No one in the world could be surly and sour around Nova, that was for sure. The woman had such a comforting peace about her, it likely was the better idea for Calia just go and leave it to Nova to be sure Arc stayed in bed and ate something proper. It wouldn’t take more than a smile for this slip of a elf to wrap him around her finger, he’d be sure to do anything she asked of him without the same sort of complaints he kept giving Calia.
Even so, she did hesitate a little. Weaving back and forth on her feet, feeling this weird sense of guilt about leaving him at all when he’d done so much for her. But if he wasn’t wanting her there, then that was making things worse, wasn’t it.
Finally she just gave Nova an awkward smile and a wave before turning on a heel and heading out.
She’d taken her hair down on the way down the stairs, so the mass of ebony black would be hiding those blotches of stained red on her undershirt. Calia ignored the sudden curious stairs and murmurs when she rounded the corner, giving nothing but a big simple wave to Brux and a nod to Renata as she scurried herself out the tavern just as quick as she could just so she wouldn’t have to hear a single one of those wild rumors Nova was hoping were popping up.
Remembering where the woman’s humble abode resided it didn’t take a long walk to get there. Greeting the feline housemate with a soft croon and several strokes before she made herself well at home. Respectfully snooping, in that she didn’t hesitate to look at everything that was out and about on the surfaces and walls, while not going so far as to pry into dressers and cupboards where she didn’t belong.
She’d found the bath and did the heavy work of getting it all set up, taking advantage of Nova’s beautifully eclectic array of neat little bath soaps and salts. Calia tended to not talk much to humans, but for Loiren she murmured all sorts of things. Of which of the scents the liked the best. How she was glad Nova found some subtle colors for her exchange of clothes, but grumbling how she wasn’t sure where or why she’d be needing a dress.
Calia plopped in the bath as soon as she could shed her clothing, sinking down underneath and water and holding herself there with this faint wonder if it would be easier to drown. Even holding her breath to the very limits before the slow rise back to the surface and breathing again. Yep, still felt this burning need to live, even though living was the hardest thing in the world to do.
Even thinking was painful now too, so instead while Calia sat there soaking her tired bones she sang a silly little song to the cat. Something light and airy and pure nonsense, really. But it did well to keep her from brooding and that was all that mattered in the moment.
It didn’t take long before Nova whisked herself back into the room—more maid than sentinel now, her arms full of little necessities and her focus on brightening the space rather than bearing down on its brooding occupant. The place reeked of blood and stale air, and that simply wouldn’t do. Thankfully, the day was warm and the sea breeze sharp with salt and renewal.
She cracked the window just enough to let in the ocean’s balm when she felt the stare before she saw it. Not hostile, but present. Awake.
A smooth hand threaded quickly through her blue-silver hair, the messy plaits swept into a loose braid over one shoulder as she turned to confirm her suspicions. Sure enough—he was watching. Not aggressively, not even pointedly, but in that passive, patient way of someone who had far too much time to sit with their thoughts. And none of them pleasant.
He looked hollowed-out. Not just from injury, though that was plenty evident, but something deeper. The sort of vacant, weighed-down indifference that came from long, lonely years of biting your tongue and pretending it didn’t hurt. Like someone who knew how to charm a crowd but had long since run out of reason to perform.
He didn’t leer—thank the stars. But there was something about the way his violet eyes lingered on her that still hinted at a flicker of intrigue. A quiet, uncertain attention.
She wasn’t one to shy from such a gaze, though. Especially not when she could see past the surface. Her own gaze had flickered over him in kind—not shy either, but compassionate. Observing the scrawl of bruises down his neck, the rough edges of healing wounds and the bandaging Calia had secured in place. Nothing about this man was ordinary. Brux’s voice echoed in her head, half a warning, half a knowing grumble.
Still, she offered that sugar-sweet smile of hers, the one that disarmed strangers without even trying. It worked just as well on him as it did anyone else—she saw the subtle flicker in his expression. A twitch of the eyes, the slight shift from guarded to curious.
“It can’t be comfortable, sleepin’ in dirty, half-wrecked clothing,” she said gently, keeping her tone light. “Not that yer wearin’ all of it.”
He didn’t even look down. Just hummed, low and indifferent.
Unbothered, Nova padded over to the bundle Calia had prepared and rummaged with cheerful little noises, pulling out a simple gray peasant’s shirt with a satisfied hum. She skipped over to the foot of the bed and came around to face him, holding it up for inspection.
“How’s this?”
His eyes flicked from the shirt to her, then back again. A brow arched—not suggestively, just… calculating. And after a long pause, he gave the most neutral answer possible.
“It’ll be fine. Thank yah for yer aid.”
Nova blinked. Well. That was less fun than she’d hoped.
Calia had spoken of this one as though he were some legendary heartthrob, charming the boots—and the belts—off anyone with a pulse. Nova had been genuinely curious to see if the stories were true. But this? This was a man running on empty. And not even trying.
So, with a little huff of playful disappointment, she plopped herself down at the edge of the bed and tilted her head at him, still holding the shirt.
“That’s it?” she teased gently. “Calia made yah out to be some grand Casanova of the high tides—leavin’ swoonin’ hearts in yer wake. Not even a wink for me?”
He just shrugged.
Really.
She squinted at him like he was a puzzle missing half the pieces, something flickering behind his eyes that she couldn’t quite read. Not avoidance exactly. More like—nullification. Whatever charm he once had, it was turned off at the source. And for all the rumors, it left her feeling almost sorry for him.
“Well, I bet yer hungry,” she offered, draping the shirt neatly over his legs where the blanket had fallen. “Any preference on seafood? Yay or nay?”
That at least drew his eyes back to her. Something thoughtful stirred behind them, but his voice remained soft and distant. “Don’t yah worry ’bout such thin’s. I ain’t needin’ anythin’ more than what’s been given already.”
Nova clicked her tongue softly. “Oh, but I do. Yah don’t know me yet, but I’m not the sort to let folk waste away like forgotten garden greens. I’ll see what I can scrounge up.”
She stood with a rustle of skirts and a bounce of purpose. “Maybe, if yah’re lucky, Alden’s whipped up one of them flaky rolls—stuffed full of lobster so juicy it’ll make yah cry.” And with that, she beamed. A big, bright grin like sunrise. “Yah just wait here, darlin’. I’ll be back post haste!” He didn’t even get a chance to decline. She was out the door in a whirl of citrus-scented cheer, her laughter trailing in her wake like sugar on wind.
Could bubble baths cure all moods? Not a chance. They did ease the mind and body down to a gentle simmer, however, and that was a best as it could get for someone like Calia. Where these days her head was always buzzing with one problem or another and never really sure how to deal with any of them. She’d decked her bath out with soothing lavender and musky jasmine. Salts to help draw out of the aches and a good soap to scrub off the demon blood that’d clung to her skin. She’d washed all the unpleasant oils out of her hair then sat in that tub singing away to a big fluffy feline until her water grew cold and it was no longer so pleasant.
