“Just as when we come into the world, when we die we are afraid of the unknown. But the fear is something from within us that has nothing to do with reality. Dying is like being born: just a change.”
#TRAEGICS . dependent multi - muse blog for darkskiesrpg penned by Sushi ( twenty eight , eastern tmz , she/her ) . this blog may contain mature content so proceed with caution , trigger content will be tagged as such .
The walk through the Broken City to the southern road that gradually turned from cobblestone into snow-dusted trails never failed to settle a knot of unease into Soren's stomach. The southern road out of the city ran between the NOLA District and the Triad District, and it was from the latter that Soren's uneasiness seemed to creep.
He didn't know much about the 'Triad' organization that primarily settled the district, but the few things he had managed to pick up from conversations with some of the mortals as he worked hadn't painted them in a favorable lighting. They were supposedly a ruthless organization with a strong disdain for anything or anyone from the various supernatural communities. It was a little sad, Soren thought.
He was fae - lesser, of course, but fae nonetheless - and yet, the mortals and mortal-adjacent supernaturals of the Broken City had been accommodating and welcoming, for the most part. They allowed him to go about his work without giving him too much trouble. If anything, he was met with curiosity and had returned the favor in turn. The various mortal species were interesting and he couldn't wrap his head around an organization like Triad ever having formed in the first place. Perhaps he was simply naive. It wouldn't be the first time being accused as such, he supposed.
Pausing momentarily to check the stability of a ley line a few yards into Triad's district, just off the road, he remained aware of approaching footfalls. "Everything is functioning as it should. It was better to check and make sure instead of just ignoring it though." He spoke without looking away from the shimmering strands of magic he cradled between his hands.
It wasn't every day someone wandered this close to the Triad District and then proceeded to kneel beside the road as though inspecting something only they could see. Most people passed through these parts quickly and with their heads down.
Luca had never been particularly good at doing either.
A basket of winter herbs hung from one arm, his coat buttoned against the cold, and there was still a dusting of snow clinging to the shoulders of his dark green scarf from his morning walk.
At the other's words, he slowed to a stop a respectful distance away, his gaze lingering not on the shimmering strands of magic but on the careful way the male held them.
"Then I suppose it's fortunate you're the sort of person who stops to check on things," he said warmly. "Most people would have walked straight past and hoped for the best."
He stepped closer, boots crunching softly against the snow. Beyond them, the city seemed quieter than usual, the distant sounds of traffic and conversation muted beneath the winter air.
Luca's eyes briefly drifted toward the looming edges of the Triad District before returning to the stranger.
"I'll admit, I don't know much about ley lines beyond the fact that I shouldn't tamper with them." A faint smile tugged at his mouth. "I imagine that's a lesson one only needs to learn once."
He shifted the basket on his arm, the scent of rosemary and dried lavender escaping into the cold.
"Are they all right?" he asked after a moment, genuine curiosity threading through his voice. "The lines, I mean."
There was no alarm in his expression, only quiet interest and the sort of concern one might have for an old tree or a garden that hadn't been thriving.
After a beat, he added, "And forgive me if I'm interrupting something important. I only ask because anyone willing to stand this close to the Triad District in the cold to make sure unseen threads of magic are healthy seems like someone worth being curious about." A soft laugh escaped him. "Though perhaps that's simply the gardener in me. I tend to worry about things most people don't notice."
⋆☀︎. ― aelin goldwake / open starter / @darkskiesrpgstarters
club viper was loud enough to drown out most thoughts. which, tonight, suited aelin just fine. music thundered through the club, bass vibrating through the floor and up his spine while colored lights swept across the crowd in flashes of violet, gold, and blue. bodies moved shoulder-to-shoulder beneath the haze, laughter blending with music until neither could be separated from the other.
aelin was grinning. a dangerous sign, depending on who you asked. he'd already lost count of how many shots he'd thrown back over the last hour, though not enough to dull a fae's senses. enough to feel pleasantly reckless, maybe. enough to stop caring about tomorrow. a beautiful woman laughed at something he'd said as they moved together beneath the lights, her hand sliding briefly across his shoulder. aelin leaned in close enough to hear her over the music, replying with something that earned another laugh and a playful shove against his chest.
"there it is," he called after her as she disappeared back into the crowd with her friends. "i was starting to think you liked me." she answered with a gesture that only made him laugh harder. still smiling, aelin turned and headed toward the bar. the crowd parted and closed around him in waves. heat rolled from his skin despite the air conditioning working overtime overhead. by the time he reached the counter, he was already fishing cash from his pocket.
"four shots of whis—" he collided with someone hard enough to cut himself off. the impact knocked his shoulder sideways, sending him stumbling half a step before instinct corrected it. amber liquid sloshed from a nearby drink. aelin blinked once. then twice. slowly, a crooked grin spread across his face. "well," he said, looking them over without a trace of apology, "either i'm drunker than i thought, or you appeared out of nowhere." he glanced toward the bartender before looking back. "tell me you're ordering something interesting. if i'm getting knocked off course, i'd like it to be for a good reason."
Luca had never quite understood the appeal of Club Viper.
The music was too loud, the lights changed colors every three seconds, and there were entirely too many people packed into one room for his liking. He'd been persuaded to come by friends who had insisted he needed to "live a little," which apparently translated to nursing the same drink for nearly an hour while wondering how soon he could reasonably leave without seeming rude.
He'd just managed to reach the bar when someone walked directly into him.
Or rather, barreled into him.
The impact sent a little of his drink over the rim of the glass, and he looked down at the amber liquid now clinging to his fingers before lifting his gaze to the stranger.
At the grin that spread across the other's face, one corner of Luca's mouth twitched.
"I was standing here the entire time," he replied, his voice warm with amusement. "Though given the number of empty glasses on the counter behind you, I can understand how that might be difficult to believe."
He accepted the napkin the bartender slid his way and dried his hand before taking another sip of his drink.
At the question, he glanced at the glass in his hand.
"Tragically, no. It's cider."
A beat.
"Which, I realize, is probably the least interesting answer you could have hoped for."
A laugh escaped him as he leaned one forearm against the bar. Unlike most people in the club, he looked entirely unbothered by the noise and chaos around them, though there was something distinctly out of place about him here—like someone had plucked him from a sunlit garden and deposited him in the middle of a nightclub.
"But if it helps," he continued, hazel eyes bright with amusement, "I wasn't ordering anything at all. I was actually considering whether I could leave without my friends noticing."
He glanced toward the dance floor, where said friends were nowhere to be found, then back at the stranger.
"Although now I'm curious. Four shots of whiskey sounds less like an order and more like a cry for help." A smile tugged at his mouth. "Should I be concerned, or is this just how your evening usually goes?"
