus turned to cast a glance upon the twins. “No brave knights willing to rescue this fair maiden?”

“Nope!” Luke flashed a thumbs-up. “All yours, boss!”

“Good,” he purred, nuzzling your cheek as you giggled in his arms, “I guess I’ll go hoard my treasure, then.”

You rested in the man’s embrace as he carried you up the stairs. A comfortable quietude engulfed the air on the way there, with the two of you basking in each other’s warmth with no need for exchange of words.

Sylus’s grip on you loosened as you reached the bedroom door, and released only when you’d reached the bed, where he gently plopped you on the soft mattress.

As he turned to leave, you grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

“You’re leaving already?” A frown spread across your face.

Your husband kneeled to your height and pressed your forehead against his.

“I have some work to do, but I’ll be here before our date.”

You closed your eyes and breathed in a heavy sigh. “Will it take long?”

“An hour or a half at best.”

Your thumb brushed over his cheek, tracing the skin tenderly.

“I had a request, Sy.”

Sylus’s eyes bore into yours.

“About the music box... can we keep it in our room?”

A smile spread across his face, and his hand raised to cup your cheek.

“You like it that much?”

“Mhm! I wasn’t lying when I said it’s the best gift I’ve ever received.”

His thumb ghosted over your lips. “All right, sweetie. I’ll have it placed here, if that’s what you want.”

You smiled and pressed a quick peck to his nose. “Thank you!”

Sylus touched the spot on his nose where your lips had been, and a teasing smirk tugged at his mouth.

“I deserve a little more, don’t you think?”

Giggling, you cupped his cheeks with both hands and pressed your lips against his.

As the two of you parted, he stared deeply into your eyes with a glint you couldn’t quite catch.

“Careful, kitten,” his voice deepened, “Keep tempting me like this and I’ll think our date can begin now.”

You furrowed your brows and tilted your head. “I thought we were leaving in two hours— did something change?”

“No,” he laughed. His thumb brushed over your bottom lip. “Nothing changed.”

“Then—”

“Don’t worry about it.” With two firm pats on your head, Sylus lifted himself up and walked to the door.

“Two hours, sweetie. I’ll come to help you out.”

And thus, with one last smirk, Sylus shut the door behind him and left.

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