Then she was up and out. Wrapping herself in a cozy towel after trying to squeeze and dry as much moisture out of her hair that she could. Working in that towel to clean up after herself, because she wasn’t about to leave this mess to Nova after the woman was going out of her way to give so much kindness to strangers. In fact, Calia went the extra mile to give the woman’s home a little dusting, a little sweeping. To leave it all better than she arrived.
What else was she going to do anyway? Return to a disgruntled demon that didn’t want her hovering? Better off keeping herself busy.
When she ran out of chores to do and her hair was finally dry enough to brush and braid into a single long ebony strand, Calia sorted through the items of clothing that Nova had so generously scammed those poor market dealers out of with a few paltry coins. Sighing when she lifted up the dress to inspect. Scowling at it even as if it was the source of all of her troubles.
“What was she thinking, Loiren?” she asked, fully expecting the cat to answer back. A mew and a haughty knowing blink was the reply. “Oh really? Well, what do you know, you’re a cat.”
Still, didn’t hurt to try it one since Nova went through all the trouble. Pulling the scrap of summery linen over her head, stuffing her arms through the sleeves and tugging her down until she fixed the skirt around her hips.
Calia stepped over to a mirror out of habit and second she caught a glimpse of her own green eyes in the reflection, she jerked her gaze away and turned to face elsewhere in the room. Her heartbeat thundering away a thousand miles per minute as she left out a frustrated dismissive scoff. Stupid. Who needed mirrors anyway, she looked fine. Actually, it’s soft taupe color and sage accents were soft and perfectly unremarkable. In such a thing she’d be practically unrecognizable as the black-clad terror of town. If one didn’t notice how tall she was, anyway.
So Calia kept on the dress, tugging her boots on soon after and gathered up her things to head back to the tavern. Once she’d spent some time giving Loiren a proper amount of petting love, of course.
If people were still making peeps are her now, Calia wasn’t one to notice. All too drawn into her inner thoughts to really pay them any attention. She was ravenously starving, which surely had to be a good thing as it meant all that energy was being put to use towards Archimedes even without her having to force it in his direction. In fact, she was doing her absolute best to pull away as much as she could. Be the opposite of smothering, even though he seemed to be at the top of her thoughts no matter how she tried to deviate them elsewhere.
On arriving back at the tavern, she hesitated there near the steps. Wondering if it was better if she just made herself busy elsewhere, only to just as quickly shake her head. Calia didn’t want to leave the responsibility on all Nova to keep an eye on the man. At least not until one of them told her to bugger off because they wanted some feisty romantic time together, and in that case Calia might just go jump in the sea.
Thus a few tentative steps took her back inside, where she was trying to be very attention to NOT listening to murmurs and whispers. She didn’t want to hear it, she didn’t want to know!
Graciously, Alden had thrown together the first meal—though not without a healthy dose of pointed looks. The kind that all but shouted, If Brux catches us, I’m blaming you. Dinner before hours was strictly against the rules. But arguing with Nova was a losing game, especially when she started doing things herself. Badly. Purposefully wrong. Clumsily wrong. Just enough to irritate Alden into stomping over, moving his lips as though he were muttering under his breath while she beamed sweet as sugar.
Mute or not, he could glare like the best of them.
With a promise that she’d return the favor—”I’ll patch those boots you keep pretending aren’t falling apart”—she zipped upstairs. Hardly stealthy. Brux was very much present, absorbed in a stern conversation with a group of freshly docked sailors who looked like they hadn’t seen land or manners in months. Nova didn’t sneak. She simply walked, merry as ever, like she belonged exactly where she was—even if she absolutely didn’t.
Victory felt good… until she got to the room.
She set the plate down with a flourish—fresh flaky roll, packed with buttery lobster, drizzled with lemon and herbed cream—and he just… looked at it.
Not a flicker of delight. No salivating. No wide eyes or praise for Alden’s skill. Just a dull nod, a quiet, “Thanks.” Then silence.
The kind that sat heavy. Like dust in corners no one dared to clean.
Nova blinked. She didn’t know him well, but this wasn’t the same man who had gone rounds with Brux earlier. That fire, that spark—gone. What remained was something far quieter, frayed at the edges. Haunted in a way she didn’t fully understand, but could feel. Like shadow clinging to him, invisible to everyone until you started to look.
She didn’t tell him to eat. She just sat on the edge of the bed, hands folded in her lap, and did what she always did when people started to drift too deep into their own heads. She talked. Pulling out a tale from somewhere in her youth.
“Yah know, when I was just a wee thing, we had this chicken named Blueberry. Dumbest creature to ever live. She’d follow me everywhere—right into rivers, trees, even a bakery once. Got us both thrown out ’cause she panicked and flew straight into the baker’s face. Poor man had butter in his eyebrows for weeks.” She gave a small laugh, eyes glancing toward him.
“Da said she was cursed. Said no hen should love a girl more than grain. But I figured she just knew I needed a friend back then, even if she was too daft to stop peckin’ my shoes. She died old, fat, and smug in her sleep. Still had flour in her feathers.” Nova tilted her head, gaze soft but steady. “Guess what I’m sayin’ is… sometimes it’s the dumbest little things that keep us going. Even when the world don’t make sense.”
She didn’t expect a reply. Didn’t need one. Sometimes, stories weren’t for the listener—they were a lifeline. Something bright and real to remind a person that they were still here, still breathing.
And that someone was willing to sit in the dark beside them.
Calia made it through the tavern without looking at a single person, nor listening to a single whisper. Taking those back steps up to the inn portion two at a time back to her own room, where she pushed open the door and then for some stupid reason pulled back to block her view. As if she’d seen something scandalizing! Maybe in that brief instance spotting Nova sitting there on the edge of the bed, she was afraid she had.
Now she had to pretend like she hadn’t done something completely insane, actually stepping in the room to set her things aside and put them away. Soon to stand up straight and give the room a quick cursory inspection.
Nova had cleaned up all the blood soaked rags and aired out the room. Tidied things. Even had brought up a meal that smelled like pure buttery heaven. Archimedes was in one piece, didn’t seem to be bleeding through his bandages.
Calia opened her mouth ready to say… something. Those words dying before they ever reached her lips, to be retracted back into this thoughtful, quiet expression.
…he looked about as thrilled to exist as a corpse. That same strange heavy feeling hadn’t left the room at all in her absence, which in her mind meant that she clearly hadn’t stayed gone long enough. Whatever magic Nova had for making things feel less horrible wasn’t yet working and here Calia was to throw a wrench into her weird mystical ways.
“…I’ll- …I’ll just be downstairs if you need me.”
Nova turned at the soft creak of the door swinging open, catching sight of the mayflower standing in the frame—glowing in a dress that looked like it had been made just for her. She blinked once, took it all in, and offered a smile that could melt snow.
“Well, would yah look at yah,” she said, warmth bubbling in every word. “All pretty and stunnin’. Yah make that dress look like it’s spun from moonlight, love.”
She brushed her hands across her lap, standing with a quiet grace before glancing toward the bruised and bandaged man on the bed. Stooping down, she gave his knee a gentle pat. “Get some more rest, hmm?” she murmured, voice dipped in honey. She wanted to tell him that food might make him feel more like himself, something warm to anchor him—but some folk needed to find their own way back. She could bring the plate, sure, but she wouldn’t force it past his lips. If he was hungry, he’d eat. If not… well. Time had its own medicine.