˚𐦍˚.⋆ ― gwendolyn song / open starter / @darkskiesrpgstarters
gwendolyn had slipped away from the palace long before anyone could place a schedule in her hands. the morning was still young, the streets of the dawn court washed in gold as merchants arranged their displays and gardeners tended flower boxes spilling over windowsills. the city was waking gently, without urgency, and she found herself drawn toward the quieter corners where life happened without ceremony.
a basket rested against her hip, half-filled with things she probably could have sent someone else to collect. fresh bread. early peaches. a bundle of lavender tied with twine by a smiling vendor who refused to let her leave without it. she paused near a small square where a fountain sang softly over worn stone, sunlight dancing across the water's surface. for a moment, she simply stood there, content to watch the city breathe.
a child raced through the square chasing a paper bird enchanted to flutter just out of reach. laughter followed in its wake. gwendolyn smiled. "that seems a little unfair," she called after the bird. "if you're going to let yourself be caught, you should probably decide before the poor thing exhausts herself." the bird ignored her entirely. her smile widened. only then did she notice someone nearby. "good morning," she greeted warmly. "tell me—am i witnessing a game, or am i about to be asked to help negotiate a hostage situation involving enchanted stationery?"
Luca looked up from where he was crouched beside one of the flower beds bordering the square, a pair of gardening shears in one hand and a small basket of freshly cut blooms resting beside him. He had been trimming back a climbing rose that had apparently decided the nearby fountain was a far more suitable home than its trellis when the sound of laughter drew his attention.
A smile had already begun to form by the time he followed the source of it and spotted the small paper bird darting just out of a child's reach.
At Gwendolyn's question, his gaze flicked between the bird and the little girl before settling on the Dawn Lady herself. The corners of his mouth lifted further.
"I'd say we're still firmly in game territory," he replied, rising to his feet and brushing a bit of soil from his hands. "Though another five minutes and I suspect negotiations will become necessary."
As if proving his point, the child huffed dramatically and planted her hands on her hips while glaring at the fluttering bird overhead.
Luca's expression softened. "Ah. There it is. The look of someone deciding that diplomacy has failed."
He stepped closer to the fountain, the morning light catching the gold flecks in his hazel eyes. There was a certain ease about him, as though he belonged among the flowers and sunlit stones as naturally as the roses he'd been tending.
"Good morning," he returned warmly. His gaze dropped briefly to the basket at her hip—the bread, the peaches, the lavender—before lifting again. "I have to admit, if this does become a hostage situation, I fear we're both terribly underqualified. I brought roses to work with this morning, not ransom money."
A quiet laugh escaped him.
Then he looked back toward the child and the elusive paper bird. "Although…" He considered it for a moment. "I suppose every creature has its weakness."
Reaching into the basket beside the flower bed, he withdrew a small yellow blossom and held it out toward the enchanted bird.
⋆✧˚.⋆ ― corvath blackthorne / open starter / @darkskiesrpgstarters
the autumn court believed in many things—strength, loyalty, tradition—but mercy on the training grounds had never been one of them.
corvath stood in the center of the ring stripped down to a pair of dark training pants, his shirt discarded somewhere along the fence line hours ago. sweat gleamed across sun-bronzed skin, highlighting old scars and the vine-and-flame sigil winding down his forearm. copper leaves drifted lazily through the air around him, sticking briefly to damp skin before falling away again. he looked more at home here than he ever did in court chambers or council meetings—breathing hard, bruised, and grinning like he was having the time of his life.
his latest sparring partner hit the ground with a groan, and corvath immediately offered a hand down to help them back up. “you almost had me,” he said, entirely too cheerfully for someone who had very obviously won. when the other fae muttered something that sounded suspiciously like liar, his laugh rang across the training grounds. he was still smiling when he noticed someone watching from the sidelines. amber eyes immediately brightened with mischief. “are you calling next?" he called, pointing in their direction.
Luca had only intended to cut through the training grounds on his way back from the royal greenhouses, a wicker basket resting against his hip and the sleeves of his cream linen shirt rolled to his forearms. The scent of fresh herbs and damp earth clung to him, and a few sprigs of lavender poked out from the top of the basket. He slowed when he spotted the gathering of Autumn Court warriors and, eventually, the source of the laughter.
Corvath stood in the center of the ring looking entirely too pleased with himself, all sun-bronzed skin, old scars, and the sort of grin that suggested he hadn't yet met a challenge he didn't enjoy. Luca watched as he hauled his latest opponent back to their feet, amusement tugging at his mouth.
Then those amber eyes found him.
At the question, Luca glanced over his shoulder as though there might be someone standing behind him before looking back at the Autumn male. A soft laugh escaped him.
"I think you've mistaken me for someone significantly braver than I am," he replied, stepping closer to the edge of the ring. He set his basket carefully on a nearby bench and folded his arms across his chest. "I've been watching you throw people into the dirt for the better part of twenty minutes, and somehow your conclusion was, yes, the gardener should absolutely be next."
His eyes flicked toward the latest defeated warrior before returning to Corvath, warmth and amusement dancing within them. "I should also mention that my combat experience is tragically limited. The last time someone tried teaching me to use a sword, I somehow ended up in a fountain." He considered that for a moment before adding with complete sincerity, "In my defense, I still maintain the fountain had it out for me."
A smile curved his mouth despite himself, and after a beat he took another few steps forward, close enough now to be considered an actual volunteer. "Though I suppose if your ego requires further feeding today, I could be persuaded to provide another victory. It seems only polite."
˖✦ ݁˖ ― iliana mikaelson / open starter / @darkskiesrpgstarters
the gallery was technically closed. that distinction had never stopped anyone in the broken city before.
warm light spilled across the floor from antique lamps scattered throughout the space, painting gold across hardwood worn smooth by years of footsteps. most of the visitors had filtered out hours ago, leaving the gallery suspended in that strange quiet that only arrived after people stopped looking at art and the art was left alone with its thoughts. iliana mikaelson stood on a ladder near the far wall, adjusting the angle of a framed piece by half an inch for the third time. it wasn't crooked. she knew it wasn't crooked. that didn't stop her from narrowing her eyes at it as though it had personally offended her. eventually she sighed and stepped down, brushing her hands together before turning toward the sound of movement somewhere behind her.
"i should warn you," she said, voice carrying easily through the room, "if you're planning to tell me that one looks better slightly to the left, this conversation is going to become deeply adversarial." the corner of her mouth lifted as she leaned against the ladder, dark eyes settling on them with quiet curiosity. "if you're here for literally any other reason, your odds improve dramatically."
Evangeline had been standing a few feet away for the better part of a minute, a pair of gloves tucked beneath one arm and a folder of restoration notes held loosely in her hand. The gallery had long since closed, but she'd stayed behind to finish cataloging a recent acquisition and had become mildly distracted by the sight of a woman waging what appeared to be a deeply personal battle against a perfectly straight painting.
A small smile curved her lips. "I hadn't intended to comment on the painting at all," she replied, stepping fully into the light. "Though now I'm afraid you've made me curious enough to inspect it."
Her gaze flicked toward the framed piece, then back to the woman leaning against the ladder. "For what it's worth, I think it looks quite happy exactly where it is. I would hate to be responsible for starting an adversarial relationship with a stranger over half an inch."
The amusement in her expression softened as she glanced around the gallery. In the quiet, with the lamps casting warm pools of light across the room, it almost felt like stepping into another century.
"I was actually looking for the records from the Beaumont collection," she continued, lifting the folder slightly. "I seem to have misplaced them, which is embarrassing considering I'm fairly certain I was holding them ten minutes ago." A beat passed before she added, "I suppose this is the part where I reveal myself to be either hopelessly disorganized or tragically distracted by art."
She looked back at the woman, curiosity settling in her blue-grey eyes. "Though I confess, I'm rather relieved to find someone else still here. Empty galleries are beautiful, but after a certain hour they begin to feel as though the paintings are quietly judging you."
