What now indeed.
Calia was angry, frustrated, defeated… he would not listen! He blamed her for everything, and she could not seem to break through his own barriers to get him to see her. To realize she was actually trying. They both wanted to escape, to die, but it wasn’t what they both really wanted was it? It couldn’t be, as even though she was beyond pissed off, she’d not ignored everything he said.
He felt abandoned. Well so did she!
He thought she didn’t care. She didn’t believe he cared either!
He wanted words. She did too!
She’d marched forward with every intention of storming off to the town to… Calia didn’t even know at this point. Walk into the sea and hope it took her? Take his sister’s sword and throw it back at him? She kicked through thicket and bush a good distance before her footsteps slowed to a crawl. Finally to stop under one of the giant redwoods.
Here she was running again. No rhyme or reason, just running. Where had running gotten her so far? A bunch of nowhere. Back to the start again.
Archimedes was right, this had to end. Not his way, though. His way was the same stupid bullshit they’d been doing to each other since they’d met.
So Calia doubled back. Stomping in return quicker than she had even left, not sure where this was going to lead them, but she had to be different! To do things differently!
“I’M LONELY.” she screamed. At him, at the woods. Setting a whole flock of birds into anger chatter and flight. “I’m hopeless. Alone. And I wish I was dead. I didn’t agree to that binding to take your magic, Archimedes, I accepted it for you. To have someone. Anyone. It’s not some perfect constructed spell full of spite and malice and a wish to control. I just… I just need someone. …and I somehow still fucked it up because you can’t stand to be around me.”
There. Truth. Bare open, vulnerable truth. Leaving her standing there bracing for the scathing words that were sure to come next. Or the silence, that was pretty expected too. They didn’t exactly have a good track record for these conversations.
It would take quite a bit of investigating, effort, and more brainpower than he cared to muster to undo the binding. And even then, it hardly felt worth the trouble. The ritual had been encouraged by those who clearly knew what they were doing—at least enough to push it forward without needing to face the consequences when it all came crashing down.
As far as Arc could tell, there was only one way out: kill the familiar. Him. That should sever the magic and leave the host whole and untouched. But that wasn’t going to happen. And it wasn’t like he could do it himself either. Contracts like these weren’t made with mercy in mind. The bound couldn’t simply off themselves to slip free—that would make the whole pact structure useless to those relying on its enforcement. Not that he had the fight left in him anymore, anyway.
The anger had burned down to embers. Just ash now, and a dull pressure behind his eyes. Talking, shouting, blaming—none of it mattered anymore. Two voices yelling, neither one listening. And he could admit, wholeheartedly, he was just as guilty in that. The difference was, Calia had stormed off after her dramatic display—her element-laced theater of isolation. And he’d just… stopped talking. Equally walking away. They went their separate ways again, and the weight in his head was his own to carry. He knew that. He knew what they were—dry wood thrown on an open flame. Too much heat, too little control.
So when she came stomping back, he was genuinely surprised. His ears pinned back, not in defiance but resignation. Whatever this was, it wasn’t round two—it was round seventy.
He was about to excuse himself, offer to leave so she wouldn’t have to look at him again, when she shouted something he hadn’t expected in the slightest.
That she was lonely.
The birds clearly didn’t appreciate the volume either, startled from their roosts. But she kept going, and Arc stayed quiet. Let her speak. Let her throw words at him like sharpened darts. He didn’t interrupt. Just listened.
Though, when she claimed she took the binding because of him, he couldn’t help the look he gave her—skeptical, disbelieving. That was a hard thing to accept. Surely she knew that. If their positions were reversed, would she have thought he’d done it out of care… or pressure?
Still, he let her speak until the forest was silent again.
Then, softly: “A person who takes a beatin’ and refuses to give up anythin’ about yah—even when they’re hunted down—isn’t the same as someone who can’t stand bein’ around yah.”
His voice was calm. Not accusing. Just worn. A quiet truth she’d misread. But he knew he hadn’t expressed it well, either. “Yer just… aggressive ’bout everythin’. It’s hard to know what to say without settin’ yah off. Half the time, I’m expectin’ a punch before a word. Yah gotta admit it, Calia—yer first response is violence. I get it. Yer scared. Goin’ through things yah never thought yah’d face. I’m sorry, I haven’t helped in what yah need.”
He exhaled, shifting his weight. “But someone who says she took a bindin’ outta care… and then acts like she has to be the biggest, scariest thing in every room just to survive—how’s anyone supposed to see the real yah underneath all that armor?”
He paused, studying her. “I see how yah look at people. With judgment. With suspicion. Like they’re threats until proven otherwise. And when someone gives yah a little kindness, yah flinch—like a dog with a noose still tight around its neck.”
He took a step forward. Then another, until they were less than an arm’s length apart.
“If yah need someone, yah gotta let go of the idea that yah have to be the biggest, baddest bitch in the woods all the time. There’s more to yah than that. I’m already sick of people settin’ expectations on me—ain’t yah tired of the same thing?” He nodded to the ruined glade. “Even that dark fae… she didn’t want you. She wanted what yah could do. And if I had acted faster, I could have gotten her to drop dead. To keep yah from harm at least a while longer.” His lips pressed together, teeth flashing briefly—those sharpened, demon-cut edges.
“I’m tired, Calia. This back and forth… it’s killin’ more than just my motivation. I’m lonely too. I’m hurt. I’m frustrated. And more than anything—I’m done fightin’.” He swallowed. Hard.
“The world’s angry enough. I don’t want to be around someone who’s constantly radiatin’ that same rage. I don’t know how to handle it. I’m not here to snuff yah out, but I can’t help yah if all I ever touch are brambles and barbed wire. When even a little bit of kindness seems… foreign to yah.”
He opened his hand, palm up—bare, honest. A quiet offering.
“I don’t wanna fight. Not with yah. Not even a little. I want to trust yah, to validate what yer feelin’ in a healthy way. But if all we’re ever gonna do is misread each other, it’s not gonna work.”
He looked down for a breath, then back to her again. “I’m honestly sorry yah’re sufferin’. Truly. But how can I be there for yah, if yah won’t let me in?” The demon sighed.
“I know there’s more to yah. I see it. And I respect what yah’ve been through. I can’t fix yer past anymore than yah can fix mine. But I can be here, right now, if I’m allowed to be.” His voice turned firm. “But yah can’t keep batterin’ my boundaries because yah think yah know better. Respect goes both ways. Even when we don’t agree. Even when it hurts.”
He took a final step back and lifted his arms slightly, as if presenting the truth in full. “This is me. Not a demon. Not an elf. Just a tired, old soul, holdin’ things together with dry humor and fake smiles. I’m dog tired, Calia. And I’m tired of bein’ alone in a crowd.”
“I know, I know,” she half mumbled, half tearful croaked in defeat and understanding acceptance that she was well… aggressive. She knew too, that she didn’t always speak her mind in ways that she should, being silent when she needed to speak up. Being inarticulate and blunt and really just not knowing the right things to say when someone needed the right kind of comforting.
She didn’t interrupt him, though. Took those criticisms for what they were – his point of view. How he experienced being around her, the way she made things difficult. On edge. Because Calia didn’t know how to accept other people’s kindness, and boy wasn’t that the damn truth.
All the while he stepped closer and she was far too tired to even make her usual cringing or even a dubious, suspicious stare at his hand. This time it was more along the lines of a dog that’d been kicked one too many times, but so desperate for just any physical contact that her grasping his hand was immediate. Along with the way she bridged the gap between them to clonk her forehead against his shoulder. The girl didn’t even know how to hug someone like a normal person!
“…I pulled you back and you said you protected me. That you had a loyalty to me. It was the first time anyone had ever said such a thing and in that moment I wanted nothing more than to give you everything to take care of you. That is all. I didn’t mean to make you feel like I was ignoring your wishes. I just wanted to heal and protect you too.”
There was a long deep intake of breath and an equally long, shaking sigh there against his shoulder. Where she tugged his hand in a pleading motion.
“Please just tell me right away when I’ve done something wrong. Tell me specifically. Three times if you have to, I’ll listen, I promise. I won’t always get it right and I don’t want to feel like I’m getting punished when I don’t. Just please don’t ever shut down into lifeless obedience ever again. I can handle an argument, but the sight of you broken and empty was honestly the most frightening thing I have ever seen in my entire life.”
Finally she did pull back enough to finally look him directly in the face. Examining those clearly done features of his with a soft frown of her own.
“Can we be a safe home for each other? Will you actually let me?”
The soft clonk of her head against his shoulder drew a flicker of curiosity from him. Paired with how she took his offered hand and closed the distance like it was the most natural thing in the world—it was almost laughable. Just a day ago, the both of them would’ve been wonderin’ what the actual fuck was wrong. Who got possessed? And which one of them was gonna blow first? Neither had the faintest idea how to handle the other.
Now?
Well, he had a good few years on her. Enough that even when her head bumped into him, he didn’t flinch. Instead, his fingers tightened around hers, and with a small shift, he pulled the other arm across her back. His chin drooped to rest against the side of her head, and he simply… listened. Let her speak. Let her breathe. A quiet hum rumbled in his chest.
“I don’t want yah killin’ yerself over me, Lia,” he murmured. “Help doesn’t have to mean throwin’ yerself off a bloody cliff for it. Draggin’ my broken arse into town and helpin’ with the bandagin’—that was already more than enough. But I don’t like havin’ my agency tossed aside. I’m a grown man, and truth be told, one of us has to be sharp when the other’s not. We can’t both be useless tits, now can we?”
Arc let out a soft chuckle, more breath than sound, vibrating gently through his chest.
“I appreciate yah—for what yah did, for what yah keep doin’. But you don’t have to take my pain, Lia. I can carry it. Even if it’s uncomfortable for yah, let me have what’s mine. And if it ever gets to be too much, trust that I’ll say so.”
She had always been full of fire—passionate in every step she took, like the world needed her to give one hundred and fifty percent at every turn. “Yer guna burn yerself out, girl, if yah keep tossin’ in everythin’ yah have. Yer not a shootin’ star, Lia. Yer mortal. Don’t burn yerself down to nothin’.”
When she tugged gently at his hand, he answered with a squeeze, nodding as she admitted she needed to be told when she was oversteppin’. When she was takin’ the reins too tight. “Alright. I can do that,” Arc replied, voice soft but firm. “But yah can’t go gettin’ hoppin’ mad when I say stop or don’t. It’s not to hurt yah—it’s just me keepin’ to my boundaries.”
Nudging his chin against her temple, a tender gesture without pressure. “And maybe… maybe we avoid the full-blown arguments, yeah? I know they’re guna happen, and that’s life, but I’m not yer enemy. Every conversation doesn’t have to be a bloody fire hazard. Yer sharp, lass. Smarter than yah give yerself credit for. But I’m not lookin’ to match wits or throw punches every time we talk. If we’re goin’ to do this—really do it—we’ve gotta be on the same side.”
When she drew back to meet his gaze, her frown creased with intent—wanting to be that safe space for someone else. For him. He held that look. “Yes. I can let yah,” he said simply. “But yah gotta do the same. It only works if we’re both willin’, if we both try. It won’t feel safe if only one of us is lettin’ down the walls.” His brows furrowed slightly with sincerity, weariness deep behind those eyes. “Yer not alone, Lia. I’m not goin’ to let yah drown—or let others bully the shite outta yah. Not mouthy drunk bastards, no big-titty dark fae with their high opinions and cruel grins.”
His hand squeezed hers again, firmer this time. Then he wrapped her in a hug—strong, grounding—pressing a gentle kiss to her temple with the fondness of someone who had been fighting for far too long and was finally ready to let someone in. “Yer mine to protect now, and I owe yah my life in more ways than I can count. And I swear, no one’s goin’ to take the storm outta yah. Not for their own ends. I’ve lived that—bein’ small so others can feel big. No one’s doin’ that to yah, not while I’ve got teeth to bite and a voice to remind the world that I’m just as dangerous as yah are.”
A lesson to be learned there, that Calia needed to remember that even in caring for someone there needed to be certain boundaries. To not pour so much of herself into trying to take care of him that she ended up burning herself in the process. The knowledge was in there, in her head, so it wasn’t as if she didn’t know that she needed to be smart about things. After all, she’d been wise enough not to go faerie flying to where he’d been captive because she didn’t want to risk getting herself killed before she could save him. It was just taking a bit of learning on how to apply that to other things.
He needed different things than her, different kinds of boundaries. That was something she could understand so much better now that’d actually been explained to her.
“I’ll tell you when I am getting frustrated… and when I am walking away just because I need a minute a breathe, so you know I’m not trying to abandon you.” Calia hadn’t failed to pick that up in this storm of a conversation. That he himself felt detached and alone, with this fear that she was just going to drop him like a bad habit the second she was done using him up for all he was worth. Fear of abandonment was apparently another of the long list of experiences and fears they shared.
What came next was the most surprising new discovery of all. To be squeezed in a tight hug and given gentle kiss to temple, weeks ago she might have frozen in place and maybe even squawked a protest. Now she was melting into it, wrapping her arms around his waist and clinging for dear life. Realizing with a hushed sort of embarrassment that she’d been so devoid of any sort of physical affections – not sexual ones, just friendly genuine affections – that she was starved for them. A parched desert that was seeing rain for the first time in centuries.
To be told she belonged to someone now was no small thing either. It was worth everything.
“…will you help me go rain toasted marshmallows down on Tír Élas? I owe Nova something special.”
“That’s all I can ask for,” Arc murmured, “that we can talk to one another without the other flippin’ their damn lid.”
He meant himself too—wasn’t like he was exempt from any of it. She wasn’t the only one who ran off emotion like it was her primary fuel source. He did it too. And sometimes? They were a bloody wildfire, the pair of them—logic left choking in the dust while frustration and irritation took the wheel. He already knew it wasn’t fair to her. Or to him. But that didn’t change the fact that it happened.
They just had to keep talkin’. Be honest. Learn to hear each other without assuming it was laced in hostility. They were two people from wildly different lives, tryin’ to build a shared one at the same time. That was never going to be clean. And their past selves? They weren’t a blueprint for what came next. They had a shot at better, but it was going take more than a tired smile and a shrug.
“Just… don’t go wanderin’ off so far I’ve gotta chuck some big-boobed bitch across a field again while her nightmare pets try to eat me,” he added dryly, his mouth twitching with a crooked smirk.
She latched onto him then—clung, really—and if he weren’t the type to play dumb when it was important, he might’ve teased her for it. Could’ve tossed out a clever remark about how desperate she clearly was for something softer. Something steady. Right now he didn’t. Just held her, arms firm around her as she tucked herself in. Let her rest there. Let her have the quiet.
Until confusion promptly booted him right in the brain.
“Do what to what now?” he blinked, staring down at her as his mind tried to untangle the sudden declaration about raining toasted marshmallows on Tír Élas. He repeated it again in his head. Slowly. “…I mean, I’ve already scared half the bloody realm just by walkin’ ’round with a hellfire’s agenda, so sure. What’s a little marshmallow rain?”
His expression twisted, thoughtful for a moment. “No, no—y’know, that really doesn’t sound right at all. But hey, it’d be a first.” A sly grin crept back onto his face. “I’ll just glamour up like someone else. Maybe folk’ll think Isyn’s feelin’ particularly quirky with her blessin’s that day.”
“Fawna was very kind to me,” grumbled Calia, obviously having not see the go take a darker form and only getting to see the aftermath of this glade being naught but a shadow of lies. Finally pulling back to give the derelict cabin a frown, brushing her fingers against her cheeks to wipe away tears only to stare down at her fingers.
“…shit.” she huffed with a breath. “She has my ring.”
So much for remembering those days in the cottage garden with yearning fondness. Of being taken care of and doing a whole lot of nothing beyond gentle work and quiet meals. It truly had been wonderful feeling a part of a family for a little while, even if at moments she’d been trying to crawl out of her own skin fighting that fog that blocked out her memory and that restlessness that lived in her bones.
“Fuck,” another huff. There was nothing that could be done about it now, unless they went to hunt her down. They had better things to do than chase after some fae over a ring. Even if it had been the only thing left from her former life.
There was a new life she was working on building now, one that involved her grasping his hand again so they could walk back to the village. Now that they were talking, genuinely so without the weight of other things, Calia was happy to tell him all about her experiences in Tír Élas.
“I don’t remember how we got into talking about flaming marshmallows, Nova and I. She’s been a good friend and company, fun to talk to about whimsical nonsense and was a comfort when I was worried about you. She kept me company so I wasn’t fretting and encouraged me to try things. So a little bit of weird chaos would amuse her greatly, I think. It’d be nice to make the last day of the festival something spectacular for her.”
His mouth opened—ready to point out that the dark fae had twisted everything with illusion magic, warping the space into something it had never been. But he stopped himself. Truth was, he hadn’t seen what happened between the fawn fae and Calia. He wasn’t there. All he had was his half of the story—and that half ended with some dark bitch ready to gut him for her own agenda. One that had sorely underestimated just what she’d come up against. Because he wasn’t some mid-rank little demon toy to throw around. And Calia? She wasn’t just mortal.
She moved like a tempest wrapped in mortal form, fierce and impossible to contain.
He was the reckoning of the pit—hellfire stitched into sinew, horns carved from damnation itself.
But now, Calia was facing the aftermath. Looking back to where it had been while wiping away the tears. Where she admitted, with the weight of something stolen, that the fleeing coward had taken her signet ring.
He waited a beat—until the second curse left her lips—then spoke low, voice humming with quiet promise. “She’s not done with yah, lass. We’ll get it back. Next time, yah can shake her for all she’s worth. I don’t think she’s figured it out yet—that yah don’t belong to anyone. No more than I do.”
And he was counting on her coming back. They always did. Greedy hands didn’t know how to let go of shining things.
Two dark fae had already shown interest in Calia. Two more lingered on the horizon, like stormclouds waiting to split open. And Arc knew damn well whatever they wanted, it wasn’t for her benefit. Dark fae and demons were cut from the same crooked cloth—driven by motive and masked intent. Calia was a golden lure. But what they didn’t see? She bit back. Hard. She wasn’t a relic. She was a reckoning.
And he should’ve crushed that smug bitch.
Instead, his hand found hers—curling fingers to palm as they turned away from the remnants of the past and back toward the flicker and thrum of the Tír Élas and its High Tide festival.
She started talking again—about flaming marshmallows of all things. It didn’t exactly clarify much, but Arc got the gist. Calia liked Nova. Trusted her. And Nova clearly returned the feeling. Thick as thieves, the two of them.
Arc exhaled through his nose, amused despite himself. “Well, I suppose I owe her somethin’ in return—for the offerin’ up her blood,” he said, thoughtful. “And marshmallow rain’s a lot gentler than the ideas I usually come up with, so—why the hell not.” It wasn’t the kind of thing he’d ever done. But there wasn’t a real reason to refuse it. “Though,” he added, casting her a side glance, “I think she’d be just as happy knowin’ yah came out safe. The girl was damn near beside herself over yer absence. A soul like that—one who doesn’t judge yah for what yah are—that’s rarer than a peaceful day in the Nine Hells.”
He made a face, not bothering to hide it. “I always fuckin’ hated this festival,” he muttered. “But suppose yah ought to see it through. Close the chapter, yeah? Round off the madness with a little brightness.”
If Fawna was dark fae and Arc felt that she was likely to pop her face up again, that was surely a problem. Perhaps moreso than Calia wanted to admit, as it seemed she appeared to have a blind spot when it came to other fae creatures. Where in most cases she was so savvy to danger, could even protect herself well and skillfully… these dark fae were able to creep in past her awareness.