Turning away, she caught Calia’s flustered state, stepping back out of the room like she hadn’t seen a half-dressed man before. Nova just smiled sweetly, as if none of this was even remotely out of the ordinary.
Of course she didn’t waste a beat. “Sounds like a grand idea,” she chimed, stepping close to knit her arm through Calia’s like they were off to a spring garden party instead of a tavern full of gruff sailors and yesterday’s smoke. She gave the fellow on the bed a small wave as she pulled the door gently closed behind them.
“Ooh, lavender and jasmine,” she said with delight, catching the scent now that they were in the hallway. “Nice choice. Yah really are a stunnin’ image—be it in leathers or cloth. I’m jealous, how’d yah get so darn pretty, love?” There was no teasing behind the words. She meant them, every syrup-sweet syllable. Her grin reached her eyes as she looked up to the taller woman, practically radiating joy.
“Hope yah got a bit of rest while yah were up here too. Yah look miles better already,” she continued, giving a conspiratorial nudge with her elbow. “And now I’m thinkin’ all the menfolk downstairs are gonna be linin’ up just to ask yah for a dance. Or maybe a cheeky wink if they’re brave.”
She gave a little laugh, twirling a finger in the air like she could already see it happening.
“But more importantly,” she added, with a dramatic hand over her belly, “I’m starvin’. Smellin’ all that food had me hollow as a gourd. We can tuck away somewhere quiet, like I said earlier—if that still sounds good to yah?”
And just like that, Nova’s light banter danced ahead of them, smoothing the path. She was all warmth, genuine affection wrapped in a ribbon of chatter, doing what she always did best—turning moments into comfort, and comfort into connection.
“Well you see, my mother and my father got together several several times, made a few alright looking kids until they finally got it right with me,” the quip was quick, breezy. A deliberate mimic and mirror of this bouncy flouncy aura of Nova’s. Not wanting to drag the woman down to Calia’s level, but instead to somehow shake herself away from falling back into her own bad habits. Trying her damndest not to take whatever Arc was struggling with as a personal attack towards herself, because that was always what she did. The world didn’t revolve around her and her stupid moodiness.
“Can’t say I got much in the way of rest just yet, but I can do that later,” she answered more honestly. Fine with keeping the pace and joining the girl down the stairs without having to trail after her like a lost puppy. “I am surely hungry enough to eat an entire banquet’s worth of meals.”
Dinner was about the extent of what Calia had the energy for. Surely not for being charming and sweet to any menfolk or hopping and dancing around. Of course even while she was thinking it, Nova tended to have this way of sneaking up under her defenses and talking her into all sorts of things, so really Calia just gave in to the companionship and would let it go where it led.
“Did he at least chat with you?” she was curious enough to ask. Only to check. Calia was surely going to leave it be, she just needed to know.
That earned a bright, bubbling laugh from Nova—honest and surprised, catching her so off guard she nearly spluttered mid-step. She turned toward the taller woman with eyes wide and cheeks lifted in a sunbeam of a grin.
“I dare say yer siblings might highly disagree,” she said, voice warm with amusement, “but that reply was worth a hundred hairy eyeballs.”
It was a zinger. One she’d tuck away for later, no doubt. Worth every ripple of laughter still slipping out as they made their way from the room.
The sound of the tavern below greeted them before they even hit the stairs—a chorus of voices, clinking glass, a fiddle crying joy somewhere near the hearth. Another night of magic and mirth, loud with the thrill of it all. Nova wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised if Calia became the star of the whole show. She really was the kind that turned heads without meaning to.
But first—food.
Linked arm in arm, Nova led the way down the stairs with a carefree sway, not sparing even a glance to check if Brux was lurking in a corner like a rules-loving gargoyle. If he was, she’d deal with it. She always did. Instead, she beelined straight into the kitchen with the ease of someone who belonged, where Alden looked up from his counter, his expression softening ever so slightly the moment he spotted Calia.
Nova caught the look and grinned like a fox.
“Pretty, right?” she asked with a knowing lift of her brows. Alden, ever the quiet one, just gave a single nod before returning to kneading dough—hands dusted in flour, movements slow and practiced as he prepared another round of those perfectly golden, buttery rolls.
The air smelled like heaven itself. Yeast, butter, herbs, and roasted meats—enough to make even the most self-disciplined soul consider licking the walls.
Nova, for one, was trying not to drool.
Then came Calia’s question, simple and soft. Nova hummed, thoughtful, before shaking her head. “No. Outside of a quite little thank you, and tellin’ me not to worry or fuss over anythin’.” Her words were gentle, but something quiet flickered behind her eyes—an understanding of things left unsaid. But it wasn’t her place to start talking like she knew him. “I just tried to keep him company, but he didn’t seem much interested either.”
She slipped her arm free and stepped into motion again, grabbing a few plates off the shelf without asking. Alden looked up at her once more, but didn’t stop her this time. Orders were coming in now. It was close enough to the dinner hour that he had bigger things to worry about than Nova breaking a few rules—again.
“Yah wanna eat outside, Calia?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder with a smile. “It’s beautiful out. Warm air, clear sky… feels like the world’s settin’ itself up for a soft sort of magic.”
Calia might not be ready to lick the walls, but she surely did use that simple sight of hand to make a few tiny morsels disappear into her mouth when no one was looking. At least when Alden wasn’t looking. She wasn’t about to get herself chased out of the kitchen. If it was small enough to sneak a pinch and pop it in her mouth, it vanished just like that.
Hearing that Archimedes hadn’t even attempted to fill the girl’s head with all the compliments in the world didn’t settle right with Calia. Not that she actually wanted him to – the opposite really, he didn’t need to be chasing another girl that could break his heart just as badly as Liriel. Only that, if he wasn’t being a charming smartass, that meant he was still in a bad way. Wondering if the weight of everything had finally caught up to him in some delayed fashioned and now he was finally broken for good.
Tipped over the edge by something she’d said, as even if she was trying not to assume everything was her own fault, she couldn’t ignore that is when he flipped.
Letting out a breath and trying to push it out of her mind again, she merely smiled at the small snip of an elf.
“There’s no where better than eating outside under the sky. That’ll do me just fine, soaking up the last of the sun.”
“Perfect.”
If Nova noticed Calia’s subtle sleight of hand—those little things quietly disappearing into pockets or palms—she didn’t say a word. Drawing attention to it would be the fastest way to get them both chased out of the kitchen, likely with Alden wielding a broom like a sword. And as amusing as that image was, it wasn’t the best route to getting fed. So, instead, she played it smart.
Eyes on the prize.
With practiced ease, she scooped up two plates—one in each hand—and glided over to the tray of freshly baked buns still steaming in the pan. Each one was golden, flaking at the edges with that perfect shine of melted butter glistening across the tops. Nova selected the most beautiful pair like she was choosing jewels, then set the plates down on the nearest surface.
A knife was quickly found and, humming softly, she sliced open the buns with the kind of familiarity that came from years of feeding both herself and anyone else too slow to say no.