A soft laugh escaped her then, warm and low. "Perhaps that's simply an occupational hazard." She shifted the folder against her side and offered a small, polite smile. "Evangeline, by the way. I don't believe we've met, though I imagine in this city that's only a matter of time." She tilted her head slightly, an almost playful expression crossing her features. "And I promise not to offer unsolicited opinions on your wall placement decisions."
. ݁˖❖˙ ― rebekah mikaelson / open starter / @darkskiesrpgstarters
rebekah had always believed people romanticized quiet far too much. most of the time, quiet simply meant everyone was between disasters. still, she found herself enjoying it. the afternoon sun spilled across the café windows, warming the corner table she'd claimed nearly an hour ago. a half-finished cup of coffee sat beside her, along with a shopping bag she'd absolutely not needed and a book she'd been pretending to read for the better part of twenty minutes.
it was nice. suspiciously nice. which was probably why she kept waiting for something to interrupt it. with a soft sigh, rebekah closed the book and set it aside, crossing one leg over the other as she surveyed the room. conversations drifted through the air in scattered pieces. someone laughed near the counter. outside, people hurried past the windows with all the urgency of lives she no longer felt obligated to chase. for once, she had nowhere she needed to be. no crisis. no family emergency. no one attempting to sacrifice themselves for a noble cause. frankly, it felt unnatural.
her gaze lifted when she noticed someone nearby, a small smile tugging at her lips. "please tell me you're here to provide entertainment," she said, gesturing toward the empty seat across from her. "i've spent the last half hour attempting to behave like a normal person and i'm finding the experience dreadfully underwhelming." the smile widened, blue eyes bright with amusement. "sit. talk to me. tell me a secret, a complaint, or an utterly mundane story about your day. i'm not particularly selective." she leaned back in her chair. "anything is preferable to watching another person order oat milk with the seriousness of a diplomatic negotiation."
Evangeline paused at the invitation, one hand still wrapped around the paper cup she'd ordered moments earlier. She had noticed the blonde woman almost immediately upon entering—not because she recognized her from experience, but because she'd heard enough stories over the years to know a Mikaelson when she saw one. There was a certain sort of presence to them, an ease in occupying space that made people look twice without quite understanding why.
A smile touched her lips, small and amused. "I can't promise entertainment," she said as she approached the table, "but I do have a mildly tragic tale involving a florist and an argument over peonies."
Without waiting for permission she slipped into the empty seat across from her, setting her cup down carefully. "Apparently, asking whether the flowers would survive another three days for an arrangement was interpreted as a personal attack on the florist's professional integrity." She tilted her head slightly, blue-grey eyes bright with quiet amusement. "I apologized, naturally. Though I still think it was an overreaction."
Her gaze drifted briefly toward the window before returning to the woman across from her. "As for complaints, I've discovered that everyone speaks of peace and quiet as though it's something to aspire to, but when one actually finds it…" She glanced around the café, taking in the gentle hum of conversation and the afternoon sunlight spilling across the tables. "It feels suspicious. As though one ought to be bracing for something."
A soft laugh escaped her then, warm and low. "Though perhaps that's simply because I'm still becoming acquainted to the city and have yet to trust any day that seems entirely uneventful."
She wrapped both hands around her cup, studying the other woman for a moment with an expression that was open, if a touch guarded. "I should warn you, however, that my mundane stories are generally limited to art restoration, overwatering houseplants, and buying entirely too many books I'll never have enough shelves for."
The corner of her mouth curved again. "I'm afraid I'm terribly boring by most standards." She paused just long enough for the statement to settle before adding lightly, "Then again, considering your commentary on oat milk, perhaps boring is exactly what's required this afternoon."
Music poured from the compound balcony, flooding the streets below with an ensemble of classical composers - Bach, Mozart, Tchaikovsky. The doors to the adjoining room had been swung wide that early afternoon, and inside its walls Klaus Mikaelson had set up a small assortment of blank canvases - some small, some larger - and was focusing his efforts on a particularly large canvas as the music drifted from one song to another.
Klaus dipped his brush into the vivid oils on his palette and furrowed his brow with intense focus. A dab of coloring here. A streak of contrasting shadows there. The arrays of silver, grays, and rich navies were beautiful - but there was something... missing. The artist couldn't put his finger on what exactly the mystery element was, though.
"Trying to encapsulate the beauty of the Courts in mortal artistry might true and well be a hopeless endeavor." He finally admitted with a small huff of frustration as he sat aside his palette and wandered to the open balcony's railings. He gazed at the people wandering below and acknowledged a few passing glances upwards in interest at the musical assortment.
Evangeline had been passing through the Quarter when the music caught her attention. The strains of Bach and Mozart drifted from the compound and into the street, familiar enough to slow her steps until she found herself standing across from the open balcony. She recognized the building immediately, and the man standing upon it even more so. Her mother had spoken his name often over the years, sometimes with exasperation, sometimes with fondness, always with the sort of complicated affection reserved for people who had changed the course of your life.
She lingered for a moment, watching him abandon his palette and step toward the railing with an expression of frustration that seemed almost endearing on someone so thoroughly legendary. A small smile tugged at her lips. "Perhaps that's because beauty was never meant to be captured," she called up, her voice carrying easily through the music. "Only remembered."
Stepping from the shade and into the afternoon light, she tucked a finger between the pages of the book in her hand to keep her place. Her auburn hair caught the sun, and for a moment she looked less like a stranger and more like something from another century entirely. Her gaze drifted briefly toward the canvases before returning to him, amusement softening her features.
"Though I imagine trying to paint entire courts filled with magic and impossible skies would make any artist feel inadequate." She tipped her head slightly, the hint of a laugh entering her voice. "Then again, I suspect the problem isn't your talent. Some things simply refuse to fit inside a frame."
She offered nothing else—not her name, nor any explanation for why she stood beneath his balcony speaking as though she understood exactly what he meant. Instead, she remained there with quiet curiosity, content for the moment to be nothing more than an unfamiliar face drawn in by music and a painter's frustration, even if the truth of who she was sat patiently between them, waiting to be discovered.
"I don't think I've been to that part of the Court before." Ollie spoke with just enough of a slur to his words that it emphasized the drawl in his voice. A light smirk played at his lips as he surveyed the Fae female that had caught his attention in the small dive bar that evening as the sun slowly began its descent. His eyes darted over her sun-kissed skin and generous dusting of freckles before lingering at her hair - a mess of auburn tangles and vines that bloomed with tiny scarlet flowers in numerous places. Her emerald eyes never left his as she chewed on her lip.
"And you say all of your friends have these vines in their hair too? Some sort of Fae gift?" He picked his words with a practiced ease and allowed his smirk to settle upon his features. "That's right. All of us have them, but the flowers that bloom are unique to each of us so it's still something we can call special and ours." The female explained with a purr. "And we've never seen a... what did you say you were again?" She questioned.
"Werewolf. We look the same as any other human, usually. Except on the full moon." He explained once more. And except for us Crescents. He thought to himself, but choose not to add.
A laugh nearly escaped Elias as he approached the table, two fresh beers in hand and an expression that said he'd been listening long enough to thoroughly enjoy himself. He slid into the empty seat beside Ollie and set one of the bottles in front of him before glancing between his old friend and the bewildered fae woman.
