The air in the king’s chambers was thick with perfume and sweat. Incense filled the room with smoke and other earthy scents, mixing with the sweet smell of wine and desserts, that swirled into Liandros’s nostrils. He opened his eyes and looked up.
He was surrounded by a mass of naked bodies, men and women, and everything in between, of various ages and variety, were clumped together, sifting through each other in a drunken, sensuous trance. Liandros bit his lip, but slid across the silk mattress toward someone’s smooth backside. A head popped up from between their thighs, and grinned up at the king.
“Hello, Majesty,” she chuckled. She was a beautiful girl, just barely a woman, with soft honey blonde hair and big doey, grey eyes. “Enjoying the view?”
Liandros grinned and played with a stray lock of her hair. “What was your name again, precious?”
“Father calls me ‘Eighty-four,” she said dryly. “But you may call me Duli, your Majesty.”
“Duli, you’re Sirosi; I can see it in your skin. The sun has kissed it just perfectly, and your work has done nothing to age you. You are beautiful, darling. Your genes reek of nobility.”
Duli nodded. “My birth name is Dulira, and my father was the 4th Baron of Colerst-“
“Colerstar. Which would make your eldest brother the 5th. My father’s great-aunt married Indric, 2nd Baron of Colerstar. I believe we’re cousins, my dear,” Liandros droned. “How did you find yourself in this profession?”
Duli shrugged. “Well, our house was never the richest, and father made several poor investments and squandered a large portion of what little we had left. When my father died, my brother took control of our house. I told him that I would work for our house, that the new Baron would have nothing to worry about.”
“And then?”
“He sold me. Outright, for a small sack of gold,” she answered, her face still. Liandros expected a quiver in her jaw, or her eyes to water at the corners, but Duli held her head up and looked directly into his eyes.
He stared back with calculating eyes, then waved a hand out. “Fascinating story, my dear. Our own families are often the first to betray us.”
He slid his body over Duli’s head, and clasped his palms on the backside in front of him, and pulled himself forward. The owner looked back at Liandros with a toothy grin and hazy, dark colored eyes. The king’s blonde locks dropped onto his cropped black hair.
“My king,” he giggled.
Liandros modded. “Yes, I am very much your king...Belaxar?”
“You may call me Bel, my king.”
Duli pulled her way up through Liandros’s thighs and made her way onto his back. “Bel, your majesty,” she said, “is the son of an Iisyrian singer. He has a beautiful voice himself.”
Bel smirked and nudged Duli with his foot. “Mind your business, girl.”
Liandros chuckled. “Don’t be modest,” he said his voice suddenly deep and serious, . “Let me hear.”
Bel cleared his throat and sucked in a deep breathe, then let out a long, beautiful note that filled the air like sweet wine in Liandros’s ears. His voice hopped and danced across notes as he serenaded the King, who sat back into Duli’s arms, watching Bel intently with his deep blue eyes.
Liandros eyed Bel, then turned and looked up at Duli. She was funny enough, with charm, and her noble blood granted her great beauty. There was something in the upturn of her mouth, the childishness of her smile and youth. Bel’s eyes, on the other hand, told Liandros that they had seen much. They were beautiful and tired, but had a happy glint, and there was mystery behind them, some sad past left behind. And this beautiful voice that he was eager to hear.
He stood and shrugged Duli from his back. Then he reached down and pulled her and Bel from the pile of bodies, and walked them to a large cushioned sofa. He laid them down together and led their lips together with a finger on each of their chins.
“Yes,” Liandros said with a small smirk. “Kiss for your king.” He strolled across the room, his eyes rarely leaving Duli and Bel’s embrace. He returned in a thin blue silk robe that he left open, and tossed a purple silk robe at Bel, and a powder blue, lace slip at Duli.
“You two belong to me now,” Liandros proclaimed. He clapped his hands twice, and a squat man with grey hair dressed in a butler's robes wattled in.
“Your Majesty?”
Liandros stared down at Duli and Bel. “Contact Duli and Bel’s handlers. Tell them that they belong to the king now, and pay them each...oh, four hundred gold bricks.”
“Four hundred!” Duli shouted. “My last master sold me for ten copper and a sack of flour.”
Bel giggled and kissed Duli’s neck.