Calia’s comment about eating outside earned a pleased little hum of agreement, but Nova didn’t pause in her work. With two buns prepped, she took a short hop to the side, over to a pot still warm from the stove—lobster tail meat steeped in all the right spices, the scent thick with garlic, butter, and fire-roasted heat. She scooped out hearty helpings, piling them generously into the soft bread, then tossed a few crisp carrot sticks onto each plate for good measure.
Balanced, beautiful. And at least a little bit healthy.
With a pat to the counter and a quick tilt of her head, she gestured for Calia to grab her plate and follow along.
She led them to the back of the tavern, to a netted door cracked open just enough to let the kitchen’s heat bleed out and the salt-sweet evening air roll in. Nova pushed it wide with her shoulder and stepped through, motioning to the little table tucked just outside—weather-worn but cozy, clearly used often by tired feet and sun-hungry workers on break.
“Here’s our spot,” she declared, plopping herself down into the seat where the sunlight still poured warm across her back and the sounds of the festival spilled through the air—laughter, music, the happy clamor of life in full swing.
She breathed it in like fresh hope, then took a big, satisfying bite of her meal, eyes fluttering with a tickled hum of delight.
“Mm. Tell me this isn’t heaven, and I’ll call yah a liar.”
Nova did this sort of thing every day and it was perfectly apparent in how natural she was throwing a pair of plates together in the kitchen and bopping around with gentle enthusiasm. Picking up her plate and following her out the back like an obedient little youngling, where there was quite the nice setup with a table and worn chairs, a mild bit of cover from some shorter trees, but mostly just an open air picnic area for the staff to have a nice break from the heat and stuffiness inside the tavern.
The little moonbeam elf attacked her lobster roll like she was the one starving, making it very hard for Calia to keep any sort of straight face. Finally taking a bite of her own, all sweet lobster and savory butter, it truly was divine wasn’t it!
“…it’s alright,” she said instead. Holding that deadpan expression only long enough to get that scathing look from the other girl before giggling a soft laugh. “It’s good. I didn’t know big giant seabugs could be tasty, but I am discovering new surprises every day.”
Eating outside in the fresh air had been a good choice. Calia didn’t have to worry about people casting curious or enamored glances in their direction, nor having to try not to listen to the local gossiping. Usually she did love eavesdropping and hearing everyone’s wild stories. Now that she was the topic of them, though, it felt more overwhelming than entertaining. Nothing ever really came close to the truth, good or bad, and she still felt like a wolf crammed into a tiny cage.
“Have you tripped over your one true love yet?” she deemed to ask between bites. “Or does it take the whole festival before those floating wishes finally make their magic?”
The moment that deadpan “it’s alright” left Calia’s lips, Nova stared at her like she’d just grown a second head—and that second head was trying to explain complex arithmetic using spoons and bird metaphors. Her mouth fell open slightly, brows arched high in sheer disbelief. “Alright?” she echoed, scandalized in the softest, most dramatic way. “By Isyn’s grace, woman, don’t let Alden hear yah say that. He might just weep straight into the dough.”
Thank the stars Calia cracked first, that soft giggle tumbling out and breaking her cool front like a cracked eggshell. Nova, triumphant, tossed a piece of loose bread at her with a mock scowl and a little flick of her fingers. “I mean, if yah describe things like they’re leftovers from a sailor’s nightmare, I suppose I get it. Ain’t nothin’ soundin’ tasty when yah call it a sea bug,” she grinned. “But once it’s cooked in garlic butter and tucked into a bun? Darling, it’s less bug, more bliss.”
She made a little mmh of approval, savoring another bite like it was her last meal on this plane of existence, before glancing at the sunset slowly blooming above them in layers of cotton-candy pink and sun-warmed orange. The air was soft, the food was hot, and the company—well, it was shaping up to be something special.
Calia’s question caught her mid-bite, and Nova hummed thoughtfully, lips pursed as she chewed. When she swallowed, she wiped at the corner of her mouth with the side of her hand, then leaned just slightly back in her seat, tapping a finger to her chin.
“No,” she said at last, slowly and with a teasing lilt. “But I was awfully curious whether yer companion was gonna try and charm my britches clean off.” Her grin curled up lazy and mischievous. “Turns out he’s still circlin’ the bay. Might need a bit more wind in his sails before that one sticks the landin’.”
She giggled to herself, then tilted her face back toward the sky as the horizon began to spill gold across the rooftops.
“And to be fair,” she added airily, “Who says I even wished for some grand wee fairytale love? Maybe I wished for marshmallows to fall from the heavens. Still waitin’ on that one, mind yah. But when it happens, I expect yah to help me gather ’em in a very dramatic and unnecessary basket.”
Calia was completely unapologetic about any sort of teasing, as Nova was that sort of person who likely kept everyone else on their toes so it did her well to have a little mischief aimed back at her. At least they weren’t sea spiders as Calia would’ve had herself her own little heart attack and starved to death before eating the damn things.
Nova’s answer to her query unexpected came in the form of bringing up Archimedes, causing a slight twist to Calia’s mouth. At least Nova was fine enough with receiving such attention. …now if the man could shake himself out of his melancholy. Honestly, here he had a beautiful girl with golden eyes and silvery blue hair that could very well be the princess of the moon that actually wanted a little flirting and teasing, and he was to morose to even try.
Maybe he was dying.
“If marshmallows fall from the heavens you can bet I’ll be roasting them as they fall. Laughing maniacally as tiny fireballs rain chaos in every direction,” another deadpan delivery of something she’d never actually do. Then again, maybe she would just because what a sight that would be! Glorious confusing chaos!
After munching on a carrot for a moment, she finally scoffed under her breath.
“I hope you aren’t wasting wishes on fairytale loves, anyway! You had a much better description yesterday of something lovely and meaningful.”
Nova munched thoughtfully, eyes half-lidded with amusement as Calia painted a picture of raining marshmallows turning into tiny fireballs. One might think the image should cause mild alarm—miniature comets of sugar pelting the ground—but instead, Nova just grinned. “If yah do that,” she said between bites, “could yah at least make ’em golden brown? A burnt marshmallow is a downright tragedy. Waste of sugar and dreams, really.” She tapped her chin with the back of her knuckles, still chewing. “Though… now I’m wonderin’—do they burn other colors too? Like purple? That’d be somethin’. A whole rainbow of toasted fluff.”
Rather than spiraling into concern, she let the image tag along as just another one of her meandering thoughts, light as a breeze and twice as playful.
When Calia offered that soft, uncertain hope that she hadn’t wasted her wishful thoughts—her vulnerability tucked behind casual words—Nova’s gaze softened. She reached out and gave Calia’s shoulder a gentle squeeze, fingers warm and easy. The blush that crept across her cheeks wasn’t one of embarrassment, but quiet fondness.
“Oh, love,” she murmured, “I didn’t waste nothin’. Truly, I think I just liked yer wonderful idea, better.” Her smile curled as she leaned just slightly closer. “And with both our thoughts stitched together, I figure I can save my yearly wishin’ for when that mysterious fellow does finally show up. Till then…”
She giggled lightly, lashes fluttering shut for a heartbeat as if sealing the intention, “I’ll used mine for wishin’ hope and peace for others. Like yerself.” Her voice was gentler now, playful still, but threaded with genuine warmth. “That’s far more important to me anyhow.”