"Well, now I know you've had too much to drink," he said dryly, taking a sip from his own beer. "You're out here giving educational lectures on werewolves to pretty women."
His blue eyes flicked toward the female, his smile turning apologetic. "Don't mind him. He gets friendly when he's curious."
Then he looked back at Ollie, amusement lingering in his features. It was strange, sometimes, seeing familiar faces in a world that had kept moving after he was gone. Stranger still to find himself sitting beside one of the boys he'd practically grown up with, like no time had passed at all.
"You remember when we were kids and Jackson convinced you there were swamp monsters living in the bayou?" he asked, leaning back in his chair. "You spent three days carrying around a fishing spear because you were determined to protect the pack."
The grin that followed was warm and entirely unrepentant.
"You've always had a habit of adopting strays and asking too many questions."
His gaze shifted back to the fae woman, taking in the flowers woven through her hair with genuine curiosity. "The vines are pretty, though. I'll give you that. We don't exactly have anything that fancy."
A beat passed before he added, "Closest thing we had growing up was Ollie coming home covered in Spanish moss because he'd climbed a tree and couldn't figure out how to get back down."
He took another drink, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
"Actually, now that I think about it, that might've been Jackson's fault too."
jesse kenner had always preferred being outside when things got complicated. maybe it was the wolf. maybe it was the simple fact that trees didn't ask questions. either way, he found himself sitting on the tailgate of his truck at the edge of one of the city's quieter parks long after sunset, a camera resting beside him and a half-finished coffee growing cold in his hand.
the park was mostly empty now. the playground sat abandoned beneath the glow of distant streetlights, swings moving occasionally when the wind caught them just right. somewhere deeper in the trees, crickets carried on a conversation that seemed far more productive than anything jesse had managed all day.
he lifted the camera, snapped a photograph of absolutely nothing in particular, then lowered it again. "well," he informed the empty park, "that one's definitely going in the pile of pictures i pretend are artistic." the wolf inside him felt restless tonight. not angry. not anxious. just unsettled in a way he couldn't quite name. with a sigh, he leaned back against the truck cab and tipped his head toward the stars overhead. they looked different since the merge. everything did.
after a moment, he became aware of someone nearby and offered an easy nod of greeting. "hey." a faint smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. "random question." he gestured vaguely with the coffee cup. "when was the last time you had a day that wasn't weird?" his expression turned thoughtful. "because i've been trying to remember mine and honestly? i think i might've imagined it." he glanced toward the camera beside him. "bonus points if your answer doesn't involve supernatural disasters, court politics, pack drama, or accidentally finding yourself in a situation that should've gotten its own warning label." a pause. "at this point i'd settle for hearing about somebody's boring tuesday."
A soft chuckle carried from the nearby walking path before Elias could stop it. He'd meant to keep going. Really, he had. But the sound of Jesse talking to the empty park, camera in one hand and coffee in the other, had rooted him in place. He stepped into the glow of one of the streetlights, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, looking every bit like a man who'd been out for an evening walk and happened to overhear the question. "If I remember right, my last boring Tuesday involved a fishing pole and a ham sandwich," he said, amusement lingering in his voice. "So either it's been a very long time, or my standards for excitement are exceptionally low."
He stopped a comfortable distance away, not wanting to intrude. His gaze drifted toward the abandoned playground and the swings swaying gently in the breeze. "I think weird just sort of became everyone's baseline around here." The corner of his mouth lifted slightly. "At this point, if somebody told me they had a completely normal day, I'd assume they were lying."
Then his eyes landed briefly on the camera beside Jesse. He'd noticed that thing before. Not because he'd been intentionally watching, he'd told himself, but because he'd started noticing little things about the young man from a distance without meaning to. The way he preferred quiet places. The way he looked at the world like he was trying to understand it. The way he seemed to carry too much on his shoulders and still somehow made room for humor.
Nodding toward the camera, Elias added, "Though I think taking pictures of absolutely nothing and calling it art is a pretty solid coping mechanism. Better than some I've seen." A beat passed before he offered a small, easy smile. "Mind if I ask what tonight's masterpiece is supposed to be?"
Nicknames: Eli (family and close friends), Landry (fellow rangers and pack members), Bear (teasingly by Charlotte), Ranger
Species: Crescent Werewolf
Pack: Crescent Pack
Age: 26 at the time of his death • Physically 47 following the resurrection
Timeline: Present (Resurrected)
Birthday: October 14
Occupation: Former Louisiana Park Ranger & Game Warden
Face Claim: Nikolaj Coster-Waldau
APPEARANCE
Height: 6'2"
Build: Broad-shouldered and powerfully built from years of physical labor, hiking, rescue operations, and life in the bayou. Strong without appearing imposing.
Hair: Sandy brown with hints of gold that have darkened with age, usually a little unruly and often in need of a trim.
Eyes: Blue-gray, soft and warm until something threatens the people he loves.
Skin: Lightly tanned from years spent outdoors.
Scars:
A jagged scar along his left shoulder from a boating accident during a storm rescue.
Faint claw marks across his ribs from an altercation with another wolf in his youth.
A small scar above his eyebrow from falling out of a tree as a teenager.
Several old cuts and nicks on his hands from years of working outdoors.
Style: Flannel shirts, henleys, worn denim, sturdy boots, old leather jackets, and the occasional ranger uniform. Usually smells faintly of pine, river water, campfire smoke, and cedar.
PERSONALITY
Elias is the kind of man who makes people feel safe simply by being present.
He speaks gently.
Moves deliberately.
Listens more than he talks.
There is a steadiness about him that puts people at ease, like the feeling of coming home after a long journey.
He has never sought attention or recognition. He believes that the most important things in life are often the quietest—sharing coffee on the porch, watching the sunrise over the bayou, and spending time with the people he loves.
He is patient beyond reason.
Compassionate to a fault.
The sort of man who will stop his truck to help a stranger change a tire or spend hours searching for a lost child without a second thought.
Beneath that kindness lies a quiet, unwavering strength.
The wilderness does not bend for weak men.
Neither does grief.
When someone he loves is threatened, the warmth disappears.
His expression hardens.
His voice lowers.
And everyone remembers that even the gentlest creatures have teeth.