“You are worth much more,” Liandros snapped, a fierce look in his eye. “Much more. If I offered your bumbling masters and their peers a basin of my piss in exchange for their eldest grandchild, they would take it the deal and consider it a gift from the King. Four hundred gold bricks is nothing to me and everything to them, my dear.”
Liandros waited till her servant scampered off and waved a hand toward the door. A tuft of blue smoke, followed by the faint trail of butterflies, pushed the door closed. The smoke drifted around the room and placed three glasses and a bottle of wine on the little butterflies wings, and floated toward them. Liandros twirled his fingers around like a coundictor, guiding the glasses into each of their hands and filling them to the brim with dark, burgundy wine.
“How do you do that?” Duli asked.
Liandros shrugged. “Naturally. Do you remember my mother? Queen Irona? That woman was one powerful witch,” he said, a blank look on his face. “Excuse me, sorceress. I inherited all of her affinity for magic and more. Boosted by the strength of the Arandus clan. That golden blood that runs through....”
Liandros paused and stared into the air. After a beat, Bel leaned forward and asked, “Don’t you love it?”
Liandros stared back down at Bel and caressed his hair. “More than anything…” He bent down and pressed his lips into Bel’s and looked back up.
“I feel such tremendous power coursing through my finger tip at every moment,” Liandros continued. “Begging to escape. Do you know that it takes all of my focus to hold it in? This infinite rage that fuels my magic. It’s hard to stay this composed. My mother’s curse…”
Duli stared up at Liandros, her eyes wide, and nodded. She slid her hand up the king’s hard stomach and chest through his robes, then back down. She leaned forward and kissed just above his belly button.
“Now, now,” Liandros said, his voice pleasant and soft. “Slow down. We have all the time in the world, my dear.”
Just then, a faint sound of fluttering took Liandros’s attention, and he spun around. A purple light shone from across the chambers, and the air vibrates around it.
“Out!” Liandros yelled, his voice suddenly shrill and frantic as he scrambled across the rugs and pillows. “I SAID, GET OUT, YOU WHORES!”
The room shook and blue smoke rose up from the floor and whipped around the room like tendrils.
The prostitutes scrambled, toppled off of the bed and out of the doors of the bed chambers. Duli and Bel pulled their robes closed, and grabbed each other’s hands as they followed the crowd. A wall of blue smoke rose in front of them and solidified, separating them from the scrambling prostitutes. The wall curled around them, and pushed them backward.
“You! Duli, Bel! STAY!”
Duli and Bel stared back at Liandros, wide eyed. Hesitantly, Bel led Duli back to the sofa and pulled her closed, and they watched the blue tendrils of magic fling a furniture toward the doors of the chamber, while the king stomped toward his large, stained oak dresser.
Liandros stared down at a small brooch, in the shape of a moth, with pearl eyes and diamond covered wings. The brooch let off a milky purple light and began to tremble and glow and Liandros yelped in excitement and tapped his feet like a child. The moth rose and began fluttering its wings slowly, until it lilted around gracefully. The blue jewels that made its eyes shone bright and the diamonds on his wings caught every light.
“Hello, Liandros,” the moth brooch chirped with a tiny, funneled voice in the god-tongue. “I see you have been waiting for me.”
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*Author’s note*
~i barely grammar checked this one, i just wanted to get it out so bare with me 🥴
Luwyn picked at his stew. Jahal grumbled to himself across the table, eyeing Luwyn every other minute. Their eyes caught each other and another question popped into Luwyn’s mind, a familiar one. His lips formed the words out of habit. “Jahal,” he started, “why did we leave Rodan? Why did we come to this place?”
Jahal’s eyes opened quickly, and he sputtered and choked on his stew. “I’ve told you over and over,” he said between coughs. “It is ti-”
“‘It is time, Luwyn, it is time!’ You will give me a new answer, old man,” Luwyn spat. “You’ve ripped me from my homeland and shipped me to a new place, where I have to work harder than you do, and you still get to boss me around. You will tell me.” There was a fire in Luwyn’s eye, and Jahal saw it flicker. He knew Luwyn wouldn’t back down anytime soon.
He let out a deep sigh, tossed his spoon into his stew and leaned back in his chair so that the wood creaked and moaned.
“First of all, Rodan is not your homeland,” Jahal started. He scratched his chin and watched Luwyn’s face open with surprise. “You were born here, in Siros. We—you, your parents and I—moved to Rodan after…” He paused for a long time, as if choosing his next words carefully.