One eye open, smile spreading again. “And maybe one day, we’ll both get our rain of marshmallows… Just so long as none of ’em come down burnt.”
Damn, this girl was full of so much warmth and genuine affection that even Calia was at risk of falling for her! Really, the fact there wasn’t a line of people outside the tavern begging for marriage and offering up their lives for her was a shock. Lending her to finally breaking some of the tension in her shoulders simply to laugh at the pure absurdity of imagining throwing her entire future aside just to settle down here in this town just so she could be close to someone that made the world feel easier to live in.
Nova was just a big shining example of everything Calia wished she had.
“It’ll take more than the two of us combined to make enough hope for the likes of me, but I can absolutely make a rainbow of perfectly golden marshmallows come pattering down with enough time and a little bit of imagination.” Such a silly thing too, what a perfect way to use magic in a way that it would be a delight for everyone. …not the fireball part, she’d maybe avoid raining down tiny fireballs, but it’d be such a whimsical oddity. Honestly, such a thing didn’t even magic to do, either! All it really took was a small canon and good timing!
At least the pure nonsense of this conversation was enough to keep her from brooding about Arc. Until apparently it wasn’t, drawing an inner sigh at her own self while she took another big bite of that lobster roll and scrambled in her mind for literally anything else in the entirely world should get set her brain on instead. Why couldn’t find something else to hyper focus on and be distracted for hours over instead of the damnable demon!
“What does the second day of the festival bring? Now that all this magic is in the air?” she decided to ask, just to latch onto anything else.
“Tch, yah sell yerself far too short, love.” Nova gave her a look like she’d just insulted a sacred truth. “I think we’ve got plenty between the two of us.” She wasn’t about to hear otherwise. Calia could try to protest, but Nova would just sugarcoat it till it sounded like gospel—or bullshit it beautifully until it felt right. Either way, the argument would be lost before it even began.
Her mind wandered again, easily swept into the daydream of rainbow marshmallows tumbling from the sky. The image left her grinning, half-delighted and half-distracted, even as she made quick work of finishing off her roll. No fuss, no dainty bites—just enough savoring to do it justice before it went cold.
The molten bronze of her gaze landed softly on Calia as the other woman posed her question.
“Oh, just a lot of drinkin’,” she answered, light and casual. “Dancin’, festival games—there’s a temple service at high tide if yer the reverent sort. It’s not mandatory or nothin’, but some folks do like to pay their respects. Mostly, though, it’s about celebratin’. Letting loose a little.”
Her voice gentled as her thoughts turned inward, and then she leaned over, laying a hand atop Calia’s knee with the kind of touch that wasn’t just wholesome, but intentional. Something steady and warm meant to ground, not press.
“Why don’t yah go out and experience it?” she offered. “I’ll stay here tonight, keep an eye on things.” Her eyes sparkled, lips curling with encouragement. “This way Brux doesn’t have to hover like a mother hen, and yah get to wander bright-eyed and free as starlight. Play some games, schmooze, dance ’til yer legs ache, and drink just enough to go splashin’ in the tide—not enough to fall in headfirst, mind yah.”
She gave a gentle chuckle, squeezing her knee before pulling back with a warm wink.
“Yah said yah came down here for a vacation, didn’t yah? So go on, have a proper one. Then yah can come back and tell me everythin’. I wanna hear it through a tourist’s eyes.” Nova leaned back with a grin, arms behind her as she looked out toward the growing festival noise, “Seein’ as I ain’t ever been one of those.”
Calia wouldn’t doubt that Nova had enough hope to fuel the entire world. A shame that she herself struggled to feel it even on a good day! She didn’t argue, though, because even she knew that was an argument she’d lose in a heartbeat. Especially when this slip of a magnificent moonlight monster was leaning in close doing that thing she was oh so good at, in making it sound so easy to just go out there and have a good time.
Offering herself up as a demon babysitter even, so Calia could go off and pretend like she didn’t have someone important she was responsible for.
He didn’t really need her there sitting in a chair taking her own nap and just generally being useless while he got himself some sleep. Besides the fact he didn’t want her there fussing over him at all, anyway. Calia was no help nor a companion, simply an unwanted lifemate for some indeterminant amount of time. Made his declaration of loyalty feel just a little bit like those shallow platitudes instead of something genuine.
…or was that Calia conflating loyalty with friendship? Could you be loyal to someone and not actually like or want to be around them?
Why was she thinking about this again.
“Maybe that’s a good idea,” she finally agreed after a long thoughtful silence. Nova tended to make everything sound like a good idea, and what else was Calia going to do anyway. Now that she knew Archimedes was somewhere safe and sound, she could just wander around now without having to fret about it.
“I earnestly think it really is,” Nova said, her tone light but firm with sincerity. “Yah made it down all this way at the perfect time—Tír Élas in full swing, festival lights, magic in the air—and now yah ought to enjoy it just like anyone else.”
And she meant every word. What luck it was to stumble in during the most festive time of the year, only to sit it out? That just didn’t make sense in her book. If fate had brought Calia here now, then she was meant to be out there soaking it all in. That’s how Nova saw it.
Besides, she’d had such a grand time her first night. Yesterday was just as fun. That made tonight the official third time’s the charm—and she wasn’t about to let the opportunity pass Calia by.
Already her mind was skipping ahead, fingers tapping her chin in playful concentration. She was plotting.
Arc didn’t seem to have any trouble with his legs. It was the torso, the bruising, the battered pride, maybe a little damage to the soul. So no, the bustling festival wouldn’t do much for him right now. But maybe something—or someone—could still spark a little light back into those tired, haunted eyes.
And if Calia was out enjoying herself with nothing weighing her down, then it was only right that Nova tried to lift that same burden from the shadow upstairs.
“Alright,” she said, nodding as if the plan was already in motion. “Here’s what’s gonna happen. Once yah finish that last bite, go on and head out. Drinks are free on the boardwalks tonight—bless the season—so that’s one less thing to worry over.”
She leaned forward with a glint in her eye, the kind of spark that meant she was very serious about the fun she was insisting on. “Live a little. Laugh a lot. Party like the moon’s watchin’. Don’t think of nothin’ else but yerself for the rest of the night.”
And then, with a cheeky wiggle of her brows and a grin wide enough to warm a hearth, she added, “And hey—if yah do fancy bringin’ back a handsome gentleman to rally up yer evenin’… I won’t stop yah. Rather I’ll encourage yah.” Her voice dipped playfully, then rose back into its usual sunny tone. “I’ll take care of the fellow upstairs. And put on clean sheets, clean linens, and I’ll coax him up and about. Maybe even call in Loiren to give his spirit a good polish.”
She pointed at Calia with both fingers, dead serious now in the way only Nova could be while smiling ear to ear. “Yah, love, are to do nothin’ else but enjoy yer night.”
With that, she was already on her feet, hands bracing the table as she pushed up with fiery resolve. That grin of hers gleamed like sunlight on the sea, and her eyes sparkled with all the encouragement and fierce affection in the world.