Worst yet they seemed to know exactly when to make their appearances too, in moments she was at her lowest. Scared or frustrated. Angry. They knew exactly when she was vulnerable and that was such a frightening thing to realize. That you were being watched and others were out there just lying in wait to catch you.
This was something they could talk about later when it was actually necessary. For now Calia was just glad they’d broken through another wall of their own bullshit and managed to come through the other side a little bruised, but otherwise unscathed. A long, long day for certain… maybe even longer than that, for to Calia it felt like it had been weeks.
Calia just wanted to spend the time with him as she originally meant to. For them to have time together that wasn’t wrapped up in other people’s expectations of them.
Nova was a special exception, one she was already offering up a brightened grin about – until he mentioned offering of blood and then he got a bit of a narrowed eyed squint.
“She is special. She’s been trying to get me to do all of the touristy things with the festival and I even sent off a lantern with a wish. I think the only thing I haven’t tried is actually swimming in the ocean, but every time I stand there on the beach and try to step out a bit I get the shivers, like I am a two foot tall babe afraid of a bath.”
Glancing up at his scrunching face, Calia squeezed his hand and tugged his arm gently.
“Why don’t you like it?” she asked, in the spirit of learning new things. “Because of your youth there? I wouldn’t be surprised if Nova tries getting you to light a lantern too then off to get drunk at the fires.”
Oh, he saw that squint. Clear as day. But he wasn’t about to offer up some profound admission just because she looked at him like she already knew. Nova had offered—he took it. In the most dramatic way possible, naturally, but that was beside the point. No way in all hells he was going to admit to Calia that she might’ve been right about the likelihood of getting his heart steamrolled again… and how he was willing to let it happen.
Instead, he settled for skimming over the whole mess with a convenient nod, content to agree that Calia’s friendship with Nova was good. Maybe even necessary.
He listened, a little more curious than expected, when she described her experience of the High Tide Festival—bright-eyed, immersed, and participating fully. Lighting a lantern, even. That caught him. “Really. Yah floated a wish out to the grand realm of Isyn?” he asked, squinting sideways at her. It wasn’t something he figured she’d do, not earnestly. Maybe for show, maybe to blend in—but not with meaning.
“Yah didn’t send somethin’ with it, did yah?” The question came quiet, coloured with the slight edge of someone who knew the weight that little ritual could carry. It wasn’t just about floating paper and wax into the waves. It was about giving the sea something real—something that mattered.
When she shifted the topic and mentioned that the only thing left she hadn’t done was swim in the waters, Arc hummed low. “The ocean’s immense. A grand expanse, not just wide but deep. On land or a ship, yah feel anchored. In the water, yah lose that groundin’. Could be instinct. Maybe it’s a fae thing—preferrin’ to feel the world beneath yah feet.” He offered a thoughtful pause before adding, “There’s tide pools by the old lighthouse, if yah’d rather stay close to shore. Fish, starfish, little bits of life scattered like treasure. Might suit yah more than a full plunge.”
But then she tugged on him—both literally and with a simple question—and that smile he wore twisted slightly. Her asking why he hated the festival was like pulling on a thorn he’d carefully let fester. The words came slower after that.
“I don’t get drunk easily,” he muttered, deflecting first, as if that was any kind of answer. Then, after a long pause: “Nova likely told yah the whole bit about lanterns and blessin’s and wishin’ on the tides. It sounds grand, doesn’t it? Full of magic and wonder.”
His voice dipped low, less playful. The edges dulled by a shadow of memory. “When yer young, yah believe in that shit. Pick a lantern, make a wish. It’s like wishin’ on a shootin’ star. Silly. Innocent. But when you’re little, and full of hope… well, that nonsense feels like it matters.”
His violet eyes glanced off, jaw tightening slightly. “There’s nothin’ quite like bein’ small. Standin’ at the edge of the dock, lantern in yer wee hands. Watchin’ happy families laugh and sing. And yah, too scared and too hopeful to realise it’s just pageantry. I made my wish, just like the rest of them. Only, I wasn’t askin’ for riches or joy. I wanted answers. I wanted my driira back.”
Silence fell between them, a third presence walking just behind.
“Elves… they’re like swans, yah know. Bonded for life. It’s rare to see one without the other.” His voice softened, but the bitterness under it didn’t. “And when yer vara’s tryin’ to be two people at once—to smile through the ache of bein’ left—it warps yah. I could see it plain on him. That tired, ironclad smile he wore when he told me to let the lantern go.”
Arc looked down at their joined hands, voice roughening. “And I did. I let it go with every bit of me prayin’ that it’d bring her back. That maybe it would make things right. But it didn’t. She never came. And that festival? It came back like clockwork, every year. Like a fuckin’ joke.”
He exhaled hard, as if the air had gone stale in his lungs. “So, yah see… I don’t hate the festival for the noise or the glitter. I hate it ’cause it made me hope. And that hope turned bitter.”
He didn’t meet her eyes then. Didn’t want to see pity or understanding or anything that might crack open the careful armour he’d forged around the truth. “I’ve avoided it since. Told myself it was just noise and faerie fluff. But really?” He paused again, voice quiet now. “It’s just a reminder that the world kept celebratin’ while my family was fallin’ apart.”
Another beat passed before he finally added, a little sharper now, “So if it’s all the same, I’d rather not do anythin’ related to the festival.”
Calia had not in fact sent anything off with her lantern, giving a shake of her head and a shrug of her shoulders. The only things she owned worth giving were things she wasn’t willing to let go of… of course now one of those things had been stolen! So that was a real pain in the ass!
She didn’t know there were tidepools near the lighthouse, though to be honest she wasn’t sure what a tidepool actually was. Ready to ask him a few questions on that front but he’d grown quiet and thoughtful, so Calia was apt to listen. Of a young boy’s impossible wish and the pain of being reminded of it, year after year.
Now that Calia knew that elves tended to marry for life, it did put this dark shadow over his younger years. She couldn’t imagine would it must’ve been like growing up with only one parent, watching that parent pine and grieve the loss. Even worst that the woman had just left them bother, it hadn’t been a death but something deliberately done.
…it really was the very source of him fearing being left behind. Unwanted. It made her heart ache in regret for not putting those details together sooner so that at the very least, she could’ve been more communicative on that front.
Her other hand came to sandwich his between the two, a soft supportive brush of thumb. Guessing he didn’t want the platitudes and sympathy by the way he was avoiding looking at her. Still, the quiet support was there regardless.
“The irony is that hope is exactly what I asked for,” she leaned in to whisper, as if the wishes were meant to be secrets and that telling them out loud might ruin it. “It’s hard to refuse Nova anything when she asks, so I stumbled around with my eyes closed and picked up a lantern with a world tree silhouette. And with the firelight it bloomed into this beautiful starry nebula of colors. I didn’t have anything to send with it and it felt strange making wishes for things I can just accomplish myself. I figured I may as well wish for the impossible, and hope feels pretty impossible a vast majority of the time.”
Another soft squeeze and a shrug of her shoulders.
“We’ll get smashed and see what’s in those pools. Finally break into that damned lighthouse everyone keeps talking about too. They can’t keep telling me not to do and making it sound so interesting and then expect me not to try it at least once.”
Arc had always been quietly grateful his father had chosen to leave Tír Élas when his magic started manifesting in wild bursts far too big for a small child to bear. It wasn’t safe for them to stay—not with the way the ground would hum under his feet or the way shadows twisted just a second too long near him. Leaving had been the only way forward.
And it was luck—rare and sharp-edged—that led them to Eleanor.
Watching his father breathe again had been… everything. Like witnessing a frostbitten branch bloom in spring. The whispers came, of course. They always did. Elves like Eleanor didn’t remarry. Not after the death of a bonded mate. It was taboo, practically heresy. But she did. She chose Atticus. That stirred plenty of smug, scandalized muttering in the corners of elven society, but Arc didn’t give a damn.
What mattered was that his father was no longer splitting himself in half trying to be both vara and driira—both mother and father. Arc didn’t care that Eleanor often got under his skin, her sharp critiques and high standards digging like thorns under his nails. So what if he wasn’t the polished heir she wanted to parade around? Her approval never mattered.
What mattered was that Atticus had started living whole again.
And as for the woman who’d borne him and vanished days after his birth? Arc didn’t have questions. He had a library of bitter words, none of them kind. If she ever did come back—stars forbid—he doubted he’d even waste the breath. Best case scenario, she was gone for good, buried under the weight of her own selfish decisions. He wasn’t sorry to hope that.
When Calia’s fingers closed gently around his own—like she was trying to hide it in her hands rather than hold it—his eyes flicked toward her. No pity. No soft-voiced oh, I’m so sorrys. No patronizing head tilt that screamed poor you. Thank the gods. He couldn’t stand that stuff growing up and had no intention of faking the polite “I’m okay” nod now. He didn’t need fake comfort.
But Calia’s quietness? Her being there without smothering it? That, he could handle.
The air shifted, the scent of damp pine bleeding into salt spray, the kind that clung to your lungs and called you back to the sea whether you wanted it or not. They were close now—close to the water and the memories tucked like splinters beneath its waves. He’d spent enough stolen evenings here as a teenager, lingering where he wasn’t supposed to be, looking for something he couldn’t name.
Then she spoke—describing a lantern she’d found. One that seemed to decorate itself for her. Shifting in detail with the light, almost like it knew her, like it was made for her. He appreciated that. More than she probably realized. That even if she hadn’t wished for anything dramatic or divine, she still held onto hope—even if just a sliver. Even if she thought it was impossible.
That part stuck with him. The idea of hope feeling unreachable. He gently slipped his hand from hers, only to drape his arm around her shoulders, tugging her close, stride adjusting to match her pace. His voice was low, easy. “I don’t think it’s impossible, Calia. Just… finicky. Doesn’t show up for those waitin’ around with open hands. Yah’ve gotta earn it. Chase it.”
He gave her a faint half-smile. “But yah already have. Yah’ve done incredible things. On yer own. That want for hope? I think it’s already on its way. It just likes to show up in the sideways, messy ways when yah ain’t lookin’ for it.” His fingers lifted, gesturing lazily between the two of them. “I mean—this? This already feels better. So maybe it’s comin’ true in the most unlikely ways.”
He didn’t expect her to shift the mood so sharply with that sudden grin and suggestion. Let’s get drunk and break into the lighthouse. He huffed a laugh, amused despite himself. “It’s probably empty by now, lass. They use it to store temple offerings before launchin’ effigies to Isyn. Hardly the vault of secrets yah’d hope for.”
Still, the glint in her eye stirred something old and familiar in him—a thrill of mischief, the kind that made the ache in his chest feel a little lighter. “If yah wanna break in, I ain’t sayin’ no. But maybe let’s not get shitfaced beforehand, yeah?” he smirked. “Not keen on tumblin’ down some old lighthouse stairs just ’cause yah wanted to find ghosts or sea gods in the dark.”
He put his arm around her and that was a fun new feeling to discover. A friendly sort of display of companionship she’d not had the benefit of experiencing outside of her siblings and perhaps Rhelic a time or two. Leaving Calia blooming into this cheeky sort of warm smile at his small gesture between the two of them. She’d told him more than once now that he had this way of sparking up hope in her – granted he was also real good at tearing it down – but that made it all the more precious and priceless.
And as he’d told her once, things were not so broken that they couldn’t be fixed. They fell apart and came back together a little stronger than before. Maybe the next time they fought, they wouldn’t crumble at all.
“Sounds like my wish was granted, then. If I do happen to trip you later and you land at Nova’s feet, just know that it was with the most heartfelt intentions.” A mysterious statement and an equally mysterious smile.
One that barely lasted for long, before it was all fox-grinning and that faint aura of plotting.
“There has to be at least a little drinking before some light burglary, otherwise it’s not as fun. Besides, it doesn’t much matter if there’s nothing in there now. Makes it that much easier to leave a little something fun behind to haunt and heckle the next generation of wee elven babes.”
This was better.
Easier.
While the two of them could crash like a windstorm against stone—or strike like lightning against a clear sky—they could also fall into harmony when they wanted to. A strange sort of rhythm between two forces that ought to conflict, but somehow didn’t. Not always.
Whether that made them great foes or greater allies? That was still anyone’s guess. He wasn’t about to claim certainty. But what was clear—what settled easy in his chest—was that calm had started to settle in around them.
And she didn’t shy from him when his arm looped around her shoulders, pulling her closer. No sharp words. No tense pull away. Just ease.
Instead, she offered schemes. Teasing hints of free drinks, devil-may-care ideas about slipping into the lighthouse—which, truthfully, was about as dull and useless as an old boot. Just a beacon for ships and a dumping ground for the temple’s overflow of dusty, barely-used relics. But maybe that was the draw. The moment everyone told her not to do something, she leaned in like it was a dare whispered by the stars.
It was so her.
The Nova comment, though—that drew a flicker of something in him. A little heat. A little wariness.
“Didn’t yah say she was likely to break my heart?” he asked, brow tipping up with a sidelong glance. The corner of his mouth tugged, amused—but maybe just a little bit pointed. Not that he was about to explain why that comment had stuck with him. Or how bold he’d already been with the woman in question. “I got the feelin’ yah didn’t want me to waste my efforts… not that yer wrong. She probably will do so and I’m very interested in lettin’ her.”
Nova’s smile still lingered at the back of his mind. Mysterious. Unreadable. A riddle he hadn’t solved yet. And he was certainly liable to try to unwrap. He hadn’t been remotely subtle in his guarantee of ravishing her at some point.
But Calia was already sidestepping with that broader grin, pressing the gas on their reckless night. She was right about the drinks, too—no surprise there. “That wouldn’t be difficult,” he replied, gaze shifting ahead as the density of trees began to break. “Walk the boardwalks toward the lighthouse and yah’ll get at least four to six glasses down the hatch before someone even questions it.”
The scent of salt thickened in the air, forest giving way to the wild edge of the sea. A long stretch of horizon waited ahead—wide, open, and filled with that quiet thrill of the unknown. Then he glanced back down at her, smirk lazy but laced with curiosity. “Do I dare ask what kind of little fun yah wanna leave behind to spook people? Or are we leavin’ that in mystery too, lass?”
There was definitely no hiding the fact he was smitten with the moonbeam elven lass, as it was still there in his eyes and his expression. Naturally there was some envy in her now too that she simply had to deal with. Earlier thinking it was a complicated feeling, but it wasn’t. It was as simple as the fact that Calia could not ever be the sort of girl that had men daydreaming fond thoughts about her. Desire, absolutely. Conquer, in most cases. This was never really something that had ever bothered her before. But Calia supposed she was a different person now and this was a different life. Maybe it was only natural that she’d start to change what she wanted too.
“Oh, she is for certain going to break your heart. But if she wants to spend the evening with you, I’m not about to be in the way. I’d probably give up my whole life and marry her if I were man.” An easy declaration to make, for Nova truly was a lovely person to meet. Now if Calia could find someone like her, a great deal taller and broader, and man shaped.
…although with that silvery blue hair, so light as it was if Nova had been a man Calia wouldn’t trust her as far as she could throw her. Those light haired menfolk were now banned from her purview. Light hair and mages, they were nonos.
As their path opened up to the wider ocean view, it really was a beautiful sight. Still gave her the shivers just thinking about all that deep water spreading out for leagues, but at least it was pretty to look at. She could appreciate it for what it was without wanting anything to do with it directly.
“I might get inspired by little water critters if you show me those pools first? I’d like to see some living ones that aren’t roasted on sticks. Otherwise I’d have to stick with the traditional ghostly haunts and that doesn’t seem as fun as a cryptid creature.”
“I don’t disagree with yah,” Arc admitted, voice softened with the rare honesty he reserved for so few. Calia was right, as she often was. “Just… if she breaks it, it’ll mend a bit stronger than before. That’s all hearts really do, isn’t it?” His brows lifted as she playfully suggested even she might’ve fallen for Nova, had the stars been arranged a little differently. A faint, amused scoff left him. “Marriage ain’t exactly somethin’ I’ve ever seen worth entertainin’, thankfully. But that doesn’t mean I’m just dippin’ out on yah either. I already said somethin’ bold to her—ought to keep her thoughts tangled for at least a day.”
His arm, draped loosely over Calia’s shoulder, gave a subtle squeeze to her bicep. A silent reassurance. This wasn’t some performance. He meant it.
As the forest thinned behind them, the path spilled open into a sweeping overlook. Wind rolled over the cliffs in gentle bursts, carrying the clean scent of sea salt and wildflowers. From this height, the port looked like a toy village nestled against the sweeping blue—half-wrapped in cloudlight and the golden hush of evening.
Arc slowed his stride and motioned for them to pause at the edge. A perfect vantage point. Calia was already musing about the lighthouse and its potential for mischief—stories carved into the air, rumors passed down just twisted enough to become myth. He flashed her a grin, all tooth and intent.
“Alright, well then I suppose we have ourselves a bit of a plot set up.”
Arc stepped forward, boots grinding slightly on stone and grass. He raised both hands outward, fingers flexing as the dusky light caught on the dull glint of his claws. “But first,” he drawled with a glimmer of mischief, “yah wanted to rain down fluffy treats from the heavens, aye? No better place for it than here.”
He exhaled slow and purposeful, drawing in the breath of the sea and the sun. Then, with a deft motion—one hand curled like a hook, the other spinning lazy arcs—he coaxed the moisture from the air. Wind bent in a spiraled hush. Heat shimmered faintly in the distance. Wisps gathered. It started like threads of silvered mist curling at his fingertips, then stretching upward into the sky above the port.
Within seconds, a singular cloud began to bloom overhead—gentle and round, as though spun from the softest fleece. Its edges curled like whipped cream, impossibly plush and tinged faintly pink and gold from the setting sun.
But Arc wasn’t done. He flicked his claws in a quick flourish, and soft sparkles of sugar-crystal shimmer danced into the foggy mass. The cloud hiccupped once—literally puffed in delight—and began to pulse like a living confection, swelling larger with every beat.
From its core, marshmallows began to form. Pillowy little shapes of different sizes floated into existence—some classic white, others pastel-toned with faint swirls like they’d been kissed by magic. They quivered, weightless and perfect, until one by one they began to fall. Soft, slow drops drifting like snowflakes made of sugar, beginning their descent over the port below.
“Alright,” Arc said with a sideways glance, violet eyes gleaming, “there’s the starter. A gift from the gods of sweet teeth. But I’ll leave the dressin’ up to yah, to make them fiery or what not. Have yer fun.” His smirk deepened as he looked down at his claws, already starting to recede with a subtle shimmer. “I’ve got to decide what glamour best hides a nightmare after all. Don’t need to be stressin’ out the wee folks for a second round.”
“Something bold to her,” she repeated with a wrinkle of her nose. Calia knew damn well what that meant, and was willing to bet it was less bold and more along the lines something one shouldn’t be saying to a sweet lady.
Then again, Calia had seen those sly looks out of Nova, that girl was no doubt well familiar with getting up to bedroom mischief.
She ended up laughing though, shrugged her shoulders just a bit.
“I think I’d be like the elves in this respect, marrying for life, forever. I’d be too stunned I found the one at all to ever go looking at someone else.”
Calia paused when he did, giving a confused tilt of her head at her perusal of him to see just what he was talkin about. Having it quickly revealed with a surprised rise of her brow that he’d actually taken up the challenge of her marshmallow storm. That toothy youthful grin was immediate and had she been any younger and less dignified she might’ve bounced on her feet. Instead there was a gesture of her hands for him to carry on while she gracefully side stepped to give him the room to work his magic.
Literally work the magic, as what fun it was to watch him shape the clouds above the town. Not just simple things of popping marshmallows out of nowhere. He made and pretty painting of it in the sky. Slow enough that the curious movement was bound to get curious spectarors down below on the docks, looking upwards and wondering what sort of formations those could possibly be. Not even dropping either to be like pelting rain, but more like fluffy weightless snowflakes drifting in the breeze.