“After you were born, the previous ruler of Siros took power from her husband. King Miotus was starting his reign when he married the Lady Irona of Ioba, a powerful sorceress from the Isles of Magic. Their union brought about King Liandros. Miotus was killed when Liandros was a boy, and Irona took power for herself as Regent until her son was of age.”
“So we moved because my parents didn’t agree with the monarch?”
Jahal shook his head. “Irona’s regency was a dictatorship, and its sole purpose was to syphon the power from the Kingdom and the rest of Gaelenor. Fortunately, the queen died several years ago, and Liandros took the throne. No better, I say, but less ambitious than his mother. Irona wanted it all, Liandros seems to only want fancy clothes. “
Luwyn chuckled and looked down.
“I have wanted to return to Siros for nearly two decades, Lu,” Jahal whispered. He stared out of the window into the night sky, a dreamy look in his eye. “This isn’t just your homeland, Luwyn. It is also mine, and I have missed it dearly. The air in Rodan was stale. Inhale, boy. Breathe in the air you were meant to breathe. You are Sirosi, through and through. Never forget that.”
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The cluster of horses enclosed around them. The woman in front still waved her spear in Luwyn’s face. Her face was marked with red and blue paint, and elaborate patterns swirled around her arms and thighs. She wore a tiara made of pale blue beads, and the same beads dotted her scarlet braids.
She thrust her spear out again. “You. Come with us.”
Garu stepped in front of Luwyn.
“He will be going nowhere with you,” Garu hissed. His swords were extended and he nearly growled at the woman.
She shook her head and curse and waved her spear’s blade at Garu’s neck. “Move, elf of Reilin. Your home is far from here.”
Garu shrugged. “I’m on a job. And that job is to protect this one here.”
She shook her head again. “Our job. He is our blood.” She turned and looked at Luwyn with large, sad, pale blue eyes. “My blood.”
Luwyn looked into her eyes, and stepped in front of Garu, ignoring his protests. The woman get off her horse and stepped closer to Luwyn. She was nearly a head taller than him, and thin muscle lines her arms and legs. She was an imposing figure, but her face was so tired and sad, as if she was remembering someone she had lost long ago.
Luwyn swung his pack around and pulled out the tattered little leather bound book that the strange old woman had given him at the Late Market in Siros. He flipped it open and turned to the page with the drawing of an Urkai tribesmen. Luwyn lifted the drawing next to the woman’s face. The red colored hair and dark skin matched, the pale blue eyes matched. He flipped to the next page and read a line. Horse lords who ruled the grasslands of Gaelenor.
“Asai,” Luwyn said fluently. The words snapped of his tongue, the pop echoed through the air.
The woman smiled and nodded. “U arume asai, me arume, me ara,” she sounded off in the god-tongue.
“What did she say, Luwyn?” Garu asked, calling Luwyn by his actually name for the first time in nearly a week.
Luwyn understand her just fine. He looked back at Garu. Fila smiled at Luwyn behind him and nodded.
“She said, ‘your family are asai, shaman. My family. My blood’,” Luwyn explained. He turned back to the woman. “Do you know someone named Kya?”
The woman’s chest swelled and her eyes watered until fat tears fell down her cheeks. She held her chin high, but Luwyn could see the tremble in her jaw.
“Me serr,” she said. “Te’o mar, te’o fe siir! Asha Anwe, asha Ise e Isani!”
Luwyn choked up. Tears pooled in his eyes as the woman stretched out her hands toward Luwyn.
“My name is Kaea,” she said. “Kya was my serr, my sister. Which would mean you are—”
They embraced, hugging each other hard, as if they hadn’t seen one another for a very long time. Luwyn cried into her shoulder. He hugged her for the father he never met, the mother he has never met, and the uncle he had lost. They embraced for what seemed like forever.
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Eight armored guards jumped out of the trees and highs shrubs, each with a long sword pointed at Luwyn.
“We found you, bastard!” one of them yelled.
“We’ll make this a quick death for you.”
Luwyn’s arms shook and his shoulders were locked into place. He wanted to move, but he couldn’t. Fear froze him in its cold grip, and his stomach plunged to his feet. This is where I’ll die, Luwyn thought. I didn’t even make it out of the kingdom…
A streak of grey and black soared over Luwyn’s head and landed in front of him. Luwyn recognized the pale grey skin, strange pointy ears and giant sword. It was the stranger he’d seen leaving the palace earlier. Before, he scowled at Luwyn and rolled his onyx eyes. Now he was between Luwyn and the guards, his own bow knocked and aimed at them, crouched like panther.