“Go on,” she urged, “Get out there and show Tír Élas what a real tourist looks like.”
Damn this woman, why couldn’t Nova be the heir to Caeldalmor! Let her unbroken spirit and strangely inspirational speeches go rouse up hundreds of refugees and raise armies and build a new kingdom from the ashes! Calia was polishing off her dinner, practically watching literal wheels turning in the tiny woman’s head as she seemed to be plotting up some grand mess of a plan, soon to relay Calia’s new to-do list for the evening.
Drinks. Live. Laugh. Party. Which probably meant dancing. Encouraging picking up a bedfellow with promises that she’ll somehow also manage to inspired Archimedes up and out of the bed. With threat of purring cat. Almost finding it easy to imagine Nova charming him up and whisking him away to her humble little cabin for a night of sweet whispering and romantic nonsense.
“Alright, alright, you sparkling little sea witch,” grumbled Calia. Popping a last bit of the carrots in her mouth before sliding out of her seat and brushing a few crumbs off of her lap. “I’ll go haunt your High Tide Festival. I’m going to do it spitefully, though! I’ll drink a bunch, go scream at the sea, and refuse to have a single ounce of fun.”
It would at least keep her busy for a few hours until she was simply to tired to wander around anymore. Then Calia could just return to her room and go crash on the floor until morning. Or in bed if somehow Nova did miraculously manage to woo Arc out of his misery.
Being called a sea witch with sparkles certainly sounded like it could be a bad thing. To her, it only meant she succeeded in convincing Calia to go and enjoy the night while it lasted. Without worry or concern or a dark shadow over her shoulder. So it was a success. Meaning, she got exactly what she wanted for her friend.
Even if the woman was suggesting she was going to go out of mere spite. To do no fun having at all.
Something Nova didn’t believe for half a second. Lips curling at their corners to lightly declare that very thing, “As long as yer hauntin’, spitefully or not.” The elven girl replied unbothered by the very idea. A knowing look pressed upon cheeks and another soft patting to Calia’s knee.
Now she had a task to do. That would work in two parts. Help Calia and help her companion.
Nearly squirming in pure excitement at the challenge she made for herself. Rotating expectant eyes to the daughter of stone in patient not so patient waiting to ensure she finished her meal entirely before being marched off to go and have a wonderfully spiteful time.
Calia did in fact finish her meal up quickly without any further protest, passing her plate off to Nova so the elven girl could flounce off and likely go make a bubbly nuisance of herself. Or a thrilling companion if she did succeed in her current quest of spreading the spirit of High Tide to the dark clouded demon upstairs.
As for Calia… well. She had a heart full of marshmallows herself, didn’t she. Unable to say no to someone who just so genuinely wanted to see others getting up and involved and having a good time. Going back through the kitchen and the inner tavern to head out towards the boardwalk where most of the festivities were lined up with their boots and stalls.
With dusk around the corner, the sky was still in it’s beautiful hues of pinks and oranges, giving everything this soft sort of magical glow between the day time and the coming night. Calia stopped by one of the free drink stands and quickly swallowed one down in several big gulps. Checking that request off her list first and foremost, just so she could have that alcoholic brew help ease her tension and trick her body into being more relaxed.
She wandered around aimlessly mostly, watching people buy little items or playing festival games. Calia even tried a ring toss game herself, not exactly being any good at it, but earning a small enough little plush trinket that she passed off to the first empty handed kid she seen.
It was somewhere when the sky had shifted from it’s orangey sherbet hues to the deep purples and pinks that Calia had enough of wandering around on the docks where people were laughing with friends and family, spreading good cheer. Tonight that useless ability of hers to soak in the atmosphere around her like some sort of emotional vampire did not seem to be working in her favor. Making that feeling of being alone in a crowd so much more isolating.
This was usually where she would start seeking someone to spend the night with. A pretty face and broad shoulders, someone that could tell a good joke and had a vibe about them that was comfortable. It didn’t have much appeal to her now, having to go through the motions of chatting and talking. Pretending she was perfectly fine and normal, someone interesting and appealing.
Too much work. Calia decided she’d had enough of people, following down the docks to find herself back on dry land and over sandy trail towards the shoreline instead. Walking along the beach was at least something relaxing she could do without being spiteful about it. Listening to the ocean waves and searching for a nice place to plant her ass and just watch the sun going down.
It became painfully apparent—within mere minutes of coaxing the large fellow from his bruised rest—that her attempt at being a sugary sweet apparition haunting his every step had not gone according to plan. In fact, it might’ve been the first time she could recall someone resisting her cherubic charms so completely.
Not that he was unresponsive. No—he moved, listened, followed. But there was a shadowy veil draped over him now, scrubbing away any trace of the personality she knew he had. She’d seen it before—bright, vexing, amusing in all the right ways. And now?
It felt like a dream. Like she’d imagined it.
He hadn’t even balked when she told him she’d sent Calia off to enjoy the festivities—playing the tourist, wide-eyed and wonderstruck. He simply nodded when she motioned for them to leave the room, moving like a broken hound. Obedient. Lifeless. Just accepting what she said, with no spark of his own behind it.
She’d even tested her tone a few times—just to see if anything she said carried the edge of command. But nothing she said explained the blankness behind his eyes. Sure, the injuries he’d sustained looked rough—she wouldn’t deny that. But she hadn’t thought them devastating enough to erase him entirely. And yet, here he was… staring through her when she’d tossed out a passing jab that he could be used as a lookout tower, on account of being bloody tall.
No smirk. No huff. Nothing. Just that hollow gaze, like she wasn’t even there.
She’d managed to get him dressed and downstairs—thank the stars for small miracles. Brux had seen them then, offering up one of his signature sharp-edged quips, aimed cleanly at Arc. The silence that followed was enough to make even Brux falter. She could count on one hand the number of times he’d been stunned speechless, and this was one of them.
She’d only managed an awkward giggle before sweeping them both out into the evening air, clinging to the hope that the salt of the sea might do what her words could not.
But once again, she was sorely disappointed.
And so she scraped, and scrabbled, and clawed for anything—anything—that might pull him back to life. Anything to spark that familiar glint in his eye. But all she got was that thousand-yard stare. Her own voice started to sound foreign in her ears, desperate and bright against his quiet nothingness. She didn’t want to talk at him, but talking to him felt like shouting into a well.
She knew he’d been curious about her before. She’d felt it. And now, she’d take even the cheesiest line he could throw her way if it meant he was still in there somewhere. Still him.
It wasn’t often she admitted defeat when it came to making merry—but it seemed she’d finally met her match.
Whatever had its grip on him wasn’t ready to let go.
They’d walked a while. She’d talked a lot. And now, here he was, settled just outside her little seaside home. She’d kept her promise—gotten him out of that room, changed the linens like she said she would, just in case Calia did happen to find someone handsome enough to tumble into the sheets with.
Loiren, at least, had claimed a new lap without hesitation. Arc was still willing to pet the pretty silver cat, which meant he wasn’t completely gone. The purring, loud and content, buzzed between them like static.