POSITIVE TRAITS
Loyal
Compassionate
Patient
Protective
Reliable
Selfless
Courageous
Calm under pressure
Gentle
Hardworking
Trustworthy
Emotionally intelligent
NEGATIVE TRAITS
Stubborn
Overprotective
Self-sacrificing to a fault
Carries guilt for things beyond his control
Struggles to ask for help
Suppresses his own pain
Can be overly cautious
Holds grudges against those who hurt his loved ones
Tends to shoulder burdens alone
Finds it difficult to put himself first
Sometimes avoids talking about his own feelings
LIKES
Early mornings in the bayou
Campfires
Fresh coffee
Rainstorms
Fishing
Dogs
Stargazing
Long drives with the windows down
Homemade gumbo
Being out on the water
Old country music
Working with his hands
Family dinners
Sunrises
Watching birds and wildlife
DISLIKES
Needless cruelty
Poachers
Hunters who kill for sport
Dishonesty
Seeing children suffer
Abandonment
Arrogance
Needless violence
Pollution and environmental destruction
Feeling powerless
Broken promises
Watching people carry pain alone
HOBBIES
Fishing
Woodworking
Restoring old boats
Hiking
Teaching children about wildlife
Cooking
Playing guitar poorly but enthusiastically
Sketching maps of the bayou
Camping
Reading nature guides
Repairing things that don't necessarily need fixing
Collecting old photographs
ABILITIES
As a Crescent Werewolf:
Enhanced strength
Enhanced speed and agility
Heightened senses
Accelerated healing
Superior tracking abilities
Enhanced endurance
Transformation into a wolf
Strong instincts and intuition
Exceptional navigation skills
Skills Learned as a Park Ranger & Game Warden:
Search and rescue operations
Wilderness survival
Emergency first aid
Expert tracker
Skilled fisherman and boater
Extensive knowledge of local wildlife and plants
Excellent marksman
Water rescue training
HISTORY
Elias was born and raised in the Crescent Pack and spent much of his childhood exploring the bayou with his father and grandfather.
He learned early that the land provided for those who respected it.
By the time he was a teenager, he could navigate the swamps blindfolded, identify dozens of birds by their calls, and track animals through miles of wilderness.
He met Charlotte Kenner when they were young and fell in love quickly.
Their relationship was easy in a way that mattered.
She challenged him.
He grounded her.
When Charlotte became pregnant with Jesse, Elias wasn't afraid.
If anything, he was thrilled.
He threw himself into preparing for fatherhood, working tirelessly and dreaming of the future they would build together.
Jesse became the center of his world.
Then, when his son was only two years old, tragedy struck.
A group of hunters targeted members of the Crescent Pack.
Charlotte and Jesse became trapped in the chaos.
Elias got them out.
He put his son into Charlotte's arms and stayed behind to ensure they escaped.
He died protecting:
Charlotte.
Jesse.
Several members of the Crescent Pack.
For years, the Crescents remembered him as a hero.
Charlotte remembered him as her first love.
Jesse knew him only through stories.
Until the resurrection brought him back.
Now Elias must face a world that continued without him and a son who has lived an entire lifetime in his absence.
RELATIONSHIPS
Charlotte Kenner
The love of his life and the woman he never stopped loving.
Their relationship is complicated by time and grief, but there has never been bitterness between them.
Only love, loss, and the question of what comes next.
Jesse Kenner
His son.
The little boy he died protecting is now a grown man.
Elias desperately wants to know him but struggles with the fear that he no longer has the right to call himself his father.
The Crescent Pack
Many older pack members knew him before his death and consider his return nothing short of a miracle.
Younger members grew up hearing stories about him and are stunned to discover that the legend is real.
MISCELLANEOUS
Makes an incredible seafood gumbo.
Carries an old photograph of Charlotte and toddler Jesse in his wallet.
Can identify nearly every bird native to Louisiana by sound alone.
Has a habit of whittling pieces of wood when he's thinking.
Gives the kind of hugs that make people feel safe.
Keeps every handwritten note he's ever been given.
Has never met a stray dog he didn't try to adopt.
Drinks his coffee black.
Falls asleep in rocking chairs more often than he'd admit.
Cannot resist helping someone in need.
Believes there is no place more beautiful than the bayou at sunrise.
Still instinctively looks for Charlotte in a crowded room.
Thinks Jesse has his mother's stubbornness and his own heart.
Nicknames: Luca (most people), Lu (family only), Sunshine (teasingly by friends), The Gardener of Spring, The Songbird of the Court
Species: High Fae
Court: Spring Court
Age: 327 (appears 28)
Timeline: Past
Birthday: April 21
Occupation: Keeper of the Royal Gardens of the Spring Court • Court Musician & Composer
Face Claim: Antonio Cipriano
APPEARANCE
Height: 6'1"
Build: Lean and athletic, broad-shouldered from years of working in the gardens and riding through the countryside.
Hair: Dark brown, usually slightly tousled, often falling across his forehead when he's been working.
Eyes: Warm hazel with flecks of gold that brighten when he uses his magic.
Skin: Sun-kissed olive complexion.
Scars:
A thin scar along his right palm from pruning a thorned magical rose as a child.
Several faint scars across his forearms from years of working with enchanted flora and climbing ancient trees.
A small crescent-shaped scar beneath his jaw from being thrown from a horse in his youth.
Style: Earth-toned sweaters and linen shirts with sleeves rolled to his forearms, fitted trousers, worn leather boots, simple gold jewelry, and the occasional flower tucked into his pocket. Usually smells faintly of cedar, rain, and wildflowers.
PERSONALITY
Luca possesses the rare ability to make almost anyone feel at ease.
He smiles easily.
Speaks softly.
Listens more than he talks.
There is a warmth about him that feels like stepping into sunlight after a long winter.
Unlike many nobles, Luca has never cared for power or prestige. He believes beauty is found in simple things—freshly turned soil, music drifting through an open window, and sharing a meal with the people he loves.
He is endlessly patient.
Compassionate to a fault.
The kind of person who remembers everyone's favorite flower and never forgets a birthday.
Despite his gentle nature, there is a quiet strength beneath it all.
The gardens of the Spring Court do not flourish under weak hands.
Neither do the people who depend on him.
Luca can be stubborn when he believes something is right, and when someone he loves is threatened, the softness disappears.
The smile fades.
His voice lowers.
And suddenly everyone remembers that spring is not merely a season of flowers.
It is also the season of storms.
POSITIVE TRAITS
Loyal
Compassionate
Patient
Charismatic
Protective
Gentle
Emotionally intelligent
Diplomatic
Reliable
Creative
Selfless
Courageous
NEGATIVE TRAITS
Stubborn
Overprotective
Self-sacrificing to a fault
Avoids asking for help
Holds onto guilt
Can be passive-aggressive when upset
Takes responsibility for problems that aren't his
Tends to suppress his own feelings
Dislikes conflict so much that he sometimes avoids difficult conversations
Ruthless toward anyone who harms his loved ones
LIKES
Early mornings in the gardens
Rainstorms
Fresh bread
Honeyed tea
Acoustic music
Horses
Wildflowers
Reading beneath old trees
Spring festivals
Stargazing
Fresh herbs
Long walks through the forest
Family dinners
Open windows and warm breezes
DISLIKES
Needless cruelty
Seeing nature destroyed
Dishonesty
Political manipulation
Being underestimated
Needless violence
Winter lasting too long
Wastefulness
Broken promises
Arrogance
People who harm animals
Seeing others suffer in silence
HOBBIES
Playing guitar
Playing piano and violin
Writing songs and composing music
Pressing flowers in books
Sketching plants and landscapes
Horseback riding
Baking bread and pastries
Making flower crowns for children during festivals
Keeping botanical journals
Exploring hidden meadows and forest paths
ABILITIES
As a Spring Court High Fae:
Manipulation of plants and vines
Accelerated growth of flowers, herbs, and trees
Restoration of damaged land
Enhanced senses
Heightened speed and strength
Affinity with animals, particularly woodland creatures
Healing through natural magic and herbs
Longevity
Glamour magic
Ability to sense imbalances within the lands of the Spring Court
HISTORY
Luca was born into House Everheart, an old and respected noble family of the Spring Court whose lineage has long been tied to the care of the court's sacred gardens.