Calia tilted her hair back in a cackle as he left the flare to her.
The marshmallows needed to be toasted after all.
First a wiggle of her fingers, she didn’t even need to think about it. Calia framed her body as if had taken a box from her back and notched an arrow ready to fly. A deep breath in and a deep breath out, she let that invisible arrow go and with a very noisy whirr it shot off to the clouds hitting the mark with a series of crackling pops and sparkles. Some marshmallows dropping and tilting out of the clouds as tiny fireballs, just enough in their descent before the natural air put out the flames and left them golden toasty, a little gooey.
The entire docks were going to be an absolute sticky mess. No one would ever forget it.
No one could ever accuse them of being subtle. Over the top? Absolutely. But never dull.
Marshmallows raining from the sky wasn’t something Arc had ever imagined conjuring—let alone with care. It took thought, more finesse than his usual dramatic flair demanded. Far more of a confectioner’s whimsy than anything he’d have dreamt up on his own. But the end result? It was absurdly perfect. A soft, drifting cascade of pillowy sweets from above, like a dream made by a sugar-obsessed cloud spirit. And of course, Calia had insisted they be toasted to taste. Because why stop at ridiculous when you could go all the way to legendary?
He hadn’t crafted the whole show himself, not when she’d flashed him a grin that was, frankly, rare enough to pause time. He wasn’t about to rob her of the chaos. Besides, the laughter she gave while miming her elemental theatrics—pretending to be the very force of nature that turned the floating marshmallows into golden, gooey madness—was too rich to interrupt.
This wasn’t just a spectacle. This was going to be the story of the festival for generations. Demons and marshmallows from the sky. A potentially haunted lighthouse. Entire families would talk about this for years. The temple would scramble to explain it all and come up empty-handed, left with no better theory than: Isyn was feeling mischievous this season. Which, honestly, was a far more palatable answer than the truth—that two immensely magical troublemakers had chosen mischief over mayhem and pulled it off beautifully.
As Calia pantomimed notching a bow and fired off her imaginary arrow, the clouds responded with a soft pop, the marshmallows slowly caramelizing as they drifted downward. Arc let out an airy chuckle, light and full of that rare breed of amusement—one where chaos had met craft and turned into something genuinely delightful.
He even offered her a light round of applause, smirking as he admired her work.
By then, his glamour had settled across him fully. No trace of his usual glaring monstrosity remained—only a perfectly forgettable elf with neatly kept dark hair and pale blue eyes. Shorter than Calia, modest in frame, and wholly unremarkable. The kind of face you passed by in a crowd without a second glance. A face designed to disappear.
“Alright then,” he drawled with a casual flick of his hand toward the port below, the drifting sweets still gently dotting rooftops and startled onlookers. “Reckon it’s time we wander back, aye?”
He cast her a sidelong glance, grin crooked. “So Nova can sob over yer miraculous return and fawn like a lovesick bard—while tryin’ to decide if the marshmallow rain was a vision, divine prank, or just the wildest sugar dream she’s ever had.”
Calia blew him a kiss with one hand and a kiss with the other, taking full delight in the applause, for it truly was spectacular, wasn’t it? Magic for the sake of mischief and joy, there was nothing better than that.
…except maybe the part where she was actually going to get to walk through the town and watch the mayhem that unfolded!
First pausing to glance at him and his glamours. Closing one eye to really look at the completely unremarkable forgettable elf that he’d become to be able to return to the town without notice. He’d said he left in a flurry and having seen Archimedes mad, she bet it was a storming mess when he had of people running and shrieking. There was some regret there too for having caused all that trouble, but surely a marshmallow storm would make up for it. No one had actually been hurt.
Then closing the other eye so should could be sure that her vision was set to see him for who he truly was. Having no interest in staring at a stranger all night.
“I bet she’s standing about with her mouth wide open like a tart,” she exclaimed with another laugh. Already leading the way with a bounce in her step and a feeling of lightness she’d not had in quite a while.
More than that, she was genuinely excited to return to the boardwalk, the festivities and see their magic in action. The confusions, the delight, the horror, and even the irritation about the mess. This sort of harmless nonsense was so perfectly wonderful in every possible way that how could she not be pleased with herself? Even holding out her own hand when they’d reach the wooden boards themselves to catch one of the treats and examine it in her hands. It’s fluffy, sticky, squish before she popped it in her mouth and giggled like some sort of criminal vagrant.
Their return was, without a doubt, a spectacle.
The boardwalk and flagstones alike had been bombarded with golden, sticky marshmallows—lightly toasted and half-melted where they hit. The mess was charming in its innocence, the sort that left fingertips sugary and the air rich with the scent of warmed vanilla. People clustered beneath awnings and along storefronts, eagerly whispering, voices a blend of awe and disbelief.
Some laughed, brushing confections from their cloaks or hats. Others stood stock-still, eyes turned upward, murmuring among themselves in reverent tones. Cryptic souls with wide, suspicious eyes muttered about omens, claiming Isyn’s displeasure had finally fallen upon them—for what sins, no one was quite sure. But that didn’t stop the hushed conjectures from weaving their way through the crowd like smoke through a tavern.
Arc didn’t bother listening too closely, letting it all buzz around him like background music. His gaze lingered instead on Calia as she casually plucked one of the drifting sweets from the air and popped it into her mouth, looking smugly satisfied with their perfectly absurd bit of skyborne mischief.
Fortunately, their return path had dropped them just near the Driftwood Haven, one of the first establishments at the edge of the port. They arrived to find a small congregation gathered outside—patrons drawn from their dinners by the sky’s unexpected generosity.
More marshmallows still floated lazily down, soft and steaming, to splat harmlessly on warm stones and shoulders alike. Some people were laughing, others whispering wide-eyed. The sound was gentle—gasps and soft-spoken theories, half-hushed prayers and gleeful exclamations. A collective wonderment crackling in the air like electricity before a storm.
Brux stood among them, arms folded, chin tilted ever so slightly skyward. His expression was unreadable at first—part suspicion, part quiet awe. The kind of look one gave a miracle they weren’t sure they believed in. Yet when his eyes swept toward them—toward her—his expression shifted. His stern features softened, subtly, but unmistakably. Relief. Not disappointment. Not confusion. Just quiet, grounded relief that Calia had returned.
And it was no surprise, truly, to find Nova already outside, arms flung wide with delighted giggles as if she could catch the falling sweets in sheer joy. Her hair was wind-tossed, her bronze eyes bright with childlike wonder, a soft bruise still lingering on her lip from earlier. But none of it dulled her shine.
The moment she spotted Calia, she gasped like she’d seen the sun rise again.
“Calia!” she cried, marshmallows completely forgotten. She surged forward, darting past startled patrons and nearly slipping on a half-melted puff on the walk.
Her arms flung around the human woman in a flourish of skirts and warm embrace, clutching her like they’d been separated for years instead of mere hours. “Yer alright! I didn’t know what happened! I’m so sorry—for this mornin’, for whatever scared yah, for what made yah bolt. I didn’t know what to do, love—I just—gods, I’m glad yer back!”
She stepped back only a fraction, eyes gleaming, gesturing wildly to the air around them. “And look! Look! Marshmallows from the bloody sky! Toasted an’ all! Can yah believe it?”
Arc, keeping true to his promise, had already slipped to the side. His new, unremarkable guise helped him blend with the gathered crowd—just another forgettable face among the stunned onlookers. He didn’t speak, didn’t draw a flicker of attention, choosing instead to drift toward the edges of the scene like mist. Their reunion wasn’t his to intrude upon.
Nova was already seizing Calia’s hands, squeezing them tight between hers. “Yer really alright, right? Actually okay? Do yah need anything—anything at all—just name it. I was about to start my own search party! Might’ve only been me and Loiren, but that cat can sniff out trouble like a bloodhound in boots. I was so scared for yah, Calia—I’m just… I’m so glad yer back.”
The whispers continued behind them, building. Children tried to catch melting marshmallows in their mouths. An old woman murmured something about celestial sugar and the end times in the same breath. Someone muttered about writing to the temple council. And overhead, the last golden wisps of cloud slowly unraveled—leaving behind only laughter, disbelief, and a story that would ripple through the port for decades to come.
Calia was really going to have to be careful about where she’d be stepping, otherwise she’d be liable to slip on her ass over sticky sugar. In fact she was busy enough minding her feet that she very much had the misfortune of Nova spotting her first, hearing her name shouted and not even having the chance to brace before she was practically tackled! Had Calia been a smaller lady and without a natural balance, she would have for sure landed on the ground!
She’d braced her hands on the girl’s shoulders to steady her and it must’ve been at least three times of opening her mouth and trying to answer her between the mix of worried concern and delighted happy exclamations.
And ooooh, Calia felt that pang of grief deep in her guts of just how much it reminded her of her elder sister. So brilliantly happy over something strange and beautiful. How could Calia not immediately be grinning herself, proud and pleased before it softened to something fully apologetic when Nova grasped her hands.
“I am sorry for worrying you. I had a panic and sometimes my feet think faster than my brain. Arc came and fussed me back to my senses.” Of course, it was a great deal uglier than that. Including the dark fae situation that Calia still hadn’t even began to process. Nova didn’t need to know all of those messy details, though.
…that small bruise on the girl’s lip did have Calia shooting the glamoured demon another squinty-eyed look though. He’d said he’d taken Nova’s offered blood, but he hadn’t said how and now she was starting to get a picture of that!
“Your Isyn seems to be granting all kinds of wishes today, it seems,” she did muse out loud with that wily fox grin. “I hope no one wished for a husband, it may come raining men next.”
Nova’s head shook almost immediately, small and swift, but full of warmth. There wasn’t a shred of upset in her—just pure, palpable relief. The kind that settled in her shoulders, in her chest, in the bounce of her feet and the tightness of her smile. She held Calia’s hands like they were lifelines, like she might vanish again if Nova didn’t tether her with touch.
“Don’t apologize,” she said, voice gentle but firm. “I understand completely. Sometimes yer body just… does what it does. Doesn’t always make sense to anyone else, and it doesn’t need to. As long as yer okay, that’s what matters. I’m real glad yer back. Really glad.“
Her grin stretched impossibly wide, bright enough to rival the sticky golden globs still dotting the boardwalk like half-melted constellations. The scent of toasted sugar clung thick to the air, and the gentle plop-plop of cooling marshmallows still falling in the distance was punctuated by the low murmur of voices. Background noise hummed like an orchestra of awe—children squealing with laughter, adults theorizing in hushed and reverent tones, someone faintly arguing about whether the sky sweets were divine or arcane in origin.
From somewhere deeper in the port, the clatter of cutlery resumed as people tentatively returned to their half-finished meals. Distant footsteps tapped along the wood planks, and above it all, the sea offered its slow, rhythmic hush. It was a town wrapped in disbelief—half celebration, half holy confusion.
Nova bounced slightly where she stood, unable to still her excitement. Her gaze flicked quickly around, a darting glance that caught the absence of a certain shadowy figure. A quiet thought, not spoken aloud, passed through her eyes. She noticed the demon wasn’t there.
Not that she was disappointed, not exactly. But the memory of earlier panic still lingered. He’d spooked the entire port into bracing for the end of days. For hours after, there had been scrambling, theorizing, sheer scrutiny. Then—nothing. Just marshmallows and mystery. The storm had passed, and all that remained was a sugary mess and people wondering if they’d imagined it all.
Her attention snapped back to Calia as she visibly lit up, eyes sparkling. “Isyn must’ve really been listenin’ tonight, huh? Grantin’ wishes an’ all!” Her laugh rang out as bright as her smile. “I’m just glad I didn’t wish for a husband—can yah imagine explainin’ that one? ‘Oh, how’d we meet?’ ‘Oh, he fell from the sky.’“
Nova tilted her head back and laughed, clear and carefree, like sunlight catching seafoam. “Hope he’d be dressed at least. Wouldn’t wanna catch someone in the buff crashin’ into the market square. Can yah imagine? The scandal!”
By now, the last few marshmallows were falling, the sky beginning to clear into soft purples and twilight blues. The background chatter had taken on a celebratory pitch, people debating what it meant, whether it was a miracle or just bizarrely good luck. The temple bells weren’t ringing, and maybe that was a sign the world hadn’t ended just yet.
Nova squeezed Calia’s hands again, her enthusiasm bubbling over. “I think this whole thing’s a sign we ought to just enjoy what we’ve got tonight, yah know? Didja want to go do somethin’ together?” Her words came fast now, bubbling out with excitement. “They’ll be settin’ off fireworks over the ocean later—we could go watch ’em! Get a drink, sit on the pier, maybe toast a bit to the sea goddess for not rainin’ down husbands in their skivvies.”
A small laugh escaped her again, gentler this time. “I just think it’d be nice to spend one more night together. Just the two of us. Soakin’ up the last bit of festival magic before the port goes back to bein’ the port again. Two friends, baskin’ in the blessin’ of the sea and the absolute madness of marshmallow miracles.”
Calia surely could not argue that sometimes bodies just did what they did. For she was very aware that sometimes she felt too many things, too many overwhelming emotions all at once that her head just shut off and narrowed in to a single one, and most of the time it wasn’t the right one. Kicking her into panicked flight, or more likely a cold fury, leaving her with a whole list of fresh new problems to deal with. Wishing that it was as easy as pausing time for a moment and then being able to pick the one that was most appropriate.
Speaking of wishes, though, Nova’s amusing description of what it’d be like to have men falling from the sky was giving Calia all kinds of incredibly fun, very bad ideas. Laughing along so easily with the girl but trying not to actually start plotting such a thing, no matter how tempting it was to try. For it was one thing to create objects and things, to conjure up living people might just be outside of her skill set without having kidnapping be involved!
Nova’s offer of spending the evening together came as a surprise, almost bringing up this flush of embarrassment that she’d even been thought of that much at all. An almost irresistible offer too, for Calia really did like the girl. She was a little minx of bright hopeful silliness and made the whole world feel worth living in simply because she existed. And as much as Calia might’ve liked to stay here a little longer, the festival was coming to it’s end which meant she was soon to leave and return back to her own responsibilities and goals.
There was also her original goal. The reason she’d wanted to spend a few days here in the first place.
Calia glanced up at the sky, gauging the time. “I hope you don’t mind, I’d actually like to spend the rest of the day with Arc, away from the festival? But I would really love to come back and watch the fireworks with you tonight. You’ll probably be sick of marshmallows by then, so we can have a fire picnic and roast scallops to go along with those drinks.”
So easily—so swiftly—did her lashes flutter in hasty blinks, head turning this way and that at the mention of the glaringly absent, towering demon. She listened to Calia, certainly, but her open humming made it obvious she wasn’t catching sight of him. She’d already assumed he’d wisely avoided the crowded festival grounds, knowing full well that any sharp-eyed bystander could likely piece together who—or what—he truly was.
Though she did remember, quite clearly, the first time she’d seen him slung across Calia’s back. He hadn’t had horns then. No claws either. Nothing so overtly infernal.
Which only meant there was more going on beneath the surface. More than she understood.
Magic stuff.
Still, she gave a casual little bob of her head, moon kissed hair bouncing gently with the motion. “Of course! If that’s what yah wantin’ to do, then I think it’s a great idea! Just come find me here at the tavern when yah’re ready to wander down and get a good view for the fireworks. Though I doubt I’ll ever be sick of marshmallows. Especially not when they’re fallin’ from the sky in such a delightful fashion.”
Her eyes sparkled with the memory—white, sugary fluff drifting down from the clouds, sticking sweetly to people’s hair and laughter like something out of a child’s dream. It was just one of the many new and unexpected whimsical surprises of the High Tide Festival. Truly making it a celebration where magic ran wild and the boundary between wonder and reality wore thin. With each tide, the enchantment of the season washed anew over the town, and this year’s magic felt deeper—older.
Shoulders lifted in a cheerful shrug, pushing a bubbling laugh from her chest as if the joy itself couldn’t help but spill out. She gave one last light squeeze to the hands she held. “Have fun, okay? Enjoy the last night for all the magic it’s got in it. It’s gonna be one to remember.”
Calia could’ve laughed again at Nova glancing around for Archimedes, knowing he had to be around nearby but not being able to pick him out from the crowd. Taking a wild guess that perhaps he’d gone full man-shaped demon appearance with horns and all when he tore through the boardwalk looking for her.
He really was impressive when he did things like that, Calia was almost sad she missed it.
A whim of foolish sentimentality caught her with Nova’s gentle squeeze to her hands, and just like that it was Calia tugging the girl into a squeezing bear of a hug. In that moment it just felt so important to share the friendly affection, just in case. Of her sudden departure, or wild events, or something terrible. Calia wanted to be sure her fondness had been expressed at least once, so it wouldn’t be a regret she held later.
“Well I don’t doubt for a minute about that,” she answered with a huffing laugh about it being one to remember. The whole place was covered in roasted sugar now! She did let the girl go with her hands shooed her off. Deliberately giving the sort of mysterious smile suggesting that it was because she wasn’t going to reveal where the demon of the day was hiding.
Waiting until Nova had scurried off before she herself reunited with the one with the glowing cosmos horns that only she could presently see. Holding tight to her warm pleasant feelings, as they were so rare for her to have these days!
She probably didn’t even realize it—how vital it was to have people around her who served as grounding conduits to the world. Arc wasn’t exactly eavesdropping, but he hadn’t gone out of his way to block out the conversation either. His ears caught the soft murmurings, the gentle sounds of awe from festival-goers slowly trickling back into the tavern or meandering toward the next flicker of revelry along the boardwalks. Drawn like moths to lanternlight, chasing whatever bit of enchantment this particular celebration promised to offer.
The ever-present aroma of fried dough, sizzling meats, and candied nuts clung to the salt-heavy air—an intoxicating mix of indulgence and nostalgia. The laughter of children and the melodic chatter of elven tongues blended into a steady rhythm, a low murmur carried beneath the distant hum of string instruments and tambourines echoing from somewhere deeper within the festival grounds. All of it mingled with the cawing gulls overhead, feathered freeloaders swooping low to scavenge the sticky remains of sky-fallen marshmallows, now dissolving into the cobblestones like sweet snow.
He wasn’t about to have a sudden epiphany or a change of heart over this entire affair—his disdain for such merriment had been etched into his bones too long for that. But still… he could accept it, for the moment. There was something to be said for standing at the fringe, watching others be lit from within.
From his position, he watched as Nova returned Calia’s embrace with the same uninhibited joy she seemed to greet everything with—light on her feet, practically bouncing, before darting back inside the tavern with a bright glint in her eye and a rush of words spilling from her lips. Likely chasing after the first willing pair of ears. Or any ears. She had that sort of presence—soft but inescapable.
His gaze shifted toward Calia, toward the so-called mountain princess. Ears gave a subtle lift, head tilting with the kind of gesture that read more like a truce than a greeting. “Ain’t half bad havin’ a little elven nymph of a friend, is it?” he remarked, the corner of his mouth twitching with dry amusement. “She’d be real dangerous too, if she had any magic in her veins. Lucky for all of us, the gods spared us that kind of chaos.”
With a loose flick of his hand, he gestured toward the winding walkways that webbed through the heart of Tír Élas—lantern-lit bridges over streams that shimmered with bioluminescent run-off from earlier spells, pop-up stalls glowing faintly with residual charm-work, and all manner of merchant booths hawking everything from enchanted combs to suspiciously potent pastries.
“Well, lass,” he drawled, “you’ve been among this lot longer than I have. I imagine you’ve already picked out the best path to whatever liquored poison yah feel like flirtin’ with tonight. So I’m followin’ yer lead.”