“And who are you—” the guard was cut off by an arrow through his helmet. He crashed to the forest floor, his comrades shifted away from his body.
The stranger rolled and shot another arrow through a guards chest plate before he could flinch. He stood and slid his bow through a strap on his back and drew his claymore. The metal was thick, solid and heavy, Luwyn could tell, but the stranger wielded it with ease. He swung it over his head, then lunged for a guard, knocking him to the ground with a knee. He swung his giant blade down like an executioner, and Luwyn heard a distinctive crack.
Another guard yelled and charged, but the stranger flipped back gracefully, and swung his sword down with his landing, cleaving through the guards armor, into his shoulder. The guard sputtered and landed on the ground, writhing.
The remaining guards looked at the scene with dismay. Luwyn could see their eyes through their helmets. Fear froze them the same way it froze him just minutes before. The stranger lunged before with guards could run away and jabbed his sword threw one of their backs, the tip sticking out of his chestplate. The stranger lifted the guard’s body and tossed him aside and slashed his sword back around, toward the last three. The blade sailed in the air, and his body and connected with the necks of two guards. The last one managed to duck and clattered away in his armor.
The stranger cursed, and jiggled his sword. The blood slid off the blade of water off of down feathers, and dribbled onto grass. The stranger stalked toward Luwyn, his eyes fixed onto the arrow pointed at his check. Luwyn backed away, and Fila stirred behind him.
“Luwyn, what’s going on?” Fila said, rubbing her head.
Luwyn shrugged.
“I’m not entirely sure. We were ambushed by the king’s guards, but then this…” Luwyn looked the stranger up and down. He wanted to call him a man, but his grey skin and pointy ears and inhuman grace suggested otherwise.
“...guy, jumps out of the bushes and kills nearly all of them.”
The stranger let out a rye chuckle. “I saved your life. You should be grateful, you know,” he said. His voice was full and monotone, but musical, like one long note.
Luwyn lowered his arrow an inch. “P-put your sword away, then. I can’t be sure you won’t cleave us in half with that thing.”
The stranger snorted. He swung his sword up and around and sheathed it in a scabbard on his back. Luwyn looked closely at his clothes; his sleeveless tunic and tights were leather, but looked as if they were made of leaves. Thick leaves, bound together with beautiful threadlike vines, embroidered with elegant patterns.
“Satisfied?”
Luwyn nodded and lowered his bow slowly. He slid the arrow back in his quiver and stood. Fila grabbed Luwyn’s arm and hauled herself up and skipped gingerly toward the stranger. She bowed and grabbed his hand, shaking it furiously.
“Thank you!” she chimed. “Thank you for saving us. I didn’t get to see much of the display, but from what Luwyn tells me, and the carnage that surrounds us, it must have been delightfully entertaining.”
The stranger peaked around Fila, and looked at Luwyn. Luwyn shrugged and shook his head.
The stranger stepped sideways and toward Luwyn. “What brings you to the deepest parts of this forest? What is your name? And yours?” he said, nodding at Fila.
“My name is Luwyn,” Luwyn replied. “And this is Fila. What about you?”
“My name is Garu. And you’re welcome by the way. I never got any thanks from you,” he said, smirking at Luwyn.
Luwyn shot Garu a confused look. “Thank you, I suppose. You did save our lives, we would have ended up…” Luwyn nodded at guard whose shoulder Garu slashed through. He was still writhing and squirming just yards away.
Garu nodded. “Worse, probably. Seems King Liandros wants you minced.”
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this is the roughest sketch ever, but this is how I picture Nazul, the mythical axe forged and wielded by Luwyn’s ancestor and the God of War, Arandus.
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“You know,” Luwyn started. “Your magic is beautiful and incredible. A bit scary sometimes, but beautiful nonetheless. How do you do all of those amazing things? Controlling the mud and dirt, creating a prophecy out of demonic rotten hair and bear claws and green fire, healing me and yourself. How do you do it?”
Fila shrugged. “It’s beyond my comprehension. I am gifted and blessed and I do not take this gift for granted. I appreciate my power, so maybe it just appreciates me back,” she replied with a giggled. Luwyn chuckled back.