Unlike many noble children, he showed little interest in politics or titles.
Instead, he could usually be found with dirt on his hands, following gardeners through the greenhouses or wandering the forests in search of rare flowers.
His magic bloomed early.
Flowers opened when he laughed.
Vines curled around his fingers when he was upset.
By the time he was fifty, the royal gardeners had already begun calling him the child blessed by spring itself.
As he grew older, Luca studied botany, healing, and music alongside his traditional education.
Though expected to pursue a more prestigious role within the court, he instead accepted the mantle of Keeper of the Royal Gardens, believing there was no greater honor than preserving the heart of the Spring Court itself.
Over the centuries, he transformed the royal gardens into something legendary, cultivating rare magical flowers and restoring ancient groves long thought lost to time.
His music became equally beloved.
Songs he composed for festivals and celebrations spread throughout Prythian, earning him the affectionate title of the Songbird of the Court.
Though his life appears peaceful, Luca carries the quiet understanding that even spring must endure harsh winters.
And if the people he loves are threatened, he would protect them with every flower, every thorn, and every storm his magic can summon.
RELATIONSHIPS
Parents
Luca adores his parents and inherited his love of nature and music from them. He remains deeply devoted to his family despite spending much of his time in the royal gardens.
Younger Sister – Rosalie Everheart
His closest confidante and favorite person to tease. She is one of the few people who can read his moods immediately.
The Children of the Court
Children gravitate toward Luca naturally. He teaches them songs, helps them plant flowers, and somehow always has sweets hidden in his pockets.
The Royal Family
Luca is deeply respected by the royal family and has served several generations through his stewardship of the gardens.
MISCELLANEOUS
Speaks English, French, and Old Fae.
Keeps pressed flowers from every important moment of his life.
Has perfect pitch.
Knows the language of flowers and often uses bouquets to communicate feelings.
Always carries a small notebook filled with melodies and botanical sketches.
Has a habit of humming while working.
Can identify hundreds of plants by scent alone.
Gives incredibly comforting hugs.
Has never once won an argument against a child and doesn't mind.
Stray animals somehow always find him.
Keeps a guitar in nearly every greenhouse.
Rarely loses his temper, but when he does, the entire garden seems to react with him—flowers close, vines twist, and the air grows heavy with magic.
Believes every flower tells a story and every season deserves a song. 🌿🌼🎶
Faceclaim: Sophie Turner
Full Name: Evangeline Aurora de Martel
Nicknames: Eva, Angel (Aurora only)
Age: 27
Birthday: April 14th
Species: Human
Timeline: Future
Occupation: Art Conservator & Owner of Maison de Martel, an art restoration studio and gallery in New Orleans.
Basics
Gender: Female
Pronouns: She/Her
Sexuality: Bisexual
Nationality: French
Languages: English, French, Italian, and Latin.
Residence: A beautifully restored French Quarter townhouse overflowing with books, antique paintings, and fresh flowers.
Family
Mother: Aurora de Martel
Father: Open for plotting.
Extended Family:
Tristan de Martel (maternal uncle, deceased)
Grew up hearing stories about the Mikaelsons and the complicated history between their families.
Appearance
Height: 5'9"
Hair: Auburn-red.
Eyes: Blue-grey.
Build: Slender and graceful.
Distinguishing Features: A small scar on her left knee from falling out of a tree as a child and an antique gold locket gifted by Aurora.
Personality
Positive Traits
Compassionate
Intelligent
Diplomatic
Curious
Loyal
Patient
Observant
Negative Traits
Stubborn
Overthinks everything
Guarded
Perfectionistic
Holds grudges
Struggles asking for help
Evangeline inherited her mother's fierce loyalty and capacity for love but lacks Aurora's impulsiveness. She's thoughtful, measured, and often acts as the calm in the middle of chaos.
Likes
Museums and art galleries
Classical music
Fresh flowers
Antique bookstores
Rainy afternoons
French pastries
Historical architecture
Candlelight
Traveling
Dislikes
Violence
Being treated as fragile
Dishonesty
Loud arguments
Feeling powerless
People underestimating her because she's human
Hobbies
Painting
Restoring artwork
Gardening
Playing piano
Reading historical journals
Collecting antique jewelry
Skills
Art restoration and preservation
Multilingual
Exceptional memory
Knowledge of European history and mythology
Skilled equestrian
Surprisingly good with a rapier thanks to Aurora insisting she learn self-defense
Fears
Losing her mother to immortality one day.
Being left behind as everyone around her remains unchanged.
Becoming insignificant in a supernatural world.
Discovering she isn't as ordinary as she thinks.
History
Evangeline was born after Aurora finally found peace with herself and chose to build a life instead of merely surviving one.
For centuries, Aurora believed motherhood would never be possible for her. When Evangeline was born, she became the center of Aurora's universe.
Evangeline grew up in France, surrounded by art, history, and stories of ancient vampires, witches, and impossible loves. She always knew the supernatural existed, but unlike her mother, she remained entirely human.
Being raised by an immortal mother shaped her in strange ways. She learned to value fleeting moments, to treasure change, and to appreciate the beauty of things that don't last forever.
Eventually, she moved to New Orleans to open her own gallery and forge an identity separate from the de Martel name.
Yet despite living among legends, Evangeline remains wonderfully, frustratingly human.
Character Hooks
Ancient vampires are often startled that Aurora's daughter is human.
Protective instincts from supernatural friends can annoy her because she hates being coddled.
She knows more supernatural history than most beings who actually lived it.
She could become the emotional heart of a friend group filled with immortals.
Quietly wonders what will happen when she grows old and her mother does not.
the moment violet launched from the hillside, sebastian's attention locked onto her. the reaction was immediate. a low, approving rumble rolled from deep within his chest as the black dragon crossed the distance between them, shadows trailing from her wings. where most creatures would've felt threatened by another predator of that size descending from above, sebastian looked delighted. his wings shifted outward slightly, not in challenge but recognition. dragon. his kind.
when she landed, earth trembling beneath her weight, his head lifted higher and a plume of smoke escaped his nostrils. the dragon equivalent of a grin. "you say "normal dragon" as though you've ever been one." his voice brushed against her thoughts, warm with amusement. "and for the record, i used the gates once." a pause. "it was boring." another rumbling laugh shook his chest. golden eyes followed her glance toward the devastation he'd left behind. the trenches. the flattened grass. the dirt still drifting lazily through the air.
his tail swept through the field behind him. completely unapologetic. "the field survived." a beat. "probably." the amusement in his voice only deepened. then he stepped closer—not aggressively, just enough that the difference between them became obvious. violet was broader, built like a siege weapon given life. sebastian remained longer, leaner, all sharp angles and predatory grace. speed against force. storm against avalanche. his head lowered slightly toward hers. "besides," he continued, "if i arrive quietly, how is anyone supposed to know i'm here?"
the logic was flawless. at least in his opinion. the sincere part came easier than either of them would admit. his gaze lingered on her for a moment, the teasing fading around the edges. "good to see you too, vi." the words carried genuine affection beneath centuries of familiar antagonism. it lasted all of three seconds. then his eyes flicked dramatically toward the ruined field around them. "also, if anyone asks, this was your landing." another pause. "you're much bigger. they'll believe it."