His fingers tapped absently against the side of his belt, eyes flicking briefly across the lantern-lit skyline. “When yah’re good and ready to ditch the oceanfront spectacle, I’ll point you toward the proper shops. Stuff we might actually need. Mana potions, most of all. Just in case I get sapped dry again and end up as useful as a half-burned candle.”
There was a very different way Calia seemed to carry herself when she wasn’t plagued by darker thoughts, fears, or that crawling sense of dread. Comfortable in her own skin, fluid and graceful, something she’d been naturally born with and couldn’t come from royal etiquette lessons. She didn’t have a clue there was an outward difference, all Calia really noticed was that for the time being she could actually relax. Be at a peaceful rest, where she wasn’t fighting her own shadows trying to keep herself from revealing secrets, scaring others, or being afraid that something was going to go horribly wrong the second she let her guard down. There wasn’t a single weapon strapped or stashed on her either, making her that much lighter and at ease.
“It’d be raining marshmallows every day, I’d wager. Tír Élas would have fattest and happiest elves in all of Edelguard,” she answered with all seriousness. Likely not to be the half of it, Calia could all too easily imagine Nova having a whole fleet of cats like Loiren and turning the town upside down. Sending her into a soft bit of giggling when she did fall into step with Arc, winding her arm around his seeing as she was apparently in charge of the leading for now.
“I didn’t know there were potions for such things,” she admitted easily. “It’s a good idea to get as many supplies as we can before heading back into the mountains. There won’t be as many developed towns and old growth forests.”
Calia also very much wanted to try her hand at making her own little pocket void space for stashing things, but that kind of magic actually did take time and practice to learn. A challenge she was happy to tackle later when she did not have better things to do.
Those better things presently being getting a little tipsy and finding trouble to get into.
She had actually learned the different stalls and booths over the past couple of days, bypassing silly games and touristy traps with trinkets and the safer watered down brews. Weaving them casually through people to find the one that had the tiny shots of hard liquors with such absurdly dangerous sounding names that they were too amusing not to try. Handing him a neon blue mixture labeled as a Hypnotic Bullfrog and keeping it’s green brother Acid Toad for herself.
Knocking her own drink back with a following hiss that had her wondering if they used actually toads in the damn thing!
“They used to be more common back when mages, wizards, and all those self-important titles were in surplus,” Arc said without missing a beat. He gave no mind to the fact they’d gone from slinging spells at one another not long ago to now walking side by side in this strange, easy camaraderie. He hadn’t been lying when he’d said he was tired of the infighting. And in the grand scheme of things—they were on the same side, weren’t they?
“Now?” He gave a slight shrug. “Probably a bit rarer. Doubt there’s many alchemists still tucked out in Edelguard’s wilds who even remember how to brew half of these things. Health potions too, but I’m not sure they’re any more common.”
He didn’t mention that he knew the recipe for at least one of them. One of his earlier cons, peddling potions under the guise of a snake-oil seller. Sometimes they worked. Sometimes they didn’t. All for the sake of a few shiny coins—just enough to stash away and waste on charm and vices when the mood struck. No way in hell he was using Bloodworth coffers for those pursuits.
Still, he nodded in easy agreement at the mention of stocking up. A practical task, made easier by the fact they didn’t have to carry everything on their backs. That’s what the Arcanum Hollow was for—stuffing away goods for whatever mad errand the future might hurl at them.
For now, that thought was shelved—tucked on the mental backburner. His mind settled instead on the ease of the moment, smoothing the edge off his usual silent resistance to festival cheer. He let her steer them through the crowds, through the scents and sounds that tugged now and then at long-faded memories.
He was quietly, deeply grateful she hadn’t stopped at the squidballs-on-a-stick stand or that godsforsaken deep-fried tuna. He could already taste the imagined regret, the kind that lingered like oil on the tongue.
Instead, she had led them with casual precision toward the booths farther down the boardwalk—where the more daring spirits were poured for the brave or the foolish. Liquor vendors called out in half-sung tones, peddling brews as experimental as they were enchanting. Most were concocted just for the festival. A few might earn a spot in one of the established taverns near the harbor. The rest? Best left forgotten. Some were fond memories. Others became stories of unfortunate nights and sour stomachs.
In this case, they were going to find out for themselves.
Calia was already two steps ahead, plucking up a couple of vivid, amphibian-themed drinks—one a brilliant blue, the other a grassy green. She passed the blue one into his hand without pause.
Arc stared at it, raising a brow as he held it to the fading light like that alone might divine its contents. The liquid shimmered unnaturally, like enchantment bottled. Still, with no better guesses and no hesitation, he tipped it back.
The taste struck instantly—a confused blend of something sickly sweet paired with an acidic, almost citrus bite that didn’t quite make it to sour. It clashed on the tongue, like two spells cast in opposing directions. “Hypnotic Bullfrog,” the booth’s sign had read. He now suspected the name was a reference to the drink’s desperate attempt at being palatable.
He suppressed a grimace as goosebumps rolled over his arms, the sensation prickling across his skin like static. He gave a firm shake of his head. No. Not a winner. No bite, no burn—just syrup and confusion. He couldn’t even pretend he could get drunk off that. More likely it’d come right back up and melt its way out of a person’s throat.
Still polite, Arc nodded faintly to the booth vendor, then gestured with his chin toward another setup just off to the side. This one looked more promising—sleek bottles lined in neat rows, filled with liquid that shimmered like molten ore.
“Can’t be worse than dragon’s spit,” he muttered, amusement threading through the words as his gaze met that of the elven vendor behind the table.
The elf offered what had to be the most unconvincing grin Arc had ever seen.
Naturally, he was intrigued.
The man gestured to one bottle first—a dark steel-gray liquid with flecks of silvery foam that rose and danced with a gentle swirl. It looked like storm clouds caught in a bottle.
“One glass brings ease,” the elf said smoothly, “two knocks out a grown centaur. Sailors use it for dreamless sleep.”
He paused, lips curling with the faint smugness of someone who knew he had a story in every sip.
“Ironkissed Lullaby.”
Arc scoffed softly, more entertained than put off.
The elf then motioned to another drink—this one the color of molten gold, clinging to its glass like honeyed tar. It glowed with an almost seductive sheen. The name etched into the stand read Gilded Widow.
Arc gave Calia a subtle nudge and pointed to the gold one, just in case the Ironkissed Lullaby ended up being more sleep tonic than spirit. His own body had taken worse; he figured he could handle it.
“Are we darin’ enough for this?” he asked, turning to her with a crooked smirk, silver eyes catching just enough lantern-glow to gleam with the challenge.
Calia was still making a sour face, as that was just what the blasted Toad drink was like. Sour something and still somehow tasting of tepid lake water. Certainly a good shot of alcohol in it, but she wasn’t sure it was worth the effort of existing! She found it quite interesting that even in Edelguard, where magic permeated thievery lands itself, that mages and sorcerers had become less common that what they used to be. Willing to bet that one too many magic users had done some fucked up things, ruining it for those who had natural born talents that they couldn’t help. Archimedes himself having unintentionally helped create that situation.
Regardless that his own drink had given him goosebumps had her laughing softly again. Completely amused with these weirdly named elven drinks and how every single one seemed to come with added bonus effects that were beyond the simple means of getting yourself shitfaced drunk. Truly anyone that had a penchant for heavy drinking was liable to get themselves a very off array of consequences if they walked around the boardwalk daring to sample one too many things.
Naturally Calia was right on board with that. Joining Arc with ease to where he’d gestured to peer curious at the grinning vendor, who looked so full of his own bullshit that she’d be surprised if these drinks packed a punch at all beyond their pretty coloring.
“Daring enough?” she asked with an incredulous lit. “Beetlebug, daring isn’t the issue. Are we going to be able to wake up in the morning is the real question.”
A smile that was happy to take up the challenge met his eyes, and Calia easily claimed this Gilded Widow of a drink. All beautiful golden and promises – although she had to wonder if it meant to imply it was inspired by such a woman, or it’d get her smashed enough to kill her own husband! Either way it was nothing at all to bring the glass to her lips and drink it down.
Beetlebug?
He’d heard her call him that before, sure—but it hadn’t carried the same casual ease, the same strangely warm note that it did now. This time, it wasn’t a jab. Not really. So he gave her a look. An incredulous lilt she bore, meeting the lift of his brow and a grin that curled up easy and crooked across his mouth. Glamoured, it was unremarkable. On him, though? Oh, it was all Arc—just a bit toothy, thoroughly amused, and sparkling with a glint of half-hearted mischief.
“I mean, that’s always the risk, ain’t it? Long as yah do wake up. Preferably not face-down in a ditch outside some goat town an hour from where yah started.” He sipped air like punctuation, then added with a flick of a brow, “Not sayin’ that’s ever happened, mind. Could be just a whimsical example.”
Was it? Wasn’t it? He left the mystery hanging like a cat on a ledge.
Calia, true to her nature, was already lifting her glass with that fearless spark in her eye, and so he mirrored the motion with the steel-gray liquor in hand. The color still looked like something forged, not brewed—but down it went, just the same.
And gods, it hit different.
It was sharp, sure—mineral-rich and iron-heavy, but smooth enough that it didn’t claw its way down like spite in a bottle. Instead, it burned with intention. Heat bloomed in his gut, rippling outward in waves, chasing through his veins with such conviction that he let out a slow breath just to contain it. His fingers tapped once against the now-empty glass, as if it might whisper to him the ingredients of its dark little secrets. It finished smooth. Clean. With a hint of velvet at the back of the tongue.
He gave the vendor a glance—just enough for the elf to flash all teeth in a grin that danced on the edge of trouble. “Mighty dangerous,” the man offered, unbothered.
“Guess yah weren’t full of shit after all,” Arc muttered, half-impressed, thumb brushing across his cheek. “Thought yah were spoutin’ tavern tales. Turns out yah’ve got poison with actual talent.” He set the empty glass back on the bar where it was promptly whisked away for a proper cleaning, the scent of citrus and sea salt from a nearby booth wafting across in its wake. He blinked slowly, and then let out a breath that was half-laugh, half-warning to himself.
“Right, well. We pour another one of those down the hatch and that statement I made about not gettin’ knackered easily? Goin’ straight into the liar’s grave.” He gestured loosely, shoulders bouncing with a dry chuckle. “Good to know I’ve found somethin’ that’ll put me under like a spell—just maybe not tonight, yeah.” Still wanting to show her the tidepools without being carried back like the town’s favorite drunk demon.
His eyes flicked sideways to Calia, still gleaming with that reluctant fondness that always seemed to sneak past his defenses when he wasn’t paying attention. She’d probably laugh if he did keel over, the minx. “Let’s not make a scene. Yet.”
“I have a feeling you have many whimsical examples,” she murmured with amusement before tipping back that golden drink.
And oh that was good.
Most of these mixed drinks had such a sugary over abundance of syrups that they could make your teeth ache, but this little mix was so wonderfully tempered with warm honey. Some fruity note that reminded her of ripen apples was there, but none of the usual spices and blends of things that tended to be added to help hide awful tastes. Nothing about it was wild or young, a mature and refined taste that let those simple things shine through. It felt like basking outside on a hot summer day, just baking away in the sun without a care in the world.
A soft appreciative hum slipped out and a wriggle of her shoulders with that silent debate on whether or not she was going to risk a second one, simply so she could swim and savor that feeling. Giving Arc a sly sort of look, suggesting she’d be ride there along for the ride not being a help or an responsible chaperone at all if he did fall off into being a staggering drunk. She’d match him drink for drink!
They were going to be trouble. Calia found that she didn’t much mind at all.
“Yet.” she agreed, all toothy grins and taking his arm again. If they didn’t get out of Drunk Alley, they’d make some very poor choices to be sure. Calia needed to at least keep her head long enough to meet Nova later! So it was the most gentle of nudging to lead him away down the pier towards the beach so they could move on in the direction of the lighthouse.
It was probably in the town’s best interest that the two of them hadn’t gone through with the experiment of finding out exactly what happened when they both ended up two sheets to the wind. There were enough stories floating around—half-truths, bard-spun legends, and first-hand disaster reports—to warn of the chaos that came when mages got drunk.
For most, it was considered a cautionary tale. For them? Well, it might lean a little more into comedic woe.
Especially considering Calia and that cucumber spell she kept threatening to manifest. The one Arc was now ninety percent sure was not a bluff. He could already hear the bewildered gasps of tourists years from now marveling at The Frozen Cuke of Port Tir Elas, carved into local legend with a suspicious amount of detail.
He didn’t say anything, just nodded in quiet agreement to her “yet,” offering the booth-runner a casual two-fingered salute as he stepped away. The weight of her hand tugged him along, and he let her lead him out of the alleyway and back into the open air.
Away from liquid metal, sugared nightmares, and probable blackouts.
The sounds of the festival faded to a backdrop hum—laughter, music, the faint crackle of fireworks in the distance, like static caught on the wind. And ahead of them, sprawling and glinting beneath the soft blanket of twilight, was the horizon of Isyn’s waters. Wide and ever-reaching. It rolled out under the sky in ripples and silver-blue hush, as though even the sea was starting to exhale after the chaos of the day.
Arc glanced sideways, idle thought tugging behind his eyes.
If the goddess of the tides was watching, he wouldn’t be surprised to find her grinning with all teeth, swirling the seafoam with interest. Her festival had been more than just fireworks and falling marshmallows—it had been a full-blown storm of energy and mischief. Maybe that was what she liked best. The unpredictability of it all.
Fitting, really. Sand began to crunch underfoot, climbing up into his boots and pants in a way that was going to be absolutely miserable to deal with later—but he didn’t mind. Not tonight. Not as he raked fingers back through tousled dark hair, brushing over the crown where the broken stub of his missing horn still felt foreign. Strange, that. Time would tell if it grew back or stayed as it was—a relic of something lost, or a beginning of something new.
Heat still rolled in him from that last drink—a slow burn curling through his limbs—and he let the silence stretch a little before he finally broke it with a wry glance in her direction.
“So.” His voice carried low, edged with a lazy kind of amusement. “Yah wanted to see the ocean, right?” He spread his arms a bit, gesturing to the vastness before them as he took the unspoken lead down the shoreline, heading toward the lighthouse’s glow. “Well… have yah found yer curiosity properly tempered? Or we still lookin’ to summon sea spirits to add to the magic of the day?”
The tidepools waited further along. Still hidden for now—but the pull of them was there, just like the moon pulling at the tide. Quiet. Constant. And Arc, half-lit with moonlight and liquor, was feeling just buzzed enough to enjoy it.
One could bet at the slightest reminder of the Frozen Cucumber, Calia was going to make it happen. Tír Élas could thank it’s lucky stars that she was preoccupied with other things. That their marshmallow storm had satisfied her desire to make magic and mischief in such a grand way, that now she was free to just bask in the aftermath and exist in her quiet companionable moment.
Finally doing what Nova had been urging her to do for days, now that she didn’t have a dark cloud of worry hanging over her. And while she did enjoy spending time with the moonbeam elf, there was something special in spending time with someone that already knew the truth of you. Where she didn’t have to use courtly manners to prevent a scandal, or watch her sarcasm to avoid hurt feelings. She sure as hell wasn’t going to terrifying Archimedes with statements that accidentally sounded threatening, nor was he going to look at her like she was the whore of Caeldalmor if she mentioned filthy proclivities.
And she didn’t have to think which was the best part of all. Calia could simply enjoy the breeze against her skin, heightened by that wonderful alcoholic elixir. There was the gentle roar of the ocean waves and the distant music of the festivities. Seabirds calling out to each other and the soft whispers of sand.
And when he finally did speak, he was met with such a casual smile as if she’d always smiled like that instead of her usual stoic stoniness.
“I went sailing on a fishing boat with an old couple. They were lovely, but I about had my ass knocked right into the water by the swinging mast. I think the only thing I haven’t done is swim in the deep, and you know, I’m good. I can do without.”
A simple admittance of a fear there, with no shame or embarrassment about it. The ocean was vast and intimidating enough while it was beautiful and calm. Heaven forbid she ever had to see it angry with storm, she might never take a foot near it again!
“If you wanna go riding sea horses, though, have at it! I can stay back here to point and laugh!”
When she mentioned she’d once gone out on a boat to help an elderly couple with their nets and fishing, Arc wasn’t exactly surprised. Curious maybe—at the idea of her out there on the water—but not at the thought of her rolling up sleeves and diving into hard work. That tracked just fine.
“Yeah, if yah don’t tie those down just right, they’ll come swingin’ at yah like you’re in a tavern brawl,” he said with a half-smirk, his gaze drifting out to the darkening stretch of ocean. The surface rippled in lazy swells, coaxed by both breeze and moon. Stalwart silhouettes of ships dotted the waters still, though most had cleared out, making way for the festival’s revelers to overrun the piers with laughter and spilled drinks instead of crates and barking crewmen.
He wasn’t entirely sure he still had his sea legs. Not that he’d had much to begin with.
He’d only ever been out once—on a glorified bobber of a vessel—and promptly discovered that his dear father was the sort who very much felt the motion of the ocean. Spent most of the trip hanging over the side, sea-sick and cursing the gods. Arc, on the other hand, had been young, a mischievous little shit who’d shown up in the port town when he was very much not supposed to. Snuck out of the capital, vanished like smoke, and reappeared here just to see what he could stir up.
He’d left footprints some folk still remembered. Some with frowns. Some with crooked grins. A few, no doubt, with the sort of hushed chuckle you only hear behind a hand.
“Sea horses?” he echoed, glancing back at her with one brow lifted. “Yeah, no. I don’t think I ought to go anywhere near anythin’ that can either drown me or trample me in its own domain. I got no webbed appendages, love, so I’m afraid yah’ll have to live without that particular form of entertainment.”
By then, his glamour had long since dropped. There was no one out this far—just them and the sound of the surf—and even if someone did catch a glimpse of the real him? They could trot right off with it. He was in no mood to care.
He turned more fully to face her then, a soft laugh in his throat. “Yah clearly had yourself quite the adventure back then. Still seems yah got enough charm in yah to get folk swoonin’ over that sunshine smile of yers.” A pause, then the smirk again. “Long as the tide ain’t tryin’ to haul yah back out to sea, anyway.”
His tone was light, teasing, but somewhere behind it all, there was something quieter. A thread of warmth beneath the wit. The kind that lingered in the air between footfalls and stars—between one moment and the next.
Arc lifted a hand, fingers extended toward the stretch of beach where soft sand gave way to the rougher spill of stone. The transition wasn’t abrupt—more a slow reveal, like something old and knowing easing back into view. The darkened rock, slick in places with salt and time, had begun to catch the moonlight in uneven glints. And nestled within those shallow bowls and worn dips were the telltale signs of life clinging on between tides.
“Right there,” he said, voice low but carrying. “That’s where the real critters start to show themselves.”
The pools were close now—pockets of clear water cupped in the stone, crusted over with barnacles and dotted with slick tufts of seaweed like forgotten hairbrushes from some ancient sea hag’s vanity. The scent here was stronger. Brine and mineral, like the ocean was breathing through its pores.
“Yah’ll know yah found the good ones when it smells a little too much like somethin’ might still be alive and judgin’ yah,” he added with a crooked grin, glancing sidelong at her. “Try not to slip though. Wouldn’t want yah takin’ a bath with a sea cucumber. They’re the judgmental sort.”
He stepped lightly across the first few stones, boots sure despite the uneven terrain, the afterburn of the Ironkissed Lullaby still simmering in his core. The stone was cold beneath the soles, grounding. His voice came again, lighter this time. “C’mon then. Let’s see if we can’t find somethin’ worth pokin’ at—without either of us fallin’ face first into barnacle soup.”