Fila stared blankly into the distance for a moment, then asked, “Would you like to hear how magic came about? The true origin of all the magic in the world?”
Luwyn quickly sat up so that Fila’s head was in his lap and he looked down at her. “Go for it,” he said, truly intrigued.
“Ok, ok. Long ago there was a god named Iassa. He was the third of the old sun god, Solandus’s, four sons. You know of his brothers, Arandus, Torsu...”
Luwyn nodded quickly. “And Luwyn. I’m named for him, apparently.”
Fila’s eyes opened wide. “Interesting! Anyway, Iassa was a trickster god, and enjoyed mischief and games. After Solandus was cut down, and his sons chased out of the heavens, Iassa grew cynical and closed off from the world, even his brothers. Iassa eventually left his kin, and travelled the world alone.”
“During his travels, he learned to apply his power and condense it, and channel it through words and movements. Iassa learned that he could harness the power of the old gods, the elements themselves and much more. He labeled this new power mak’ia. Overtime, Iassa recorded and collected his many, many accomplishments and findings into thousands of grimoires. Eventually, mankind caught wind of Iassa’s research and sought offer his guidance. At first, Iassa refused, but after he met a beautiful woman named Osera, he gave in and taught her and many others mak’ia. Iassa has to give a little bit of his power, a bit of himself every time he taught someone mak’ia. It drained him, but at the same time, it fulfilled him. Iassa loved giving himself and helping others with his power and enlightening others. The more he gave of himself, the more it diluted his divinity and immortality.”
“And then what?” Luwyn asked.
“Then, he became mortal,” Fila said, shrugging.
“His life was long, longer than any natural mortal being, but he sacrificed it for his passion. He met the love of his life through mak’ia and created a purpose for himself. When Iassa died, his body faded into mist and it sparked into every crack in the earth, every wind current and wave and some living creatures. Through mak’ia, Iassa is responsible for all of the mystical, wonderous and terrifying creatures and beasts that walk the earth, like dragons and demons and elves and ogres. It was passed down and inherited, mutated nature and created beautiful and terrifying and mystical things and became what we now call magic.”
“So,” Luwyn started, pondering. “Magic is just Iassa’s life force?”
Fila laughed and sat up, making it hard for Luwyn to look her in the eye. “In layman's terms, yes.”
She rolled off of the bed and strolled across the room. She barely pulled on her robes, so that her bare torso was fully exposed and grabbed a large package next to the doorway. It was wrapped in canvas and twine.
“Here is your meat,” Fila chimed. “It would be best if you go now, though. I have more work to do and must be left alone.”
Luwyn was surprised by her shortness. He crawled to edge of the bed and grabbed her hand. “What do you mean? You don’t want me to stay?”
“Not particularly, no,” Fila replied, a small smile still on her face.
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The mud marionettes stopped battling and felt back to the ground. Fila was panting as soon as she finished her story.
Garu clapped sarcastically. “That was wonderful—oof!”
An arrow zipped through the air and nailed Garu in his shoulder so hard he flew back. The arrow was large and made of dark, burgundy wood, with a purple stone arrowhead. Blood ran down Garu’s arm and he tried to stand, but the right side of his body was completely limp. His eyelid sagged shut and the corner of his mouth hung. His arm and leg were useless noodles and he struggled to hold himself up. He tried to speak but his voice came out in gurgles and grunts.
Another arrow struck Fila in her thigh, this time with a blue arrowhead. Fila waited for herself to go limp, but it never happened. A spell snapped from her lips and she waved her hand their attacker’s direction. Nothing happened. She tried another spell and hand movement, and still nothing worked. Fila looked back at Luwyn, her eyes wide and frantic with fear.
“My magic is gone!” she wailed, tears falling down her cheeks.
An arrow flew by Luwyn’s ear, but he ducked and rolled down a small hill, out of the way. He stood and crawled back up the ridge to see someone looming over Garu and Fila.
He couldn’t tell if it were a man or woman; they were bald and their facial features were severe, yet soft and beautiful. They were inhumanly tall and, nearly twice Luwyn’s height and their body wrapped with thin muscle. They wore layers of green and brown furs and leaves and their dazzling, marble white face was hooded and painted with mud and moss. They used a log strapped to their back as a quiver and carried a bundle of human length arrows. The attacker knelt down and examined them. They ripped the arrows from Garu and Fila’s flesh, and threw a large net made of vines over them.