The deep rumble that rolled through Sebastian's chest earned an answering one from Violet, lower and rougher, the sound vibrating through her own massive frame as she settled her weight more comfortably onto the torn earth. His delight was infectious in the way only another dragon's could be, an instinct older than language itself. It had been far too long since the skies had held enough of their kind for landings like this to feel ordinary, and for one fleeting moment she let herself enjoy the simple fact that she wasn't the only set of wings cutting across the Night Court horizon.
His excuse about the gates was so spectacularly ridiculous that she actually barked a laugh into his mind, the telepathic sound carrying with it the image of Sebastian dutifully walking through a perfectly respectable entrance and immediately looking offended by how uneventful it was. "You lasted exactly once," she shot back, molten amusement warming every word. "That's honestly better than I would've guessed. I figured you'd have gotten halfway through before deciding doors were beneath you."
She watched his tail carve another lazy path through the already-abused field and slowly turned her head to survey the destruction with exaggerated consideration. The trenches stretched across the grass like fresh scars, clumps of dirt still tumbling back into place. Violet let the silence linger just long enough to become suspicious before looking back at him with unmistakable judgment. "'Probably' is doing a lot of heavy lifting there, Red. Somewhere there's a groundskeeper composing the angriest report of his career." Her own tail thumped once against the earth, sending another shower of dirt into the air. "You dragons are the reason we can't have nice things."
As he stepped closer, Violet held her ground without a second thought. Their shadows merged beneath the starlight, obsidian against crimson, two entirely different answers to the same ancient question. She had always been built to break through walls. Sebastian had always been built to outrun whatever survived them. It had made flying together both exhilarating and mildly catastrophic on more than one occasion.
His reasoning—that no one would know he was there if he arrived quietly—earned another amused snort. "Sebastian, if you disappeared for a week, we'd know exactly where you were the second we heard something explode dramatically in the distance." Her golden eyes gleamed as she regarded him. "Your entrances aren't for everyone else. They're for you. You've convinced yourself subtlety is a personality flaw."
The sincerity in his voice, brief as it was, settled somewhere beneath the banter before she could stop it. Violet's expression softened almost imperceptibly, the warmth in her gaze lingering for a heartbeat longer than she would've allowed with anyone else. "Yeah," she replied, quieter this time. "It's good to have another dragon in the sky." It wasn't poetic. It didn't need to be. Dragons understood what it meant without ornament.
Naturally, he ruined the moment.
Violet stared at him for a full second before an incredulous rumble shook through her chest. Then she stepped forward and bumped the side of her massive head firmly against his neck—not hard enough to challenge him, just hard enough to make her point. "Oh, absolutely not." Laughter threaded through the words as she pulled back. "First of all, I'm not taking responsibility for your artistic interpretation of a landing. Second..." She slowly looked him up and down with exaggerated scrutiny. "...have you seen you? You're built like a javelin with wings. Nobody's confusing your mess with mine." Her grin widened into something unmistakably feral. "Nice try, though. I'll happily testify that you did this entirely on your own. In vivid, embarrassing detail."
tairen’s footsteps were quiet enough that the city reached kaidan first. he emerged from the shadows at the edge of the terrace without ceremony, dark wings tucked close behind him, hands folded loosely behind his back. the night seemed to shift around him rather than part for him—familiar with his presence after centuries of sharing the same sky. his gaze flicked briefly to the reports abandoned on the railing. then to the coffee. then to kaidan.
“the city sent me for the coffee,” he said dryly. “it’s concerned about your continued abuse of caffeine as a personality trait.” the faintest hint of amusement touched his expression before fading again. he stepped beside the railing, looking out over noctaris. lanternlight drifted below like constellations set loose from the sky. for a moment, he said nothing. just watched. the same way he always did.
“for what it’s worth,” tairen added after a while, voice low against the wind, “you look almost convincing.” his amber gaze slid sideways toward kaidan. “like a male successfully taking a break.” a pause. “if i didn’t know better, i’d think the reports were actually finished.” the corner of his mouth curved slightly. then his attention returned to the city below, to the bridges and rooftops and shadows moving through them all. “nothing is on fire,” he observed.
another pause. “no diplomatic incidents. no monsters crawling out of ancient ruins. no one attempting to summon something they absolutely should not be summoning.” his gaze lifted toward the stars overhead. “it’s unsettling.” for a rare moment, there was no spymaster's report waiting beneath the words. no warning. no hidden concern. just tairen, standing beside his high lord beneath a quiet sky. “enjoy it while it lasts,” he said softly. “the city is being suspiciously well-behaved.”
Kaidan didn't look up immediately. He took another sip of coffee that had long since crossed the line between hot and merely functional, his attention fixed on the lantern-lit streets below. The reports beside him stirred lazily in the breeze, untouched for the better part of twenty minutes—not because they were finished, but because, for once, he had allowed himself not to reach for them. "The city's developing opinions now?" he asked dryly. "That's unfortunate. I preferred when it limited itself to judging my architecture." The corner of his mouth threatened a smile before settling again. Only then did he glance toward Tairen, taking in the familiar silhouette against the starlit sky. "It can file its complaint with Gwendolyn," he added. "She's been trying to convince me for the better part of five centuries that coffee isn't an acceptable substitute for sleep."
He leaned against the stone railing again, watching Noctaris breathe beneath them. Bridges glowed with drifting lanternlight, late-night conversations carried faintly on the mountain breeze, and somewhere below, laughter rose easily from a café tucked between two towers. "I'll admit," he said after a quiet moment, "it's been suspiciously peaceful." The words came easier than they would have a year ago. Perhaps because Tairen stood beside him. Perhaps because, for once, he didn't feel the need to fill every silence with vigilance. His eyes drifted toward the neglected reports, and he let out a quiet breath that bordered on a laugh. "They're not finished," he admitted. "They're simply being ignored with authority. I've decided that's an important distinction."
His gaze returned to the city. Children darted across one of the lower bridges, weaving around merchants packing away their stalls while musicians lingered beneath crystal archways, stretching the final notes of the evening into the cool air. Kaidan watched them disappear into the maze of streets before speaking again, his voice quieter now. "This is what all the fighting was for." He didn't elaborate immediately, allowing the thought to settle between them before continuing. "Not victories. Not crowns. This." His eyes remained on the city below. "A place where people argue over dinner instead of evacuation plans. Where merchants worry about inventory instead of invasions. Where children stay outside after sunset because they expect to wake up safely the next morning."
Silence settled comfortably before Kaidan shook his head with the faintest trace of amusement. "That said, I don't actually trust it either." His expression remained composed, but there was warmth beneath the words. "Every time the Court gets this quiet, one of us inevitably remarks on how unsettling it is, and within a day or two someone discovers an ancient relic, accidentally insults another Court, or adopts something with entirely too many teeth." He lifted his cup in a small salute toward the city below. "Still... I'm going to enjoy it while it lasts. I spent enough years wondering whether I'd ever stand on this terrace again. I'm done wasting the quiet just because I'm waiting for it to end."
He finally looked back toward Tairen, a knowing glint settling into his eyes. "But if the city really did send you," he said, the dry humor returning, "I'm guessing it also mentioned that its Spymaster has developed the equally unhealthy habit of appearing whenever I successfully avoid paperwork for more than ten minutes." His gaze flicked briefly toward the stack of reports before returning to his oldest friend. "So tell me honestly—did you come to rescue me from bureaucracy, or were you simply curious what a peaceful Night Court looked like before it inevitably remembered who we are?"