“A lesson well learned while an old man cackled at my plight,” she muttered, all amusement and no bitterness about it. Calia herself might’ve stood there laughing too at seeing some assassin-dressed girl letting out a stream of curses while she clung upside down to a swinging mast trying not to have a long dunk in the deep. It reminded too of the conversation with the elder woman, placing her hand over her sleeve where the dark inky blotch was still etched into her skin. Demon marked… had her wondering if dark fae were close enough to being demon that they too could sense such a thing.
She didn’t want to think about that right now, when they were finally pulling away from the chaos long enough to have a quiet night.
“You make it sound like you’ve been out here making a habit of pissing off all the sea life,” she laughed. It certainly wasn’t something she imagined him doing just for sport. He was more the sort to spend all his time at the taverns or wheeling and dealing with some gambling, rather than exploring the bounties nature had to offer. Then again, he always seemed so natural suited to whatever environment he was in, so what did Calia know?
Taking his warning about slippery stone seriously, Calia minded where she put her feet. Just as natural herself when it came to these outdoor spaces. No hesitation, no fear or worry. When she did catch a surface that was slick with something unseen, she didn’t go flailing wildly in a pinwheel of nonsense. It was a quick hop and jump, graceful and almost looked deliberate if it hadn’t been for the wrinkle up nose and curious searching expression wordlessly saying what the hell did I step on.
Thankfully nothing alive! She wasn’t sure she wanted to find out what left slime trails though.
Calia had been expecting the salty briny smells, the fishy scents to be stronger since the wildlife would be right there close to the surface, but now the bright array of colorful things down in these holdover pockets of sea water. Coral oranges and shiny greens. A rainbow kaleidoscope of life instead of just brown rocks and grey stone. What a curiously enchanting little secret out here on the beach!
Arc’s brows arched just enough to hint that yeah, he could definitely picture some old seafarer doubled over laughing, wheezing into his salt-crusted beard at the thought of a landlubber getting tangled up in nets or knocked flat by a rebellious mast. He didn’t need to say it—the glimmer of the scene played across his expression as if summoned there by secondhand memory.
Calia seemed amused too, though Arc could feel it wasn’t just the story. She looked at him like the ocean had a personal vendetta against him, and maybe… maybe it did. Not that he’d ever done anything to deserve it. Probably. Arc shrugged with casual offense, lips curling into a lopsided grin. “I think I make a habit of pissin’ off just about everyone, honestly. Ain’t somethin’ I regulate to sea creatures.”
He made a vague, sweeping gesture with a flick of fingers, like it was simply the cosmic tax of being Arc Silverstone: Professional Nuisance, Occasional Menace, Full-Time Delight—depending who yah asked.
Confidence had never been something he lacked. As a boy, he’d been bold enough to vanish from under the noses of guardians and reappear where he wasn’t welcome, just because he could. As a man, he carried that same fire with just enough sharp wit to back it up, unrepentantly wild in a world that preferred its corners neat. Tame wasn’t in his vocabulary. Polished? Please.
They reached the tidepools just as the moon was catching its breath in the sky, spilling silver over the rolling water and slick rock. The tide had graciously retreated, leaving little bowls of sea life exposed like secrets offered up to curious eyes. Arc’s steps were steady, deliberate—not because he doubted himself, but because he wasn’t stupid enough to challenge slippery stone when his ribs still reminded him of prior decisions made without the influence of logic.
Even still, his gaze was more on Calia than the tidepools. Just in case. He didn’t think she was the flailing sort, but the sea had a sense of humor, and sometimes it bit.
He paused beside one of the larger pools, peering down at the glinting shapes curled and shifting inside. Little flashes of movement, of color. Shells, translucent tendrils, the pulsing bloom of anemones hiding their true forms under the rippling surface.
“Not a bad spot,” he muttered, voice lowering as if speaking too loud might scatter the beauty of it. “Could be real poetic if the whole thing didn’t smell like someone slapped yah in the face with a haddock.” Arc glanced over his shoulder at Calia, smirking. As if he were giving her tips on how to make this work for whomever she thought she could scoop up and bring down here. “Romantic though. In a salty, slightly grimy way. Bring a date here, tell ’em the barnacles symbolize eternal love or somethin’. Real smooth.”
His hands settled to his hips as he took in the scene—waves distant, the wind brushing across them light and tasting faintly of brine and festival smoke. High above, the lighthouse spun its slow, steady warning across the night. The jagged rocks beyond loomed from the sea like the broken ribs of a fallen god, waiting to drag down any ship foolish enough to get too close.
Without ceremony, Arc toed a barnacle off the stone and watched it drop into the pool with a faint plop. “There,” he said, as if the act had meant something. “Now it’s art.”
Calia glanced at him, all winsome unapologetic smile. A saucy sort of expression that might’ve been a flirt if it was aimed at anyone else.
“You forget, I don’t have to work at making a romantic scene to charm myself a paramour,” she mused. There were some upsides to being a pretty woman, even if she had some things working against her in her tallness and her general attitude. It didn’t take much to catch a man’s attention and most of them didn’t give two shits about beautiful places.
Calia had never much cared about those romantic sentimentalities either, but even she couldn’t deny it really was a gorgeous backdrop to time well spent. The moon finally making it’s appearance in the sky to cast shimmering silver light over the aquamarine waters of these rainbow filled pools. All this color and life packed into naturally made fish bowls just waiting for someone to wander by and appreciate it.
Appreciate was certainly what she did, in rolling up her sleeves above her elbows so she could crouch down and get a more personal touch of the ocean’s curious creatures. Revealing there in those candid moments that Calia was one who loved to learn and explore new things. Reaching down fearless into the pool’s waters to claim one of those strange pink starfish. Delicate with her hands, respectful of the little living thing even as she examined it with all the excitement of some budding scientist.
“I’m pretty sure a place is just made romantic by the company anyway,” she continued those thoughts, even though she’d exchanged her starfish for something else. Only to quickly cringe and lift her hand out with a small crab attached by pinching claw. Others would’ve likely shrieked and flung it, but Calia just quietly pinched it’s little claw off and let it side crawl in her palm.
Grinning just as quick to lift it up and show him her feisty little prize.
“Ah, look at that! Romantic luck to be crab pinched, means next man I kiss is going to… take a real good punch? Breathtaking.”
“Right, right. Just a flash of a mischievous grin and some wagglin’ brows.” Arc gave a half-lazy gesture like flicking a fishing rod, “Hook, line, and sinker.”
He shrugged with the defeated poise of someone who knew damn well he’d walk right into that one and still did it anyway. Gracefully. With flair. Possibly with a bow and a flourish if he’d had a hat to tip. After all, he’d already outed himself as the hopeless sort when it came to charm and fanciful notions—romantic effort poured into things that didn’t ask for it, like poetry scrawled into napkins or metaphorical barnacles about eternal love. Frivolous? Absolutely. But Arc never claimed to be practical when it came to feelings.
His hands returned to his hips, a small flick of one ear proving he was listening as Calia knelt near the tidepool, her attention dipping into the shallow glass of water rather than keeping up the banter. His brow arched—just slow enough to be theatrical—as he caught the tone of her voice. Ah, that tone. She was teasing him again, wasn’t she?
A beat passed. Then a tiny clatter of motion, followed by Calia reacting to the surprise attack of a very determined crab defending its turf like a tiny barnacled warlord. Arc blinked at the sight of it clutched in her palm, the crustacean all pinchers and pride. He gave a low hum of amusement, smile twitching at the corner. The sea had its defenders, and they were clearly crab-shaped.
“Alright, I understand,” he said, both hands lifting in dramatic surrender. “No more remarks about romance, ambience, poetic soul nonsense, or atmospheric lighting.” A pause. “Also, no metaphors involving barnacles. I hear ya.”
There wasn’t offense in him—none of that quiet withdrawal or wounded ego. She could jab and jest and he’d take it with the same good humor he offered it in. It was part of the rhythm they’d built up now. Easy. No tension in the bite of their words.
Stretching with a groan that cracked through his spine, Arc raised both arms skyward, a long, languid movement that shifted his weight and posture. Shoulders rolled. Chest lifted. Then down again, as he took a few idle steps to the side, peering further out toward the deeper, darker edge where the tide crept like liquid shadow.
The moon’s reflection shimmered in the rippling black, making the world look like it had cracked open at the seams. And just like that, quiet came. Not the awkward kind. Not the pressuring kind. Just a mutual understanding that not every space needed to be filled with sound. Arc stood with hands tucked loosely behind his back, a rare moment of stillness resting along his frame, not tense or coiled for escape. Just… there. Breathing in the salt and moonlight.
Calia tossed her head back in an easy laugh. Strange in that, for it appeared that because he was relaxed, taking teasing back and force with easy grace that she herself mirrored it back in perfect harmony. All it really took was a bit of extra thought to realize she seemed to do that with everyone. With everything. Soaking in what she was given and reflecting it back. Tension to tension, fight to fight, and even smile to smile. Not just ruled and controlled by her own emotions but so deeply affected by the people around her and the vibes they were putting out.
She set her new crab friend free to stand and wander off to another pool, completely enchanted with the way each one seemed to have it’s own host of differently shaped creatures. Dozens of miniature sea kingdoms, all with heir own small inhabitants.
And with that long comfortable silence, it gave her space to exist. For her to actually process through the conversation in her head and arrange her own thoughts into something she could actually share.
“I don’t really mind the idea of romance,” she revealed, a moment of contemplative honesty as she was there crouching down at a fresh pool looking ponderous even while she was pulling up some strange looking seashell. “I’m just not sure I can feel it. Or maybe it’s because the right ones haven’t tried? It’s always feeling forced and manufactured, so I can’t really… get into it.”
A shrug followed with easy acceptance. After all, she struggled with making friendships too, so naturally romance and even the extremes of romantic love was something quite far out of her reach.
“I get the physical, it’s easy and straight forward. Feels good, feels bad. The emotional is… a nightmare of bewilderment and confusion. Where everyone else seems to have it all figured out and makes their conclusions, while I am left behind frustrated and disappointed, still trying to even put a name to a single feeling. I doubt I’d recognize a romantic moment even if it slapped me in the face.”
Calia rest her hands on her knees, momentarily taking her examinations away from the tide pool to glance at the area around them. Truly a gorgeous place, that would be sure to dazzle any other person. Likely to rouse up all sorts of feelings. Meanwhile, Calia herself been far too entranced by the tiny little details and discoveries to even appreciate how the whole landscape could set a lovely scene. Moonlight glittering over azure waters, soft rolling waves…
“I love the way Nova talks about it, though. She has the way of making everything sound possible, despite the fact I know I’m just full of chaos and spite.”
When she broke the silence to suggest that she didn’t mind the idea of romance, he could almost tell in that second that Calia probably looked at it like one peered at an analytical problem. Though she expressed in turn that she wouldn’t probably recognize it either.
Arc made a soft, thoughtful noise at the back of his throat, eyes still fixed on the lapping tide as it whispered against the stone.
The quiet held for a breath longer—maybe two—before he finally tilted his head just enough to glance sideways at Calia. The usual crooked grin wasn’t there this time. Instead, something gentler lingered. Mirth still danced at the corners of his mouth, sure, but it had been dialed down—like candlelight instead of fire.
“So… yah think romance is forced?” he asked, tone easy, not accusatory. Just curious. “Manufactured, like some ol’ bard’s idea of love, covered in glitter and bad metaphors?” He turned a little to face her, arms dropping from behind his back and resting again at his hips. The tidepool at his feet caught a shimmer of moonlight that glittered across his boots.
“I get that,” he admitted after a moment. “Lot of folk dress it up in ways that don’t feel real. Big gestures. Fancy words. People parrotin’ things they think they’re supposed to say ’cause someone else once wrote it down in a poem. Paints a picture, yeah—but it ain’t always honest.”
There was a pause as he shifted to crouch beside one of the tidepools, peering down at a pair of tiny darting fish dancing between seaweed. “But romance, real romance? It’s not about forced thin’s. It’s not even about perfection.” He lifted a hand, flicking fingers vaguely as if plucking thoughts out of the air. “It’s in the small stuff. The simple kind of care. Like… rememberin’ how someone takes their tea. Or noticin’ when they’re gettin’ overwhelmed and quietly makin’ space for them without bein’ asked.”
He glanced up at her again, this time with the smallest smile, more rueful than playful. “Romance is feelin’ safe enough to be dumb around someone and not worry they’ll use it against yah. It’s wantin’ to share pieces of yer day with them—not ’cause it’s interestin’, but because they are. It’s… not really somethin’ yah manufacture. It just happens. Or it doesn’t. And that’s fine too.” He rose again, dusting his hands on his thighs with a soft grunt, before returning his gaze to the ocean.
“It ain’t a rulebook. Ain’t a checklist. Sometimes it’s just two people who find each other a little less lonely when they’re together.” He shrugged. “And yah don’t gotta fall headfirst into it either. Doesn’t mean yer broken if yah don’t. Just means yah got your own way of connectin’ to others. That’s still somethin’ good.”
His tone wasn’t patronizing. Not a whisper of pity or coaxing in it. Just honest words, offered like the tide gently washing a stone clean.
Arc’s breath left him on a long exhale. Not weary, exactly—but weighty. Like the question had dug out a drawer he hadn’t opened in a long while. His eyes, once lingering casually on the tide, drifted downward instead, watching his boot scuff a pale arc into the sand. For a rare moment, he didn’t meet Calia’s gaze when he spoke.
“Liriel,” he said, her name a little softer on his tongue than anything else had been all evening. Not reverent, not yearning. Just… known. Worn-in like an old coat you don’t wear anymore but still keep at the back of the wardrobe because you remember how it fit. “I was a fool for her,” he admitted with a short laugh, not bitter, just… real. “The kind of fool that thinks maybe, just maybe, he’s special enough to be an exception. That all those lines and ranks and expectations can be softened with enough charm and reckless optimism.” There was a silence, thick but not uncomfortable. Just time filling in the shape of what had once been. Explaining why and perhaps how he came to understand the means of simple romance.
“I did a lot of thin’s for her,” he said after a pause. “Not out of duty, but because I wanted to. Letters, songs—gods, the songs—half-witted poetry scrawled on parchment in the middle of the night. I snuck her out past the guards just so she could watch a thunderstorm roll in from the cliffs. Had to sweet-talk a stablehand and steal a damn horse to do it.” He huffed a laugh, running a hand through his hair, single horn catching faint moonlight.
“I remember this one time—her hands were cold. She wouldn’t say anythin’, just always held them behind her back. So I took to carryin’ cloves and cinnamon sticks in my pockets. I’d pass ’em to her like nothin’, just somethin’ warm to hold. She liked that. Said the smell reminded her of winter markets and freedom.” He paused again, finally lifting his gaze to Calia. His expression wasn’t one of pain or heartbreak. Just the quiet truth of someone who’d lived through it and come out changed on the other side.
“I don’t regret it. Not a second of it. Even if it ended with more silence than goodbye. But I ain’t lookin’ to repeat it. That kind of romance, the kind built on wishful thinkin’ and endless tryin’? That’ll eat yah alive if you ain’t careful.” And then, in true Arc fashion, he let out a thoughtful hum and added with a lopsided grin, “Though if anyone starts quotin’ sonnets at yah and tryin’ to serenade beneath yer window, feel free to chuck a boot at ’em. That’s just public nuisance at that point.”
It was a soft sound of affirmation and a gentle nod when he asked if she thought romance was forced. He even went on to described her experience so perfectly. Calia enjoyed a little drama, flash and flare to be certain… but there had always been something hollow in the way people approached courting that left her feeling flat. Grand gestures, flowery words, none of it meant anything as what did those people even know about her? How could they feel those things when all they knew of her was what she looked like, and a few shallow conversations about nothing.
So it was a slow, creeping smile when he went on to describe his own idea of what real romance was supposed to be. Things that were personal, small. The sort of feelings that required actually spending the time with someone to understand all of their little intricacies, their moods, the things that mattered.
Honesty and connection. No wonder it was so hard for her, she wasn’t exactly the easier person to get close to. Calia had spent her entire life holding her secrets, keeping herself at just the right amount of distance so no one could ever really know her.
“I supposed there’s not a chance for romance to bloom, when I haven’t even let myself make a friend,” a simple admittance, with that wry smile. “To be familiar enough with someone so there’s actually space for it.”
Well, how about that. A perspective Calia had never considered before. Of course, that was a scary sentiment to realize, that she actually needed to allow herself to start connecting with people in a more real way instead of hiding behind her glamours and her own bullshit. It hadn’t exactly gone well so far, and she could admit it was more her own fault than others.
She let that simmer in her head for a moment, sure that it needed a lot longer to process and be mulled over before she could figure out exactly how she was meant to be more open without going to her usual extremes. Wrinkling up her nose with a dawning horror that she’d given this same sort of advice to Nysia, and her own dumb ass hadn’t figured out it applied to herself as well? Fantastic. Calia honestly was the most dense, stupid girl on the continent!
His utterance of Liriel’s name drew her out of that flurry of thoughts, prompting her to glance towards him in curious interest. Understanding well that Liriel had been the one for him. The princess might’ve ended up being the one he married and spent the rest of his days with, so it was an exceptionally big deal for him to bring her up now. Drawing out examples of his courting, the way he cared for her, chased her.
Of course ending with a joke, because he always did prefer to break the tension and brush away his darker thoughts with the humor. Pretending like he wasn’t aching inside just thinking about the woman.
Calia finally stood herself, drying her hands off on her pants and unrolling her sleeves to right herself back to be proper so no curious stares were going to see demon marks where they shouldn’t.
“Not that I think it’ll make you feel any better, but for what it’s worth? I don’t believe that you were out of her league, or that you weren’t special enough for her. You were just made for someone else. For a different kind of life.”
There was a long silence between them.
Arc noticed her shifting first—subtle, but telling. She stood and brushed her hands off on her pants, the universal sign for I’m done touching mysterious sea gunk for now. The tidepool was left in peace, its curious creatures safe from her poking and prodding. No more tiny crabs launching full-scale pinchy assaults while Arc was, of course, in the middle of pouring his soul out about his ill-timed, overly-sincere feelings for Liriel.
That little speech—what he’d said about love, about romance—still sat out in the open, like a half-built sandcastle. Not destroyed, but not exactly sturdy either. It wasn’t painful. Not anymore. Maybe that was the strange part.
Even a few days away from the palace had been enough to ease the tightness in his chest. The ache of it, the regret. He still loved Liriel, probably always would in that once-was kind of way. But they’d been reading entirely different books, let alone pages. And while she’d once defined what romance meant to him—the small things, the unspoken looks—it wasn’t something he needed to chase anymore. Not with a bleeding heart, anyway.
And gods, he hoped Calia had taken something from what he said. Something real. Not the dramatic, over-perfumed poetry people usually dragged into courtship rituals. Arc had always thought love, when it was right, wasn’t loud. It just was.
A one-night stand, though? That was simple. Quick. No expectations. No heartbreak. A kiss and a goodbye, and nobody’s world ended.
Still, when Calia looked composed again—standing there on the sea-slick stone with waves lapping gently at her boots—his brows lifted just slightly, his violet eyes narrowing in playful scrutiny. The tide hadn’t returned yet, but if she was serious about raising a little ghostly havoc up in that lighthouse, they’d need to backtrack and get climbing soon.
She spoke again, thoughtfully, quietly. Said she never believed he hadn’t been enough for Liriel. That maybe… maybe he’d just been made for someone else. A different kind of life.