Nova brought out some hot tea, setting a mug down in front of him in quiet offering before slipping into the seat beside him. They faced the sea, trees framing the edges of her view as night stretched overhead and the stars blinked into place.
The only sounds were their breathing… and Loiren’s rapid-fire purring.
And for once, Nova had no idea what to say.
Calia could not complain about laying out flat on the soft white sands, soaking up the warmth from the ground and the coolness of salted breeze. Ocean waves with their gentle roar, weaving a steady and comforting backdrop to the music and fanfare she could hear in the distance. Not that the beach itself was totally empty, either. There were bonfires with a circle of crowds and the occasional couple walking by admiring the final hues of twilight before the stars began to speckle the sky.
She was always this person of two opposite extremes, wasn’t she. Wanting to be a part of the loud, boisterous noise. To feel connected to people, lively and energetic. Only to turn right back around and find it all too much, craving these natural spaces where there was just herself and the natural elements. Sky and ground, breeze and sea, where magic and life seemed to be in everything and all she had to do was run her fingers through it.
It was there that she was finally able to breathe and empty out her head from the pure insanity that kept rattling around there, clogging up all rational and logical thought. Pushing away the things that weren’t going to serve her right now, so she could narrow in on the one thing that needed to be mended.
Calia did not know what was wrong with Archimedes or have any sort of clue what to do about it. Liriel’s words did still linger in her head that the man was actually fragile. Not this bastion of solid endless strength and uncaring. He sang a grand tune of nothing bothering him at all, and he’d been a demon far longer than he lived as an elf. Even so, Calia didn’t have to be smart to see the truth in the Crowned Heir’s words. He’d wound up a demon because he cared so much about the people around him. Anyone beaten and battered and spat at over and over again, as often as he had been was eventually going to break. Here was Calia, a perfect example that the world felt crushing.
Still, if he did not want her around there was little she could do. Not that she could dig up the sort of grand speeches and beautiful words that seemed to stir feelings and warm hearts. Nothing about her was really comforting. It was the opposite, where she’d open her mouth and ruin everyone’s sense of peace.
But still. Calia wanted to be a good friend. Offer some sort of comfort. Anything!
Sitting up in the sand her green eyed gaze glanced around, until she reached out her fingers to rake them through the sand. Digging through until she plucked up random bits and baubles that’d been buried by wind and tide. Some smooth pebbles and sea glass. A couple of colorful shells. An oddly shaped piece of driftwood.
That one she claimed and dusted off in her hands. Siphoning just the smallest bit of magic she could muster without being intrusive to bend and shape the wood. Hollowing out it’s insides and smoothing it’s shape into something rotund, but fishlike. With a pinch of sand she gave it little crossed-eyed violet gems for eyes, and wisped it gossamer fins to work as wings. She grew little twiggy legs for it, as it needed to be suitable for land just as much as the air and sea. And with a soft blow of her breath she gave it a voice. The tiniest of kazoo squeaks.
A googlie-eyed kazoo fish. A masterpiece of nonsense. Better than a lost leafy piglet.
Calia set it down the sand and sent it off. “Go have at him.”
Eventually, she’d drifted back inside, returning moments later with a small cloth bag in hand. Words might’ve failed her, but presence hadn’t—so she settled again into the moody twilight, letting herself simply be.
The sounds of the festival carried from the distance—music, laughter, distant firecrackers—and the sea beyond glinted with the orange kiss of a dying sun. The last refuge of light stretched across ship-backs, casting them into dark silhouettes soon to be washed in starlight.
From the bag, she pulled a smooth canvas stretched between two wooden rods, a freehand needlepoint project she’d started months ago and never quite finished. She threaded the needle, wetting the string with practiced ease, then began to stitch. Bit by bit. Curl by curl. Her fingers moved gently over the fabric as the world around her slowed.
A candle flickered nearby, just enough light to work by. Loiren’s relentless purring filled the silence, vibrating softly against her. And behind her, Arc’s hand moved in a slow, steady rhythm along the cat’s back—still aiming, perhaps, for a record in most words not spoken in an hour. His eyes stared into some private distance, somewhere unreachable. She itched to ask what he was thinking.
But maybe they didn’t know each other well enough yet for questions like that. So silence lingered. A bit strained. A bit awkward. But not unpleasant.
Somewhere nearby, fireflies blinked lazily through the bushes, their soft light pulsing in a slow dance. Nova watched them for a moment, threading her needle through the canvas. The picture slowly came to life in her hands.
Then, something caught her eye.
At first, she dismissed it. A leaf, maybe. A skittering critter. Nothing unusual.
But her gaze lingered.
And whatever it was—it wasn’t just passing through. It was moving. With purpose. A chill crept down her spine. The kind of instinctive shiver one gets when a spider drops into view. Her fingers froze. Eyes widened.
“What is that?” she whispered, startled enough that it actually broke through Arc’s trance. His hand stilled on Loiren, and he looked up. “There!” she pointed, careful to set her needle down so she didn’t stab herself by accident.
Something was scuttling along the ground. Quick, twitchy. And when it moved again, she gasped—half raising her hands in classic damsel reflex, though it didn’t quite get that far.
Arc let out a low grunt, stiffly rising to his feet with all the enthusiasm of someone covered in bruises. Loiren was gently deposited into her arms, the cat mrrping in confusion as he limped toward the strange intruder.
He stopped. And then, obviously in pain, bent to pick up the thing before hobbling back.
“What?” he offered—though she wasn’t sure if that was a question or a statement. Because what he held in his hands… “What the hell is that?” Nova asked, peering at the wiggly little creature. Some twisted piece of driftwood with googly eyes and twig-legs, making high-pitched squeaky noises like a rubber duck having an existential crisis.
“One of the lady’s creations,” he murmured, voice as hollow as before.
“The lady’s?” she echoed, incredulous, shifting Loiren to let the cat hop down—who immediately meowed sharply, demanding Arc sit back down to resume her purring paradise.
Nova took the creature cautiously in both hands, watching it wiggle and wobble as it tried to crawl. “Who’s the lady? Sounds ominous.”
“Calia,” Arc replied, already obliging the cat by settling back into his seat with a wince.
Nova blinked. Looked at him. Then at the creature. Then back again. “I think yah need to explain a little more.”
“Magic,” he said flatly. That was it. “Ask her,” he added a beat later, clearly unwilling to elaborate. Nova stared down at the weird, squeaky twig-thing in her hand, considering. So naturally, she shook it.
The trouble with magic was that one could never be satisfied with a single little spell or one tiny creation. Once the mind started going, all sorts of ideas would come to mind and Calia was not immune to such a thing. The trouble, was that she didn’t want to pull anything from Archimedes while he needed everything he had to heal. So her itchy need to make things became a project in the sand.
With scalloped shells, pebbles, and twigs Calia carved out a new kingdom made of sand and seawater. Tricky at first until she realized the wet sand made for better construction, and then she was lost in this new task of molding towers and castles. Of small little homes and shapes that vaguely looked like horses. Long streets and even a little stream. If sand hadn’t been so crumbly she could’ve carved all manner of pretty details, but it was entertaining in itself to build her small city.