"Hell yeah. Your basic friendship package comes with sarcastic comments, kick ass bonfires, endless optimism, and a shoulder to cry on." Zachary grinned. "I'll even toss in bad karaoke and questionable decisions for free. Special gift, my treat." He mused before letting the humor trail off. He glanced in the direction of the young wolves, now gone from view.
"Sometimes, I wonder how much easier it would be for folks if our wolf nature didn't require an already traumatic experience to awaken in the first place. Like, what if it was just part of growing up a wolf? Like, 'oh you're fifteen? Boom, he's chest hairs and a werewolf.' or something." Zach pondered quietly. The confidence about public embarrassment being the weapon to utilize brought that grin back to Zach's face. "Oh, absolutely." He agreed wholeheartedly.
He glanced over the male now and furrowed his brow. "You're not one of us, right? So, what's your story? You an Atlantic? Nah, can't be - you're not immediately looking at me like I personally insulted your ancestors or something..." He hummed.
Griffin laughed, the sound easy and unrestrained, shaking his head as he tucked the now half-empty bag of dried mango under one arm. "That's a hell of a sales pitch," he said. "You had me at bonfires, but throwing in bad karaoke and questionable decisions for free? That's premium friendship material right there." He pointed at Zach with mock accusation. "See, that's how they get you. Next thing I know you're convincing me jumping off a dock at two in the morning is somehow a great idea because 'it'll make a good story.'"
The grin lingered for another second before Zach's question about the curse drew it into something quieter. Griffin exhaled through his nose, his eyes following the path the younger wolves had disappeared down. "I've thought about that too," he admitted. "Feels backwards, doesn't it? Every other part of growing up is supposed to prepare you for the next step, and ours starts with the worst day of your life." He rolled the thought around for a moment before shrugging. "Maybe that's why we end up looking after each other the way we do. We all remember exactly what it felt like, and none of us wants the next kid carrying it by themselves." His smile returned, smaller this time but no less genuine. "Doesn't fix what happened. But maybe it makes what comes after a little less lonely."
When Zach started sizing him up, Griffin couldn't help but laugh again. "Wow. I feel like I've just been profiled." He rested a hand dramatically against his chest, feigning offense before the act broke beneath another grin. "No, you're right. Not Atlantic." He took another sip of his coffee before answering. "Independent, mostly. Grew up around New Orleans, stayed around New Orleans. I own a club downtown called Velvet Hour. Neutral ground, or at least that's the goal. Wolves, witches, vampires, fae—they all get the same rules the second they walk through my doors." His shoulders lifted in an easy shrug. "Turns out it's easier to keep the peace when everyone's got a drink in one hand and knows they'll answer to me if they start throwing punches."
He glanced sideways at Zach, amusement dancing in his eyes. "And for the record, I don't have anything against the Atlantic Pack." A beat passed before his grin turned crooked. "I just enjoy living long enough to avoid telling them that to their faces."
the moment he spotted her standing in the field, sebastian's attention fixed entirely on his sister. the vast crimson dragon lifted his head higher, smoke curling lazily from his nostrils as golden eyes tracked her approach. a low rumble rolled through his chest—not a warning, not a challenge. recognition. affection. the sound vibrated through the ground beneath them as she crossed the flattened grass without the slightest hesitation. when she accused him of causing a natural disaster instead of simply saying hello, his head tilted with exaggerated innocence. smoke puffed from his nose. "reina," his voice echoed warmly through her thoughts, "i am saying hello." another rumble followed. "you just happen to require a more memorable greeting than most people."
the accusation of showing off earned absolutely no denial. if anything, his wings shifted slightly against his back, spreading just enough to make him appear even larger beneath the moonlight. unapologetic. smug. entirely sebastian. yet when she observed that he looked stronger, something quieter settled over him. the amusement remained, but it softened around the edges. his gaze lingered on her for a long moment, ancient and knowing. "yeah," he admitted simply. no joke attached. no deflection. just the truth. after everything the world had become, after everything they had survived, there was something grounding about seeing her standing there beneath the stars. "it's good to see you too, reina."
then, inevitably, she ruined the moment by asking how much of the entrance had been for her benefit. the dragon visibly paused. considered. looked toward the trenches carved through the earth as though consulting evidence. looked back at her. "eighty percent necessary," he declared with complete confidence. a beat. "twenty percent because you'd be watching." another pause. "thirty, maybe." his tail swept through the grass behind him, betraying the answer before he spoke again. "fine. forty." the satisfaction radiating from him made it obvious the number was much higher. lowering his enormous head slightly closer to her level, he let another draconic laugh ripple through the field. "but you noticed immediately, didn't you?" his golden eyes gleamed. "worth every inch of collateral damage."
Reina listened to the familiar resonance of his voice in her mind, the corners of her mouth lifting before she could stop them. It had been centuries since dragons had needed spoken words with one another, and somehow Sebastián had always managed to make telepathy sound like he was grinning. "Oh, of course," she replied, her own thoughts brushing back against his with dry amusement. "Forgive me. Clearly I underestimated the subtlety of flattening half the field." Her gaze swept over the deep trenches carved into the earth before settling on him again. "I'll make a note that this is your version of a polite greeting."
When he admitted he was stronger, the teasing slipped quietly from her expression. She held his golden gaze for a long moment, seeing more than the brilliant crimson scales or the confidence that had always come so easily to him. There was a steadiness there now, something that hadn't existed before. Not because he'd become harder, but because he'd finally stopped carrying the weight of proving himself. "I'm glad," she said simply. There was nothing else to add. She knew how difficult those words could be for dragons.
Then he started negotiating percentages.
Reina's brow climbed steadily higher with every revision. "Eighty. Then twenty. Then thirty. Then forty." By the time he reached the last number, she was openly smiling. "Sebastián," she thought with the patient disbelief of an older sister who had caught him red-handed more times than either of them could count, "you realize you're terrible at lying."
She folded her arms, looking from the furrows he'd gouged into the earth back to the dragon who looked impossibly pleased with himself. "That wasn't forty percent. It wasn't even sixty. You saw an empty field, realized your sister might be nearby, and thought, I could land normally... or I could make this unforgettable." Her smile broadened despite herself as she tilted her head. "And because you've always been incapable of resisting the second option, I'd say we're sitting somewhere around ninety-two percent. The remaining eight percent was actual necessity."
Closing the last few steps between them, Reina rested one hand against the warm scales along the bridge of his lowered muzzle. The gesture was instinctive, familiar, one she'd made since he had been small enough to tuck beneath her arm instead of towering over her beneath the stars. "I noticed immediately," she admitted quietly, her thumb brushing lightly across one scarred scale. "I always would."
She looked up to meet his eyes again, affection softening the corners of her own. "But next time, try not to terrify every poor Night Court patrol within five miles. Or at least warn them first." The request was entirely undermined by the fond smile tugging at her lips. After a moment, she glanced around the moonlit field he'd unintentionally—or, more likely, very intentionally—redecorated, a quiet laugh escaping her. "Though... I have to admit... it was a rather impressive entrance."