Arc blinked, then made a face that said oh, come on before nearly wiggling his clawed fingers in theatrical flourish. “Oh, sure, sure. A different life,” he said with a deadpan lilt. “Y’mean the one where I wasn’t turned into a literal demon and shackled to someone else’s idea of a future? Sounds like a real winner, that one.” Then he grinned—wide, toothy, absolutely unfazed. “A dreamer’s tale, fair enough. But I ain’t wastin’ my time—or anybody else’s—on the belief there’s some great love out there just waitin’ with open arms and better timing. We’ve got enough on the go, and there’s far too much other thin’s being interestin’ anyways.” He avoided pointing out the obvious part of being what he was. It wasn’t exactly a great conversational starter!
He jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward the cliff path. “Now, if you’re still intent on bustin’ into that creepy ol’ lighthouse like a pair of feral raccoons with a grudge and a Halloween spirit, we better get movin’. Tide’s only gonna be kind for so long, and I am not getting trapped on a rock outcrop just so you can practice your spooky wails in surround sound.”
He paused, tilted his head, and gave her a mock-thoughtful look. “Unless it’s a really good spooky wail. In that case, I might consider it.”
A dreamer’s tale was a good way to put it. Even Calia had a hard time believing romantic love was possible, so it was no surprise to find that he currently held no space for it. He was right, after all! Being bound to her effectively made him shackled to her whims and her future. For the next few weeks, months, maybe even years, he was trapped. Calia was certain if he did meet someone, she would be glad to let him stay behind. Only there was still the chance that the bond held true and it wouldn’t allow it.
She’d saved his life and stolen it all at the same time.
Arc was swift to switch gears and bring the lighthouse up again, and Calia allowed this shift. Giving him platitudes and trying to minimize the fact his life didn’t really belong to himself right now with good cheer and promises of ‘but you can still find love!’ and “it’s all okay!’ felt like such a callous and selfish thing to do.
Instead she beamed a cheeky smile and gave him a flicker of a wicked look. All batting lashes and bullshitted sweetness.
“So you think I’m interesting?” she teased, quite obviously too when she huffed a small laugh and turned on a heel. Already taking the few steps to lead the way out of the tide pools and off towards the cliffside, seeing as she’d taken those dangerous stony steps once already.
The bat of her lashes, the cheeky curve of her smile—Arc had seen mischief before, but there was something about the way she wore it that made it feel personal. Playful. Dangerous, in the best kind of way. Those green eyes practically sparkled with trouble, and as she teased him about finding her interesting, he couldn’t even pretend to hold it together.
An easy, lopsided grin tugged at his lips as he rolled his shoulders, cocking a brow. “The most interestin’ thing out here by leagues an’ leagues, lass,” he declared, like it was obvious. And really, it was. If she wasn’t interesting, there wouldn’t be tall tales and whispered rumours about her bouncing around already. Fish stories, sure—but folk didn’t waste good gossip on the dull.
She veered toward the long path up to the lighthouse, and Arc blinked once, then twice, before giving her a long, very skeptical look.
“Yah have literal magic at yer fingertips, and yer tellin’ me we’re takin’ the scenic route?” he asked, one clawed hand gesturing vaguely up the winding path like it had personally offended him. “What, is this some kind o’ witch cardio plan?”
He snorted, shaking his head with an exaggerated sigh of suffering, but he was already moving to follow. “Fine, fine, but if we get up there an’ you decide yah want to hover dramatically through a window, I reserve the right to make ghost noises and judge yah with great enthusiasm.”
Damn right she was interesting, and the cackling laugh that followed was probably more akin to a witch than some fae mountain princess. That almost haughty confidence that most tended to believe was pure egotistical arrogance, when Calia knew it was simply because she was weird and strange. And what was more interesting than the weird and strange? She liked to think so anyway.
She pause, giving a small blink of surprise when she glanced back towards him and then to the long, annoying stone stairway that’d lead them up the side of the cliff. The same one she’d cursed before, because it wasn’t exactly a pleasant climb upwards. Barely better than scaling the rocky cliff themselves. To be honest, Calia was so used to doing every day things without the aid of magic to keep her secret under wraps, that it hadn’t occurred to her that she could feely do so now when it could actually save her time and energy!
“What had you called it again, warping? Side stepping? Void skipping?” she asked, genuinely trying to remember as she shifted hands and feet running through the steps he’d shown her before. Different than the way she travel, it took time for her to arrange it in her mind.
…a little worried she might end up right inside the cliff itself, but Calia was more than ready to give it a try.
“Unless you want to sprout some demony wings to go with those horns of yours, I wouldn’t mind seeing that just for the spectacle of it.”
“Warp spell?” Arc echoed, brows lifting as he tried—briefly, half-heartedly—to remember what on earth she was on about. The only real conversation he could recall was her fae-touched travel, his warp spell, and… something else? Maybe? He squinted like that might shake the memory loose, then shrugged. “Pretty sure yah don’t wanna make a blood stone outta my blood just to get up there,” he added dryly, pointing a claw toward the lighthouse above them. “That’d be an impressively dumb waste of both blood and said stone.”
A beat passed before realization finally dawned on him. “Ahhh, yah mean spatial blinkin’. Right, right.” He waved a hand as if that silly little mental hiccup was obviously the fault of the drink still simmering in his veins. “Forgive me, love, the drink is still playin’ hopscotch in my brain.”
But when she doubled down on the teasing, playfully goading him to grow some demon wings like he was one edgy transformation away from a tragic opera—Arc gave her the most scandalized look he could muster. A hand to his chest. A dramatic gasp. And then, with the kind of energy reserved for cheap stage magicians and unearned confidence, he threw his arms wide.
“Oh-ho-ho, yah wanna see a spectacle?” he grinned, already shifting his weight like he was about to pull off the grand finale of a very chaotic magic show. Then—poof. Or, more accurately, shimmer. With a deliberate flourish and a mischievous glint in his violet eyes, Arc snapped into his beetle form, wings buzzing to life in an instant. He shot upward like a drunken firework, giggling all the while, the sound echoing faintly through the air.
“Spectacle this!” he cackled mid-flight, wings catching the wind as he spiraled once in showy triumph. Because subtlety was for cowards.
That was it, spacial blinking. Where she could take a step and be somewhere else, somethingsomething, blah blah. The words weren’t coming to her in the moment, and he’d reminded her very easily with his own trouble in remembering what she was referencing that they were both likely on the side of still being just a little bit pleasantly tipsy.
Her own excuse was that she just didn’t have names for every little trick and rule of magic she knew. It was all just magic, beautiful flowing magic with no start and no end.
Then just like that he put on a little show of blipping into his beetle form – not the sort of wings SHE was imagining. Thinking more along the lines of bat wings or dragon wings, but then he always did have a flare for reminding her there were simpler, more obvious routes.
“That’s not fair!” she shouted at him, pointing a finger at him too as if that was going to do anything. “I can’t–“
And she stopped. Mid-sentence, suddenly thinking so hard that the whole display of thoughts were written across her expression as plain as a sunny day. Can’t? Calia had never tried to shape shift before. It’d never even occurred to her to try it out. As she stood there, running the potential process through her mind, how she’d never had issues reshaping the forms of other things, it wouldn’t be a hard jump to reshape herself.
There was absolutely no reason why she couldn’t. Nothing to stop her.
“Alright then, I can do this,” she murmured, oh so determined. Just pick a shape and shift. Copying his own shape would be the fastest way to learn it and so she draw up the magic in a quick pull, taking a hopping step with every determined fiber of her being to try–
–and jerked herself back from the spell in a split second. Unbridled sharp fear becoming almost like a physical wall to propel her backwards, slipping her footing until she was landing right down into one of the shallow tidepools. Letting out a startled shriek, more from the surprise of suddenly being wet and on her ass rather than any pain.
“All’s fair in magic,” Arc called down with the tone of someone who absolutely knew he had the upper hand and was milking it for all it was worth. “And I oughta make use of the form I got as a demon! It’s not the big madness-inducin’ one, at least!”
He did a lazy loop-de-loop in the air, wings humming. Honestly, shapeshifting had never been his thing as a mage—too messy, too much prep, and gods forbid he end up halfway between a goose and a regret. But now? As a demon? Oh, now it was entertainment.
Something small, sneaky, shiny—he was the perfect beetle: a little carapaced menace with enough personality to annoy a saint and enough speed to skitter out of most consequences. And unlike the big form (the one the mages liked to write long warning papers about, complete with footnotes and psychic casualty charts), he could actually use this one without Calia’s permission or accidentally turning a room into a panic attack.
So naturally, he was mid-sky pirouette, probably about to name a move after himself, when her protest abruptly cut off.
He paused mid-roll, wings still for a second. She was staring up at him. That kind of thoughtful-staring that usually ended with something catching fire or a questionable decision. He hovered suspiciously. Sure enough—she got that spark in her eyes. The ‘I’ve got a idea and I’m gonna do it anyway’ spark.
And down she went.
A slip. A splash. A rather dramatic plop into a tidepool like the sea herself had rolled her eyes and yanked her downward.
Arc stalled in the air, blinked, then snorted out a laugh that might’ve startled a few gulls nearby. He fluttered down with all the pomp and buzz of a sarcastic dragonfly, circling her like a tiny airborne judge.
“I don’t think yer bum’s supposed to be there,” he said sweetly. “Unless yer plannin’ to cultivate seaweed. Or get a crab in yer pocket. Either way, bold move.” He hovered just close enough to be annoying. “Should I fetch a lifeguard or a mop?”
Calia pulled seaweed out of her hair with all the primness a royal majesty could possibly have and dropped it back into the tide waters. Picking herself up with that same fluid grace, as if she hadn’t just made a complete and utter fool of herself with a very unimpressive false start. Knowing exactly what had happened, just being incredibly frustrated and displeased with herself that it had at all.
In that tiny little second she’d had the sudden fear that she might change form and then never be able to change herself back again. Calia liked her present self, even if she was awkwardly tall! The thought of anything being shifted around on her, even by deliberate choice was enough to give her the shivers. Reminding her far too much of glancing into that possessed mirror and the horror of seeing her own face twisted into something else.
“…shapeshifting is not for me!” she declared, resting her hands on her hips as she did so. The good news, though, was that now that she was properly embarrassed, that spacial blinking didn’t seem so intimidating anymore. “I’ll meet you at the top.”
With flick of her hand, she sent some of that tide water splashing at him. A cheating move to beat him there. Pulling up that spacial blink this time without really having to think too hard about it.
Granted, she did come in at the top of the cliff a little too high up in the air and upside down, forcing a bit of a rolling to her feet situation, but that was still far less embarrassing than landing on her ass in the tidepool because she’s freaked herself out!
“Didn’t know it had to be,” Arc said gently, brow arching with mild confusion more than anything else. He wasn’t sure why she’d said it like it was some formal declaration—like she was trying to convince herself more than him. His gaze lingered on her for a moment.
He could almost see the thoughts behind her eyes.
Trying to figure out what went wrong.
Trying to decide if she could do it better.
Or maybe… just maybe, feeling a little embarrassed.
That last one, he figured, probably stung the most for her. He knew the type—she carried herself like everything she did had to be flawless. Like she wasn’t allowed to mess up. That kind of weight? It was exhausting. He would’ve said as much, but she was already moving—already launching herself at him, mid-protest, mid-splash—
“What did I do?!” Arc yelped, trying to hover back, wings buzzing in alarm. But the tide had other plans, and the moment the water hit him, his wings caught it like a net.
Down he went. Straight into the rock with an audible splat, waterlogged and wide-eyed, legs scrambling before he went still. There was a pause. A beat. Then a quiet, miserable: “…Really?”
Shifting back into his regular form with a shimmer, Arc sat up slowly, blinking through strands of wet hair as he wiped sea salt from his lashes. He wasn’t angry. Just… Damp. And a little caught off guard by how quickly her frustration had ended up splashing over him too—literally and otherwise.
He stood, brushing off what little he could, not that it did much. His clothes clung. Blinking up toward the cliff, the lighthouse beam sweeping across like some mocking spotlight.
Taking a breath, Arc joined her at the top with a flicker of his magic, landing a few feet away with a careful step. Then, softly—without accusation—he spoke. “Just gonna say this ’cause I think yah might wanna know… I didn’t like that.” His voice wasn’t sharp. It was honest. “I get bein’ frustrated. I really do. But please don’t take it out on me. I wasn’t tryin’ to make yah feel bad. And I’m not angry, just…” He exhaled, raking a hand back through his soaked crown. “I didn’t appreciate the baptism by sea.”
He glanced sideways at her, eyes earnest, still warm even if his clothes were cool. “Let’s not turn this into one of those fights we don’t need, yeah? I like where we’re at. I’d like to keep it that way.”
Calia was standing up there righted back to her feet again, trying to figure out how she managed to blip herself upside down when he joined her. Wet as could be and giving her a look, that she just knew meant trouble and she was bracing for it. Expecting more of the angry accusational sort of thing, not knowing exactly what she’d done to deserve it.
Surprised to have him gently say he didn’t like it – it being splashed with tide water – and even more surprised that he though it was her taking out her frustrations on him. It was there written all over her face that she’d not put those actions together or even considered how they might’ve seemed related! Her intent mistranslated as it often was.
And this time he’d actually told her in the moment. It felt strange, but it was also a relief to know!
“I’m sorry,” she breathed out with a small cringe, just as quickly reaching fingers towards with a bit of that natural elemental magic. Grasping at the very salt water soaking into his hair and clothes to quite literally pull it off him in a quick yank. Letting it all splatter to the ground as if she’d just poured it out of a glass.
“It was meant as playful splashing, not a display of my frustration,” she explained, at least understanding how it could’ve been perceived. “I won’t take my frustrations out on you, Arc. You’re not a thing for me to abuse.”
Of course that did leave her standing there a bit awkwardly, tilting her head to the side debating on if she was going to share more. Shifting her hands to gesture towards herself while she wrestled with trying to find the words for it. Calia might’ve tended to be bluntly honest about things, but it was also a new and intimidating sharing parts of her inner thoughts, especially when they were… just that tiny bit of vulnerable.
“…I freaked myself out? I’m certain I can do it, but the thought of changing shape hit me and I just… It wasn’t about you or your teasing. I don’t mind your teasing.”
It was remarkable—the way she handled the elements. The casual ease with which she pulled the sea spray from his clothes like she was wiping up a spill on the counter. Arc blinked, openly staring in wide-eyed, studious bewilderment at the puddle of water now on the ground, rather than soaking through his sleeves and boots. His clothes were so dry, it made him briefly wonder if they’d ever been wet at all.
She might not have realized it—how any other mage would have killed for that level of precision. That sort of instinctive command. For her, it seemed to come as naturally as breathing.
Of course, he heard her apology. Not just that, but the explanation too. And that was… something. A lot more than where they’d been even a short time ago.
He’d told her plainly what had bothered him. She’d taken it in, not brushing it off, not shrinking away from it either. Instead, she’d laid out what she meant, what had been going on in her own head. Without trying to excuse it. Just… honesty.
Holy hell, they were actually communicating. Progress. It nearly knocked him off balance.
He hummed softly as he stepped up beside her, close enough now to feel the sea breeze they both looked out into. The vantage point was a beautiful one—wide open water stretching out into a dusky horizon, the distant cry of gulls circling overhead, the steady rotation of the lighthouse beam sweeping across the cliffs like a silent sentinel.
Arc turned slightly as she spoke again, giving her his full attention when she explained her discomfort with shapeshifting. How the idea of changing even part of herself stirred up unease in a way she hadn’t expected.
He nodded slowly, letting the words settle before answering. “Yah probably could shift, if yah really wanted to. But the thin’ is, yah don’t have to. Not everyone wants to. Hell, most mages don’t even mess with it. Sometimes it’s for reasons like yers. Sometimes it’s just not their style.” He shrugged, voice light but earnest. “Doesn’t make it wrong. Just means yah got your own line, and that’s fine.”
A pause, then a crooked smile. “I never shapeshifted either when I had the chance. Didn’t feel right. Glamours, sure. I’ve worn more than a few. But that’s just window dressin’—a trick of the light. Shapeshiftin’? That’s changin’ what yah are, not just what yah look like.”
He spread his hands as if to say, big difference.
“And since we’re on the subject,” he added, giving her a lopsided look, “pullin’ water outta me and leavin’ me bone dry? That’s bloody impressive. Elemental mastery like that? Not many can do it. I couldn’t, not that cleanly. Probably just catch fire or explode somethin’ if I tried.” Happily and easily enough making fun of himself.
His grin widened, this time softer. “I appreciate yah bein’ real with me. It means somethin’. And look at us,” he said, bumping her elbow lightly with his own, “already makin’ strides. Bein’ civil. Having a moment. Honestly, a little unsettlin’.” He smirked. “But, y’know… good unsettlin’.”
“I do not like the feeling of being too afraid to–” she paused there, wrinkling up her nose with a frown. “I just don’t like being afraid. Not with magic. I’d spent my whole life having to be careful and mindful with it, now I just want to see what I can do.”
That was one layer of her frustration, the easy to explain one. Being someone who had to hide it and repress it, naturally now that she no longer had to hide, Calia wanted to stretch it to the fullest extent. This wasn’t even her own magic, it was funneled and borrowed from someone else, and she was damn lucky he seemed to have a deep well of resources so her frivolous use hadn’t even yet laid a dent in him.
Curious though to know that even Archimedes hadn’t dabbled in shifting when he was a mage. At least he understood where her hangup had come from. Changing your entire body was a very personal, very tricky thing. A dysmorphia. Calia would’ve hesitated about it even if she hadn’t had a bad experience.
“It is kind of a nightmare to image my body being tampered with, even if I am the one doing it.” she admitted. Going ever so slightly pink in the face to hear her use of elements was somehow impressive. Moving water around was likely the least impressive of things she could do, not worth the compliments and fanfare. Taking that bump of elbows for the friendly gesture that it was meant as, even if having it pointed out that they were getting along better was also embarrassing in itself.
Now that he was dry, it only made sense to pull the water from herself too. A shrug of her shoulders and a holding of her hand outwards, palm up to draw all of that salty seawater into an orb hover in her hand, until with a flick of her fingers she flash froze it. Offering the frozen ball to him.
“Elements are simple… your arcane magic is much more impressive. It’s layered and beautifully intricate, the same way snowflakes are always different. Challenging in all of the best kind of ways.”
“Lia, it’s okay to be afraid,” Arc said gently, when her words tripped and stalled again. He caught the way she breathed through it—how she tried to shape her fears into something manageable. Something she could say aloud.
“Fear ain’t the enemy yah think it is,” he continued, his voice steady. “It’s just yer body tellin’ yah it ain’t ready. That don’t mean it’ll always feel that way. It passes. It changes.” His shoulders rose in a loose shrug, smile tilted easy. “Yah gotta give yerself some grace. Bein’ scared is part of bein’ alive. But when it keeps yah frozen in place? Sometimes yah just need to find another way forward. Doesn’t gotta be fast. Just… yers.”
There was no judgement in his tone. No push. Just truth, plain and simple. She wasn’t broken. She wasn’t wrong. She was figuring it out—and that? That was something worth standing by. Arc smiled more brightly, offering her a look like the sun peeking through cloud cover. “Yah can learn at yer own pace. Do what feels right when it feels right. No rush. No pressure. No leash.”
Because he understood. Gods, did he. There were spells that had shaken him down to his bones. Magic that had hurt—badly. Times where he thought it’d split him in two. But there was always that pull. That need to try. To keep going, even when it burned.
He wasn’t perfect. Far from it. He was all rough edges and sharp turns. But he got what she was saying. That deep hunger for freedom—to learn, to stretch, to just be who she was without fear gripping her throat.