“I am Jorr, the Huntress,” she said. “You are trespassing on hallowed and scared land.” Jorr’s voice was booming and mesmerizing. She sniffed and looked it into the trees.
“There is a third,” Jorr said finally. “I will return for you! You have no business being here. You may try to retrieve your friends, but god’s help you if you do.” Jorr galloped into the trees and disappeared.
Luwyn hopped out of his hiding space and drew his dagger.
“I’ll cut you free,” he said. But every time he managed to break the surprisingly tough vine, it sewed itself back together. There was a loud whistle that echoed through the forest. The long vine at the end of the net started to reel in, until it pulled taut and the net tightened around Garu and Fila and they were dragged away into the forest.
Luwyn tried to keep up with them, but whatever was pulling them went at speeds he couldn’t think of keeping up with. He peered past the net and saw the bald attacker riding away on what looked like a giant green elk, but he wasn’t sure, it was too dark.
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“That was some excellent fighting, Lu. I suppose you are meant to be the King of Siros,” Garu complimented Luwyn, chuckling. He raised his cup and took a deep swig. “To King Lu!”
“Thanks,” Luwyn said quietly. He didn’t want to say anymore, despite having so much to say.
Luwyn’s gaze was locked onto Garu. His nose was pointier up close and his ears larger and goofier. Garu’s hair was down and fell on his shoulders in chestnut waves. Luwyn managed to find a thin white scar on Garu’s previously thought to be flawless, grey cheek. He couldn’t decide if Garu reminded him of ice sculpture or statue carved from smooth, grey granite.
A sudden burst of confidence surged through him. Luwyn set down his cup. The cool night breeze ran through the forest and made his eyes water, but he fixed them onto Garu. Embers from the fires licked at his back, but his shoulders stayed square and direct. If he could beat a god in combat, he could ask Garu anything he liked.
“You said that you don’t think about the other night,” Luwyn started, speaking fast, fearing he would stop if he didn’t. “But I don’t think that’s true.”
Garu snorted. “I don’t.” He sipped from his cup lazily and rolled his eyes.
“That’s a lie,” Luwyn snapped, his voice rising, almost shaking with frustration. “I see the way you look at me, Garu. Fila sees it. Just talk to me.”
Garu looked down.
Luwyn shook his head. “You don’t make it easy, you know,” he continued. “Why look me in the eyes to congratulate me on winning a fight, but don’t acknowledge that you nearly kissed me just a few days ago? Why talk to me or look at all?”
“That’s different.”
“Bullshit,” Luwyn barked, crossing his arms. Fila shifted and Luwyn lowered his volume to a loud whisper. “Could it...is it because we’re both men?”
Garu scoffed and shook his head. “Please, how could I be so ignorant, I’m half elf after all. They’re a very open, unapologetic people. I don’t care about that, I…” Garu looked down again, twirled the tip of one his long fingers in his drink.
Luwyn’s eyes went wide at the possibility of an answer and he crawled closer to Garu. “You what?”
“I...I can’t think about it,” Garu forced out.
Luwyn’s heart dropped into his stomach. “Oh.”
“But...I...I want to.”
Luwyn looked up. The fire crackled in Garu’s black eyes.
Garu stared back and traced over Luwyn’s features and noticed how well they contrasted each other.
Luwyn was warm, where he was cold. The fire made his honey colored skin glow a warm brown. Luwyn’s face was still that of a boy’s, manhood creeping up like a shadow around his prickly, squaring jaw and brow. His shaggy, copper hair was nearly burgundy in the dim light. His amber eyes were excentuated by the fire’s light like molted nuggets of gold. Luwyn’s arms were bigger than Garu remembered, a side effect from weilding a god’s weapon he guest. Luwyn looked more like a king now, the new found confident radiated off of him in waves. Garu’s cheeks were suddely, unnatural, warm.
They more he observed, the closer Luwyn leaned toward Garu, until he felt Garu’s breath on his nose.
Garu shifted and swallowed. “Are you sure, Lu?”
Luwyn smirked and chuckled under his breath. He’d never seen the half-elf so flustered and it amused him.
“I’ve never been more sure of....” Luwyn replied, the last words disappearing into Garu’s mouth as their lips locked together.
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