Maybe not the kind of fun Nova had wanted Calia to get into. Childish as it was, Calia had always been used to being a singular One. Less so when she was little and could rely on her siblings… but as an adult it was just so much easier to keep her own company. So she stayed there laying in the sand building her sprawling city until it grew large enough that she lost all interest.
Fickle as a fae. Now Calia understood how well that phrase could apply to her!
Calia glanced up towards the beaming moon, taking a quick guess to the time and making a soft disgruntled huff. Seemed too early to go back and there was this spiteful desire to not go back at all. There was no sense in that though, as who was she even trying to hide from. No one was going to care about her absence!
In the end she decided to check off one last thing from Nova’s silly to-do list. Tugging off her leather boots to see what was so special about dipping toes in ocean water.
…this ended up taking more from her than she’d expected. Stepping up to the tide in her bare feet and hesitating. Unlike a stream, river or lake, the ocean was such a ginormous thing. Almost even seemed bigger than mountains, but she knew that wasn’t all true. Equal to the lands at least, though, and that made it so unfamiliar and intimidating.
She never balked from a challenge, though. Even when it was frightening.
So it was one step into the water and an immediate shiver. Another step. A cringing third. Calia waded out until the waves were up to her knees and that is where she stopped, unable to bring herself to go any further, for this feeling that washed over her was so unbelievable massive that she was certain she’d be crushed under the weight of it. How could people like this! It was awful! She might as well be a grain of sand for how small and insignificant she truly was in comparison.
Calia remained there though, full of goosebumps and discomfort, a personal infliction of torture simply because at least it was a different kind of feeling. Later she would tell Nova she could keep her ocean.
At some point, the strange driftwood creature—an animated oddity shaped by magic, apparently Calia’s, according to Arc’s vague explanation—had been released. Nova had watched it for a long moment after shaking it like a salt shaker full of stubborn granules. The poor thing had stumbled in disoriented circles, clearly dizzy from the ordeal.
She almost reached for it again, tempted to repeat the whole torturous motion. Almost. The desire was definitely there, simmering under her restraint, but she let it be—allowed it to wobble off on its own. The creature seemed particularly interested in making a slow, zigzagging beeline toward a booted foot that most certainly wasn’t hers.
That’s when Loiren made her move.
The cat, ever the graceful predator, suddenly dropped from her perch the moment her attention was snagged by the peculiar little beast. With a flick of her tail, she launched into full attack mode—bapping, swatting, and circling the stunned driftwood thing with feline precision. She crept around its backside and gave it an experimental nip, cautious at first, until she realized that it wasn’t exactly swift. Even with those fluttery little wings, it posed no real challenge.
What followed was an absolute thrashing. Loiren flipped the thing onto its back and proceeded to beat the ever-loving hell out of it. Once satisfied with her conquest, she flopped down on top of it with the self-satisfied air of a brooding hen. Her expression all but screamed, mine now.
No wonder there weren’t many mice in the house. Who would dare? Who’d risk being batted around like a toy and then sat on—smothered under an avalanche of indignant fluff?
The silence returned after that—pressing in, thick and almost tangible. It tugged at Nova’s nerves like an old ache. She sighed, dramatically, loud enough that even someone lost in a haze of memories or disquiet couldn’t easily ignore it. When that didn’t get a response, she sighed again, louder this time. Repeating the action until he finally glanced her way—just the corners of his eyes, not quite turning his head.
He didn’t look annoyed or even particularly curious. Just… aware.
It took a bit of effort, but she grabbed the edge of her chair and scooted it sideways until she was close enough to brush elbows with him. Thankfully, he didn’t flinch or recoil like she’d touched hot iron. That in itself felt like a small win. Carefully, gently, she reached out and rested her hand on his forearm.
She didn’t speak. The silence lingered, but now it felt chosen. Not forced. Sometimes just being present was enough. Like a quiet, invisible cheer squad waving tiny flags from the sidelines.
Still, curiosity tugged at her. Arc was older than her—by human standards, probably nearly a decade. Not old, but old enough to be noticeable. And with that difference came an inevitable weight. Whatever was brewing inside his head, she suspected it had roots tangled up in that age gap, in the past he carried like a second shadow. And if the whispers and rumors she’d heard held even a flicker of truth, then Arc was definitely not what he appeared to be.
Which was fascinating.
Because what she knew of creatures like that—those born of darkness and whispered legends—was that they weren’t supposed to feel. They were said to be monstrous, bloodthirsty beings that tore through the world with no compassion, no remorse. The sort with mouths full of blood and arms full of someone else’s insides. And yet here he was. Quiet. Brooding. Maybe even a more than a little lost.
Calia, too, became more of an enigma the more Nova thought about her. All mystery and allure, wrapped in magic and shadow.
“When yer ready, we ought to head inside,” Nova said softly, breaking the silence without shattering it. Her voice was gentle, a nudge rather than a push. The night wouldn’t last forever, and dawn would soon demand its turn. “I hope the couch isn’t too terrible a place to rest.”
“I’ve had worse,” Arc muttered. Then, to her quiet surprise—and without drawing too much attention to it—he gave her hand a small, firm pat where it rested on his arm.
She didn’t say anything, didn’t react too loudly. She just let it be.
It was enough.
The more Calia stood out there in the water, the more she felt as if she was sinking into the sand and being swallowed up. She endured it for as long as she could stand – to soak it in, to truly understand it for the natural force it was – then finally gave way to simply being wearily tired.
First she returned to her city made in the sand with it’s big mighty castle and several buildings. Admiring the work for what it was, a simple humble thing for her first time in molding and carving sand with hands alone. If she’d used magic it could’ve been an even more impressive thing, but it was good sometimes to use hands alone. To not be so reliant on magic that you were lost without it. That was a lesson Calia had learned hard, learned true. A balance to all things, as it were. Even for herself as someone whose very blood was magic.
Naturally the next step with mayhem and destruction. Delighting in kicking down the castle, stomping on tiny house and burying it all in ruin and chaos. A dark impulse that was always there, that could be safely unleashed on a little city that had no living things inside it.
With that mission complete she gathered up her boots and headed barefoot back to the tavern. Claiming an extra drink or two on the way, as why the hell not. Calia need a little extra to help her sleep, else where was going to lie awake worrying and fretting over things she had no control over. Didn’t want control over!
There was no sign of Nova or Archimedes in the tavern business itself, and when she climbed up the stairs the room was quiet and empty. Devoid of a certain demon and the moonbeam elf.
This was…. something. A complex feeling she didn’t know what to do with in the moment. Where Calia was glad that he’d been well enough to get up and moving and that Nova had successfully charmed him to do so. In that very same vain, wishing she’d could’ve been helpful herself because there wasn’t going to be sweet and charming little ladies in the future. There was only going to be Calia.
At least there was a chance that the magic of this silly festival was actually doing it’s thing. As when Calia climbed herself into the freshly made bed, still in her sandy dress with the salted damp edges, she did have just the tiniest bit of hope that when she woke in the morning, that it might be okay. It didn’t have to be her that helped him, as long as there was someone. And her goofy googly-eyed fish was still out there kazooing, even if it felt like it was trapped in a cloud.
Calia let herself drift to sleep and damn, did she need it.