When she spoke about her discomfort again, her unease with shapeshifting, Arc gave a thoughtful hum and a small nod. “That’s valid,” he said simply. No push. No pressure. Just acceptance. He didn’t need to correct it, because there wasn’t anything wrong with it.
And when she dried herself again with that same impossible ease, Arc blinked and gave a small, breathless laugh. “Yah know, that never gets less impressive,” he chuckled, glancing down at his own still-damp boots in contrast. “Elements aren’t easy. They’re not just little pieces of yah—they’re forces of nature. Wild, stubborn, sometimes violent. Most mages spend decades tryin’ to get ’em to behave, and here yah are, pullin’ water off a person like it’s lint off a shirt.”
He watched her, noting the flicker of embarrassment on her features—but he didn’t call it out. Just offered a grin instead, playful but genuine.
“And hey, don’t sell yerself short. Yah’ve mastered things I’ve seen old mages absolutely break down over. I watched a guy nearly have a spiritual crisis tryin’ to boil water in a cup.” He snorted with the memory, laughter spilling out of him like sunlight. “Look, my arcane stuff? Sure, I’m proud of it. But it took years. And it hurt. A lot. When I was younger, tryin’ to channel it was like tryin’ to launch a ballista bolt from a twig. Damn near tore me apart.”
The smile faltered for just a moment, something more somber touching his features. “There were days it crippled me. Days I thought I’d never get it under control. But yah…” his eyes flicked back to her, filled with quiet admiration. “Yah’ve got somethin’ balanced. Deep. Natural. It’s a part of yah, not some foreign thin’ yah gotta wrestle into place.”
His grin returned, smaller, but brighter still. “And if my math ain’t completely shite, I’m what—ten years older than yah in human terms? I’ve had time. Yah’ve already done more with less, and that’s bloody incredible. So yeah… be scared sometimes. That’s fine. But also let yerself be proud. Yah’ve earned that.”
He gave her a gentle nudge with his shoulder, soft and encouraging. “Scary is just the price of growth. But look at yah—yah’ve already movin’.”
Calia was having a hard time accepting that it was okay to be afraid. Granted, it was good for everyone else, a perfect natural feeling and something she would tell someone else that needed the comfort. For herself? Too intense of a feeling, and it had a way of taking over her and making her do some pretty stupid things as a result. Every feeling she had tended to go the way of extremes and fear was the worst one of all.
Arguing about it in the here and now, though? Calia couldn’t bring herself to protest. Not when he was giving those soft smiles and gentle laughs, going out of his way trying to let her know that her experiences were shared. That he’d been there too, trying to figure himself out along with the magic he wielded. None of it had ever been easy to master and learn, he’d just had the time.
These compliments, though? Calia was finding she did not know what to do with compliments when they were sincere. Feeling that burn in her face and having to direct herself in some other direction so she didn’t didn’t fussing at him about it. Taking her round icy ball of salt water over to the edge of the cliff and sending it flying with the hardest throw she could muster.
She was amazing, of course, but hearing someone actually say it to her face, dead earnest? That was strange! Tempted to crack some asinine joke, but that was likely to draw more attention to the fact she was wriggling in her own skin.
“Thank you,” she said instead. Attempting to take it all with grace. A simple phrase compared to the mountain of words and sentences and other things all swirling in her head that she could’ve blurted out instead. Even opening her mouth once to see if maybe she could elaborate something witty. Pondering if this was the appropriate sort of moment for a hug, as it did seem like he should get some form of gentle affection to show she did appreciate his words. That she heard him.
None of that wanted to come out, leaving her just pursing her mouth and grasping his hand to drag him along towards the tall tower of the lighthouse.
“Do you wish to climb up the side of it – I’ve done it once already. Or take the front doors like a boring normal elf?”
She didn’t have what he had growing up. No structured teaching. No community of mages. Her family was intact—parents and siblings who loved her—but they didn’t know. Not really. Not the truth of what she was. What she could do. That she was something more than just mortal skin and clever hands.
Arc? His father had been a mage. Skilled. Sharp-witted. Patient—until he couldn’t be. When the lessons went beyond what even a father could teach, Arc had been handed off to others. Omal. Bladerift Tower. A rotating crew of oddballs and sharp minds that had scraped him into shape with both care and chaos. He’d grown into power surrounded by support. Trained, tested, and humbled—eventually. That cocky edge of youth had burned bright for a while. Still did sometimes.
But her? She’d done it alone. And that made all the difference.
So yeah, he understood why the fear unsettled her. Why the idea of being afraid was almost more terrifying than the thing itself. But that didn’t mean he needed to say it all out loud. He wasn’t here to draw lines between them or make her feel small. He was here to remind her, simply and sincerely, that she should be proud. She’d done the impossible with no one but herself. And that was worth something.
Even as she lobbed that ball of seawater out toward the horizon like a well-aimed pitch, he just gave a quiet hum and nodded. When she offered a gentle little “thank you,” he didn’t make a joke or call it sweet or awkward. Just accepted it like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Because it was.
Then, like clockwork, she was tugging his hand toward their next adventure—toward the lighthouse itself. Towering and weather-worn, it stood sentinel over the sea, its bright eye sweeping the waves. Arc tilted his head back to follow the arc of it as she pointed upward and informed him, quite casually, that she’d already climbed it once before. Like it was a perfectly normal pastime.
“Of course yah have,” he said with a small snort of laughter, giving her hand a playful squeeze before slipping free. His gaze wandered thoughtfully up the stone spire.
Door? Normal.
She was clearly aiming for not that.
He walked a slow, curious circle around the base of the lighthouse. Once. Twice. Murmuring to himself. Considering. Then stopped. Shoulders rolling back as his expression went full “overly dramatic mage about to do something ridiculous,” he reached into the current of his own magic.
With a string of syllables through his mind and a flick of his fingers, the air shimmered faintly around his boots. A small, clever bit of spellwork anchored to intention and focus. Arc twisted his foot—and rather than step forward, he stepped sideways. And then up. His boots kissed the vertical stone wall of the lighthouse as if it were flat ground, and he began to casually walk straight up the side of it.
No flourish. No fireworks. Just pure magical absurdity.
And then, as if gravity was just an overbearing suggestion he had politely declined, he took another step up the wall—hands tucked into his coat pockets like he was on a casual morning stroll. The wind gave a theatrical little tug at his coat tails for dramatic effect, which he clearly took as a personal cue.
“Oh no, don’t mind me,” he added over his shoulder again. “Just takin’ the scenic route. Vertical is very in this season.” He stopped mid-step, leaning slightly back so his upside-downish head could peek at her, hanging comically from the side of the lighthouse like some wayward magical bat. “Yah comin’ or are yah still determined to climb climb like a normal person?” He grinned wide now, cheeky as ever.
This pain in the ass man really was going to have her all twisted up in her feelings today. From the lowest lows to the highest highs, to new spaces she’d never really been in before and had absolutely no idea how to manage without behaving like an idiot. They sure as hell didn’t teach these things during royal etiquette lessons. Calia personally feeling that noble figures were just expected to keep everything all bottled up perfectly.
She had, once upon a time. Now it was all loosey-goosey and Calia was having to learn how to be a whole different person.
Or was it learning how to be her more authentic self?
For now she was trying to push it out of her head, because she was tired of that flushy feeling and being off kilter. Watching him circle the lighthouse like some sort of magical predator. Of course… he was! Just not in this ridiculous scenario! Curious enough to wait and see what he plotted up, she crossed her arms. Giving a dubious raise of her brow when his first boot was planted flush against the side of the stonework. Then an incredulous blink when he decided to just… walk up the side of it.
That was a strange bit of magic.
“…you look absolutely silly.” she answered, completely deadpan in tone, but the corners of her mouth were already betraying her with the way they twitched. And there it was, that faeish mischief look that was wrapped in all kinds of sweet promises that were surely to end badly. Where she reached up just to the sake of booping him on the nose while he couldn’t much defend himself.
Calia did put one boot to the wall and then… scoffed entirely. Not about to walk herself up there like a blasted spider! Shifting then to place a hand against the stone, feeling her way through it until she coaxed herself a few nice, sturdy steps out of the rock. Steps that wound their way up and over him, to which she quickly started climbing.
“You’re welcome to keep working on those muscles of yours, I’ll just take the easy way up, thank you!”
A winsome smile spread easily across features. Bright, easy and if he dare say so, breathless. “Well yah made it clear that takin’ the front door was too borin’,” flickering eyes towards the aforementioned door whilst continuing to walk his way upwards. Uncaring whether he was being a spider or not.
Of course he was curious to her own way up. Looking as though she was about to replicate his efforts only to take to making stairs appear on the outside.
Spiraling upwards in such a very functional way, but of course adding on her cheeky little jest too. “I didn’t cultivated myself from magic, I’ve gotta still make sure I stay in good shape somehow.” Arc chuckled, “Has the lass been eyin’ my form or cursin’ it due to me bein’ quite heavy.”
The demon continued upwards. Keeping pace well even if he was giving her a curious look. “Elves aren’t exactly ripplin’ with muscle generally. As yah probably have noticed. Add on another way I can stand out in a crowd… ignorin’ the height.”
Cresting over the top of the protective railing at the very tippy top of the lighthouse, he turned and sat on its hold. Precarious for most but with magic at his fingertips, there was less worry to be had. Plus looking directly into the enchanted light seemed like a very bad idea.
“I did get a good view here and there,” she answered with quite the spritely musical laughter. Not about to pretend she hadn’t looked, as she was no prudish shy little miss. Archimedes cut a handsome figure in just about every way a man could. “You also weight about as much as a horse, so that has to be all muscle unless your magic has decided to have a mass of it’s own.”
Speaking of magic, it did make climbing up the side of the tower lighthouse so much easier than having to use her physical strength. Having no problems at all with forming new stone steps for herself to scale, as he just walked himself right on up as if he climbed walls like this all the time.
Actually, as a beetle, he probably did. How sneaky. She really shouldn’t be as impressed as she was.
He wasn’t wrong either that he tended to stand out amongst elves. Most elven men tended to be lean and reedy, with finer softer features and a sort of elegant grace to them. They weren’t all like that, and she’d certain had her fun with a couple that appealed to her personal tastes. Just they were quite different.
While he had himself a seat on the railing, Calia lept herself over it to plant feet firmly on the floor. Turning around to brace her hands on those rails to get a good look out over the sea – a very different picture now that twilight had fallen and everything was dark and mysterious. Silver moonlight highlighting the seafoam of waves. Stars spreading out into forever across the horizon.
Calia was not an ocean girl, but damn it really was a gorgeous view. Worth the time spent of side-tracking off her road to vengeance to appreciate something wonderful.
“This would for certain be one of those romantic spots,” she murmured, flashing him that cheeky smile. Knowing it was a tease now to bring it back to that former conversation. “Away from the world with nothing but stars and sea? Not likely to get caught doing much of anything up here unless you were dumb enough to start casting shadows in the light.”
Arc let out a breezy laugh, quick and unbothered, at her bold declaration. That he weighed as much as a horse? He most certainly did not! Unless, of course, she was factoring in magic—some enchanted gravity field, maybe? He flashed her a sidelong look, all mock innocence, the kind that made it far too easy to accept the unspoken truth: all muscle. A bit of ego. A lot of charm.
By the time she could fire back, he’d already taken that lazy vertical jaunt up the lighthouse, finding perch on the railing’s edge with the kind of ease that suggested he did this often—perched somewhere too high, too narrow, like a cat that refused to admit it had no business being there.
The view sprawled before him—ocean and moonlight in a slow, glimmering dance. The sea mirrored the night sky like a drunk painter had spilled silver and ink across it. Fires and lanterns below flickered in sleepy clusters, wrapping Tír Élas in that dreamy haze where everything felt untouched, unbothered. As if the world was kind.
They didn’t know better. Not the sailors, not the people wandering cobbled streets. Even the ones who claimed to have seen Isyn’s worst storms had no idea what else was out there, clawing at the edges of the world.
Maybe, in some half-buried corner of his chest, he envied that.
When she broke the silence again, her grin said mischief, long before her words caught up. Something about this being a romantic spot. A perfect place to fall in love—or fall into something, depending on the level of intent and flexibility.
Arc cocked a brow, giving the place an actual once-over, as if now genuinely assessing its appeal. Then, with his usual casual shrug, he mused, “Some people like that. Bit of risqué flair, up here in front of the lighthouse beam—real dramatic. Castin’ their shadows out over the bay like they want applause for it.”
It sounded awful, personally. All that exposure. Wind chill.
“To each their own,” he added with a smirk, before tilting his head at her. “Are yah slottin’ this one away then? For the next beau yah plan to woo—just to see how far yah can flex without even tryin’? Or is this research purely academic?”
“A demon that doesn’t like a little bit of risk? Color me surprised,” she mused with good humor. It truly was a surprise, for Archimedes didn’t seemed like the sort that cared the slightest about the wheres and hows he wooed his women. Seeming more the sort to be delighted at getting frisky anywhere and anyhow, and if someone dared to stumble on it, let them watch!
As for Calia, she did give the place another look, just for the sake of actually considering it. The open space and air did not bother her, in fact it appealed to her in all sorts of ways. Biting breeze, never ending sky. Feeling like you were on top of the world and if you were careful, you might tumble right off it. That part was enticing.
The thought of someone storming up the steps to find one in vulnerable positions, not so much. Calia preferred her intimacy in private, where she didn’t have to worry about anyone ruining her rare moments of peace.
“I do like having this kind of view,” she shared with a shrug of her shoulders and that wry half grin. “More interesting than tavern walls. Although, don’t think I want to have my salacious shadows broadcasted to all of Tír Élas.”
“There’s risk,” Arc mused, voice low and wry, “and then there’s the risk of bein’ in a highly vulnerable position with your ass literally out for public review.”
His violet eyes caught the lantern-glow, just enough to glimmer with unspoken amusement—because yes, he knew he was splitting hairs over a joke. But the distinction mattered. In his mind, anyway. Sure, people could hear a little rambunctious activity behind closed doors, maybe even through thin walls—he wasn’t judging. But broadcasting it? For all eyes to see?
That was a very different sort of exhibitionism.
Public displays of affection? Fine. Sweet, even. Sometimes. But someone getting down on their back—or knees—up here in the lighthouse beam, casting long shadows like a tragic theater troupe? That was a hard no. Unless, maybe, it was someone else’s problem.
He tilted his head again, letting his gaze wander over the horizon—ocean still shimmering like a liquid mirror, sky a velvet sprawl of stars. He could imagine the type that might get a thrill out of this kind of thing. Bold, wild-hearted, maybe a little unhinged. The sort who’d grin while tempting gravity and scandal in the same breath. Arc decided not to dwell too long on the mental list. It didn’t need the amount of thought he was already starting to invest.
Instead, he flicked a glance her way. “So,” he drawled, a lopsided grin followed. “Real creative vetting process, that. Not exactly practical, but definitely memorable. Could work out if yah wanted to throw someone off that surprised yah with being a new maniac!”
Sure they better know how to fly if that where the case.
“Agreed,” he added with a lazy nod. “Ain’t no reason to give the poor folk below a shadow puppet show no one asked for.” Somewhere in the back of his mind, he imagined some horrified voice crying, “Think of the children!” and couldn’t help but laugh softly at the mental image. He leaned forward slightly, peering over the edge of the railing and then upward again, taking care to stay just beyond the sweep of the lighthouse beam. He had no interest in being turned into a beacon himself—either for lovers or lost sailors.
The sky yawned open above them, stars scattered like careless thoughts. The sea below whispered secrets no one ever quite heard clearly. “The fireworks ought to start soon,” he said absently, almost as a reminder, his voice dipping into something gentler. “You got your date with Nova, after all.”
He mentioned getting caught bare ass up in the sky and Calia couldn’t help but burst into a loud laugh. Didn’t matter who she imagined doing it, the entire scene was so hysterically funny – terrible! – still funny. Somehow being a relief that she wasn’t going to have to worry about him some sort of wild exhibitionist, where she’d have to worry about rounding corners while he was busy sating all sorts of deviant desires.
Calia didn’t judge anyone for it, she just didn’t want to see it or be involved!
“Unfortunately for me, I don’t seem to find out my paramours are maniacs until well after,” she mused. It was something to be frustrated about, maybe even angry, but at least for right now she didn’t have that pull of disgust or anger. It simply was what it was and one could sure bet Calia was going to continue adding to her NOT YOU list.
She made a soft sound of acknowledgement about the upcoming fireworks, taking a look up at the stars and bright shining beam of the moon. Reaching out to gently tug at the sleeve of his tunic when she turned to him and leaned hip against the lighthouse railing.
“Would you like to come with me? I doubt Nova would mind the extra company, she’s a socialable sort. Liable to spend the whole night telling more of her stories.”
“Right, well. Hmm.”
Arc scratched the back of his neck, violet gaze flicking to the side in thought. He wasn’t entirely sure if there was some grand, foolproof solution to help her sniff out trouble before it started. Probably something clever and stealthy existed—some preemptive arcane vetting system—but if there was, it wasn’t coming to mind. And honestly? He didn’t think she needed it.
Calia had a good eye. She could read people better than most—knew the difference between charm and cunning, warmth and bait. Sure, someone might slip under the radar once… but only once. She was more than capable of cutting someone off at the knees, metaphorically or otherwise, if they proved themselves a problem. The thought alone tugged a smirk to his lips.
Then came the gentle tug at his sleeve, pulling his attention in full. Not that she ever really needed to—he always had one ear tilted her way, metaphorically and often literally. Still, his pointed ears did visibly perk, giving her the courtesy of full focus. Curiosity flickered in his eyes, low and easy.
So when she asked—sweetly, almost offhand—if he wanted to come with her and Nova on their date, it earned her a slow blink. Of all the things he expected… He could’ve said yes. Could’ve just rolled into it with the usual sass, maybe made it a trio and cracked jokes the whole time. But nah.
He looked at her for a moment longer, gauging not the question itself, but the space behind it. And then smiled—soft and crooked, a little impish, a little fond. “Naw,” Arc said, leaning in to press a light, mischievous kiss to her cheek. “Yah go enjoy yer girl time. Do… whatever it is girls do when boys aren’t around. Probably talk about secrets and steal souls or braid each other’s hair into dark sigils. Sounds fun.”
His grin lingered, but his tone was warm underneath it, genuine.
“I’ll be fine stickin’ around here. Might cause a bit of modest mischief. Maybe see if I can rodeo a seagull as a beetle. Y’know, the usual.” He waved her off with a lazy flick of his fingers, already half-lounging again. “Just give me a shout in the mornin’, yeah? Whenever yer ready to do… whatever it is we’re doin’ tomorrow.”
Calia leaned there studying his features, putting to memory those little movements and inflections, searching to see if her suggestion of him coming with would land well the way she was hoping it would, or if it would somehow seem like she was abandoning him again in favor of someone else. If she knew he seemed to think she was some great people reader, Calia would’ve laughed as she sure as hell didn’t feel that way. Especially when it came to him.
She sure as hell didn’t see a kiss to the cheek coming and for the briefest of moments it fritzed out her brain, leaving her standing there giving him an owlish, flushing blink. Friendly physical affections were so… so weird! Not bad – actually she quite liked it and there was that itch to squeeze him in a hug again – but still so new that it was awkward. Deciding it was best if she didn’t react to it at all, else she was liable to say something ridiculous.
Instead she shifted, squeezing his forearm gently. “If you decide not to go chasing girls, you can have my bed to sleep in. I’ll just roll you out of the way when I get back.”
Calia leaned over the railing, debating her way down. There was climbing, there was magic stone steps, but in a quick instant she remembered the magic he’d used at the elven palace so why not have a little more practice with the arcane? Without a single ounce of hesitation she climbed over the rail and just jumped. Landing a few short feet away on that mimicked bit of glittering that she’d now stolen from him, before letting that magic tilt with a bit of icy frost to send her sliding down safely to the ground.
There she paused turning back with a broad grin and a flourishing bow, waving a simple goodbye as if she’d done this sort of thing everyday.
There’d be no chasing after girls—not tonight, not tomorrow, probably not ever in the way people expected of him. Honestly, what would he even do? The whole of Tír Élas had enough polished smiles and subtle games to make him want to sidestep the entire dance altogether. Too much effort. Too many moving parts. Not that he’d say as much aloud.
Instead, Arc gave a slow, exaggerated shrug—like he was weighing some grand philosophical dilemma instead of dodging it entirely. Never mind the reality. He left the question unanswered, save for a sharp-edged grin and a glint in his eyes that said nice try.
Then she leapt the railing. A normal person might’ve felt their heart slam against their ribs, eyes going wide as they reached to stop her—or at least looked alarmed. Arc just watched.
Watched as she caught the wind and wove spellwork mid-air—mirroring a trick he’d pulled once, only this time touched with her own flare. Clever girl.
He raised two fingers in a lazy salute as she vanished into the night, lantern light flickering over his features as he leaned back into the quiet again. Not even a whisper of tension in his limbs. “Show off,” he muttered, fond and amused.
Nova paced a slow circle near the edge of the Driftwood Haven, the soft creak of old planks under her boots keeping rhythm with the hum in her chest. The sea air was crisp, salted and cool, tugging gently at the loose wisps of her silvery-blue hair, braided back with little shells she’d charmed into staying there. Her bronze eyes sparkled in the lantern light as she spotted a familiar silhouette approaching.
A grin bloomed across her face instantly. “Hi!” she called, her voice lilting with that ever-present warmth and the subtle swing of her accent. “I was startin’ to think maybe Arc’d roped yah into somethin’ ridiculous.”
She bounced on the balls of her feet, practically glowing. “C’mon, c’mon, I’ve got a perfect spot picked out down by the docks. Not too crowded, no fish guts, and if the wind behaves, we’ll see every burst clear as day.”
Calia arrived back to the Driftwood with an ease that’d not been there the entire time at Tír Élas. Hell, she’d not had this sense of calm for a very long time. There was none of her usual awkwardness, shyness, or concern about the crowd. For right now, there was nothing she needed to fret or angst over. Archimedes was safe and okay, no one was pissed at her, and there was no where else she needed to be until it was time to leave town.
So it was a warm smile that greeted Nova’s cheerful hello followed by a soft laugh and a simple gesture of her hand, waving off the nonsense.
“Well, we did get up to some ridiculousness, but that wasn’t going to have me forgetting all about you,” was her breezy reply. Raising brows at the girl bouncing on her feet and giving a soft giggle of her own when she fell into step next to Nova, to see where this perfect spot would be.
“I see you’ve managed to eat all the marshmallows in Tír Élas,” she mumbled, glancing around where there might’ve been a sticky hint or two that something bizarre had fallen from the sky. Otherwise, the whole of the docks weren’t covered in melted sugar and gooey traps. Soon to reach out a hand and poke softly one of the shells braided into Nova’s hair. How she managed to do that was a curiosity itself! “These are pretty! It has you looking like a sea nymph.”
Nova’s face lit up with something more than her usual grin when Calia stepped in beside her—something quieter, deeper, like a star had tucked itself into her chest and decided to stay a while. There was an ease about her tonight that hadn’t been there before. No tension in her shoulders. No flickers of worry behind her eyes. Just… calm. Warmth. Real, easy presence.
And Nova, ever the observant one when it came to hearts rather than strategy, noticed it right away.
“Did yah now?” she teased, slipping a sly glance sideways at Calia. “Ridiculousness seems like it would be his native tongue, so I’m not surprised. But I’m honored I still rated a spot in that busy brain of yours.” Her steps quickened in little skips, light and effortless, like she was floating just above the planks—and she very well could’ve been, if the mood struck her.
At the marshmallow comment, she gave an exaggerated gasp and clutched at her heart. “Oi! I’ll have yah know I shared those. With… okay, mostly with a seagull. But he looked very grateful.” She spun on her heel for a moment to face Calia mid-step, walking backward now with practiced ease, grinning all the while.
The poke at her hair earned a giggle, and Nova tilted her head obligingly toward the hand. “D’you like ’em? Little trick I picked up from a dock witch down near Marrow Bay. Said it’d keep the sea from pullin’ yah under. ‘Course, she also tried to sell me a crab that predicts the weather, so, take it with salt.”
She nudged Calia playfully, eyes twinkling. “Come on then, moonlight. Let’s get to our spot before all the half-drunk sailors decide the fireworks are a sign from their long-lost ancestors.” And with that, Nova tugged her gently forward, laughter echoing along the breeze, matching the rhythm of the waves.
“They’ll be the fattest seagulls in all of Edelguard, if at least for today,” mused Calia. Finding it pretty easy to imagine all those birds stuffed up with sugar and waddling around the docks because they were too full to go flying off elsewhere. Having just as much amusement that Nova was still giddy over the magical nonsense, leaving Calia with this nice satisfied feeling of warmth to be able to bring that much joy to someone. There was something so appealing about using magic to do these little things… even if this example wasn’t exactly small.
“I wouldn’t go trusting any crabs, especially if they’ve got jobs. Sounds like a sketchy thing for a crab to be doing.”
Calia met Nova stride for stride, although without the girl’s enthusiastic bouncing. Still, with as much as she was grinning her face was bound to be sore by night’s end, having not had reason to be using those muscles so much in ages. Savoring this means of comradery with someone who was just all around pleasant to spend time with. That familiarity to her sister soothing wounded parts of her, that faint air of innocent trouble too making her feel safely comfortable.
“Those sailor have to be beyond three sheets to the wind if they’re mistaking the same old yearly fireworks as divine messages. I think I might like to try that kind of brew!”
Nova let out a snort of laughter, half-spun again like the thought of sugar-drunk seagulls deserved its own celebratory jig. “Oh, please, they were already waddlin’ like dockside royalty. Toss in the marshmallows now and they’ll be startin’ their own union, tomorrow.” The idea had her grinning wide again, clearly picturing it in vivid detail: one particularly round gull sitting on a crate, demanding tributes in breadcrumbs. “I’ll take partial blame if they start mobbin’ the market stalls. I regret nothin’.“
She bumped her shoulder lightly into Calia’s as they walked, a casual bit of affection. “Right though, any crab offerin’ employment advice or startin’ a side hustle? That’s hexed behavior, one hundred percent.”
Nova slowed her pace a touch as they passed a modest little ale stall tucked into a corner just before the pier’s curve. Golden light spilled out over its stall, inviting them in even if it might not be the brew that Calia wanted to try. Not sure they ought to find the one that made sailors so drunk at all! “They’ve got this honey-citrus cider that tastes like a summer day wrapped in a nap.”
With or without drinks, she led the way further down the docks, the planks creaking beneath their steps in that comforting way all lived-in places do. Most folks had clustered closer to the main square or the raised platforms near the temple, but Nova steered them past all that. Out near the curve where the sea met the wooden boardwalk like an old friend. A lonely piling stood there, with just enough space for two to sit, legs dangling, the tide lapping beneath like a sleepy lullaby.
“There,” she said, slipping ahead and planting herself down with practiced ease. “Best view in Tír Élas. No one shovin’ into yah, nothin’ blockin’ the sky. And when the big ones go off over the water, yah can see the reflections in the tide like a whole second set of stars.”
She looked up at Calia again, eyes shining soft in the lantern glow. “‘Sides… it’s only right yah get to see somethin’ good tonight. Magic and sugar and moonlight’s all well and fine, but fireworks? That’s the best stuff.” She patted the empty space beside her, the sea breeze tugging gently at the shells in her braid. “Come sit. They’ll start any moment now.”
Well there was a picture in her head now of Nova running a mob of seagulls, and the girl might’ve meant it as a jest but Calia didn’t doubt for a second that it could come true. The whole town would let her get away with it too, seeing as she tended to have everyone wrapped around her fingers just with a few sweet statements and a couple of well-aimed smiles. Probably already ran the whole of Tír Élas and no one was none the wiser.
Walking along the docks where ever Nova was leading her, she didn’t hesitate to claim herself a drink when they’d passed by the stand, a summer day wrapped in a nap sounded like a pretty good recommendation to her. Claiming the thick paper mug with a winsome smile and a hefty sip. Not needing to linger and making sure she stayed close to her present companion even as the weaved passed other patrons of the festival seeking to find their favorite spots for the watching.
It wasn’t a surprise to find that Nova had her own special and favorite place. As a local she’d probably tried every spot on the port for the best vantage points. Giving a small laugh at the declaration that even magic had nothing on fireworks. To which Calia could easily argue if she had the will to. After all, magic could be the fireworks!
Still she slid into the offer spot with ease, taking another sip of her drink and giving a contented hum.
“Seems like a good way to end up the festival, with a grand sparkling show. We didn’t do a lot of fireworks where I come from, I’m not really sure why. Probably some nonsense of making the sleeping mountain gods angry or something like that.”
Nova had already tucked herself in, sitting cross-legged with her boots kicked off beside her and her drink nestled securely between her knees. The cider glinted gold in the low light, little bubbles catching the shimmer of the lanterns strung along the docks like lazy fireflies. She leaned back on her palms, gaze tilted up toward the horizon where the sky still held onto its last hints of blue before the black took over.
At Calia’s comment, she let out a soft laugh, eyes glinting with curiosity and a trace of teasing. “Sleeping mountain gods, huh? Sounds very dramatic. Wouldn’t surprise me if they just didn’t trust the local teens not to blow off their eyebrows.”
She took a slow sip, savoring the sweetness before setting the drink down by her side, then looked out over the water with that same reverent kind of awe she always seemed to carry when it came to the world’s quiet beauties. Her voice gentled, rich with fondness. “But aye… it’s a proper way to end it all. Loud, bright, over the top. Kind of like life here, really.”
She glanced sideways at Calia, watching the other girl take that sip of her drink and settle in like she actually meant to stay a while. That made Nova smile.
“Yah know,” she began, voice soft but curious, “what are yah gonna do come tomorrow?” It wasn’t asked with any pressure or expectation. Just genuine interest. Her tone was casual, like she was asking whether they’d get another cider before heading home, but her eyes—those bright bronze ones—held the shimmer of something more thoughtful. “Once the crowd clears out and all the streamers get swept away… do yah already know where you’re goin’? Or are yah just gonna follow the wind ’til it gets tired?”
She tilted her head slightly, the sea wind tugging at the hair near her face. “Not that I think yah can’t do either. Yah just strike me as someone who’s always got a next step in mind—even if you haven’t told it to yourself yet.”
“Pretty sure I would’ve been one of those teens,” Calia admitted with a laugh. A chance to set things on fire and make big explosions? She would’ve jumped on every opportunity to do so when she couldn’t use her magic for it!
She settled in nicely herself, not quite at the point of tugging off her boots, being wary of getting any more sand in them, mostly. Just fine to sit and soak in the atmosphere. To feel that distant chitter of people being bright and excited. This soft and quiet moment sitting beside someone she could easily name as a friend now if she wanted to be bold.
Nova’s question had her tilting her head, brushing dark hair over her shoulder and grinning wide at the thought of just following the wind. Wouldn’t hat be amazing, to not have to be responsible for anything, to go anywhere specific. How great it would be if she could just travel and explore on a whim, to laze around in towns like this when she needed a rest, or to chase the wind when she wanted a change. Calia had never wanted a stationary life full of obligations. Even if she so strongly valued having a place to go home to.
“I have to get back to being a someone instead of a noone,” was her first answer, knowing damn well it sounded vague and mysterious. Leaning to gently bump against Nova’s shoulder with a smile. “I’ll be heading back into the mountains, seeking out the other clans and kingdoms. Edelguard can protect it’s own and has graciously accepted to care for Caeldalmor’s round-ear refugees. There’s others out there, though, scattered to the winds and kingdoms that don’t know there’s a danger around the corner.”
Nova didn’t answer right away.
She just watched Calia as she spoke, smile softening, eyes kind. Let the quiet be its own shape between them for a moment—just the sea whispering, the sway of dock wood, the hum of distant laughter and music curling through the air. That thoughtful kind of silence that never felt awkward. Like the space between notes in a favorite song.
“Yah don’t sound like a no one to me,” she said finally, voice gentle and warm, touched with that ever-present lilt of hers. “Yah sound like someone who’s been walkin’ through fire and still came out the other side in one piece. Maybe a little battered.”
She leaned her weight lightly against the spot where Calia had bumped her, returning it with a bit more ease, a bit more affection. “The kind of person who could make whole kingdoms feel like they’re not forgotten. That’s a rare thing, Calia.”
Nova picked up her drink again, swirling it absently, then glanced out over the water like she could see those faraway mountains and scattered clans already—feel the pulse of what Calia was going toward. “I think yer doin’ somethin’ real important,” she said simply. “Even if most folks never see it, or know yer name. That kind of quiet good? It echoes.”
Then, with a crooked grin and a wink, she added, “But I still hope yah find a way to follow the wind now and then. Just for you. ‘Cause even heroes need rest, and friends to come back to.”
And as if the skies had been listening in all along, the first firework cracked above them—bursting with a golden shimmer that spilled like sunlight caught mid-laugh. Nova’s smile widened, eyes bright as she looked up, the light catching in her curls and casting them in soft fire. “Right on time,” she whispered, eyes never leaving the sky.
Ah, but Calia would love to be a no one. She’d never been the one with ambitious desires. No wish for attention or to stand out or to make a mark. The only thing she ever actually wanted was a chance to be her real self outside of the shadows. To know who she was, be who she was.
That used to mean something so much different than it did now.
But as always, Nova had a way of spinning things. Making Calia sound so much more important than she actually was, with this soft suggestion that she could do it through those actions that people tended to never see. Only felt through the echoes and consequences. Something like that was quite fine for Calia. She could barely handle a compliment, what on earth was she going to do with people’s gratitude! Just let her get things done as they needed to be, so she could fuck right off to the trees and never have to use her head again!
Still, when those first few sudden bursts shot through the air and send golden shimmers raining down on the ocean below, it somehow cathartic. A glittering representation of some locked up part of her finally having a chance to breathe. There was such a long, long way for Calia to go between here and getting her heart back. Through all the mountain clans and then back to Caeldalmor to make something out of the ashes.
But for the first time it didn’t feel like something impossible for her to do. For everything she stumbled and struggled with through Edelguard, she finally felt like she might be capable of doing more than just screwing everything up.
Calia watched the colorful pops and flickers with a soft smile, feeling that there was just a little bit of something now in that empty void of her chest.
The first firework burst open above them like the sky itself was exhaling, and Nova’s breath caught with it. Gold shimmered across the heavens, scattering like fireflies, and she couldn’t help the wide, delighted smile that stretched across her face. The reflections danced on the water, rippling in time with the harbor’s gentle waves, and she thought—not for the first time—how magic didn’t always come from spells.
Beside her, Nova didn’t need to look to feel the calm that radiated off the other girl. She just knew it, the same way she knew how to braid seashells into her hair or how to find the best corner of the docks to watch the sky unfold. This was their spot, and tonight it felt like all of Edelguard had conspired to make it perfect.
A cascade of violet exploded above them, trailed by threads of silver, the kind of color that made Nova’s heart ache with how pretty it was. Her fingers curled around her drink as she leaned forward slightly, the soft fizz of it in her hand grounding her while the world overhead bloomed in impossible hues. Scarlet hearts. Twisting spirals of blue and green. A sudden spray of white that crackled like laughter.
She leaned her shoulder against Calia’s—not to interrupt, not to speak—just to share it. To let her know she was there, and that this moment, this wonder. The sky kept blooming, again and again, and Nova watched each burst like it was the first. Eyes wide. Heart light. The sea stretching out before them and the stars falling just for a while.
When that last firework soared high into the sky, a brilliant arc of red and gold, before it shattered into a thousand twinkling sparks, fading softly into the night. The final echoes of crackles and pops hung in the air, leaving behind the gentle hum of the harbor and the distant murmur of the crowd still lingering at the docks. The beauty of it all settled into Nova’s chest, like the warmth of a good memory, and she sighed contentedly, watching the last embers fade into nothingness.
Her fingers still held the cup, but it had become an afterthought, the drink almost forgotten in the magic of the moment. The world around them was quiet now, save for the soft lapping of water against the wood, and Nova, with that same sweet, open smile, turned toward Calia. “Well,” she said softly, her voice warm with the lingering glow of the fireworks, “When yer ready, I can walk yah back to the tavern. Wouldn’t want yah to face any late-night trouble on yer own.” Waggling her brows in such a way that was clear she knew that wasn’t about to happen.
Simple things like this were really sort of extraordinary, Calia thought. She’d never had a problem appreciating the beauty and good things in the world. Though maybe for a little while she’d been lost in her own grief and anger, and didn’t have the space to see beyond it. The violets and the blues were her favorite, though she’d change her mind in an instant over spirals of emerald greens and golds. The fact that the sea reflected it all made such an amazing show, and Nova’s quiet company made it a little more special than if Calia had been sitting all by herself on her own. A little treasure for herself to hold onto when things were bound to be difficult later.
She was almost surprised to hear Nova pipe up to break the silence, giving her a dumbfounded blink before erupting into a loud laugh.
“I ought to be walking you back to your cabin, but I’m betting you’re hoping to trip over a special someone on this last magical night.” True or false, didn’t matter. The gentle tease was there along with a soft bit of giggling. Already getting up to her feet and holding a hand out for Nova to help the elven girl up to her own.
“Thank you for spending the time with me. I wasn’t really expecting a whole festival and all the nonsense that comes with it, but I really did come to enjoy it.”
Nova’s giggle came light and lilting, brushing the air like chimes caught in a breeze. She took Calia’s offered hand with a warm squeeze, rising easily to her feet with the grace only a girl born of forest and wind could manage.
“Oh,” she replied with mock severity, eyes glinting with mischief. “I only trip over my own feet, thank yah very much—and usually after one too many of those sugary ciders they sneak into the drink carts.” She grinned, then softened, brushing a bit of wind-blown hair from her face as she looked at Calia with something honest in her expression. “There was a promise of one gentleman though that I was curious enough to see whether or not they make due on their words.” Nova took a thoughtful look then but it was shortly warmed. Feet steady behind her once more as it was so easy to speak up.
“I should be thanking yah,” she said, voice dipping with earnest warmth. “Most people pass through Tir Elas lookin’ to take somethin’, or stir up something, or just get out as quick as they came in. But yah stopped. Yah saw it. Yah enjoyed it.” Her smile tilted sweetly. “And yah let me be a part of it.” The night felt like it had tucked them both into its quiet rhythm now, the rush of celebration behind them, leaving only the hush of the tide and a moon-soaked path ahead.
“C’mon then, mysterious mountain wanderer,” Nova added gently, looping her arm with Calia’s as they began the walk back. “Let’s get yah back before the shellfish decide to unionize and charge tolls.”
There was another laugh about Nova tripping over her own feet, accepting the opportunity to hook herself arm and arm with the moonbeam elf, just on the off chance that she in fact have a little too much cider and was liable to go tumbling off the docks. She was such a small little thing that it’d be nothing to scoop her up and carry her off.
She did get the very distinct feeling that the mysterious gentleman with a promise was Archimedes, not sure how she felt about that at first. A strong sense of wanting to protect the girl from harm and heartache was first and foremost, soon to be set aside as she was confident Arc wouldn’t do nothing with the elven girl that she wouldn’t want. A small sense of jealousy came next… a little more complicated of a feeling, for it wasn’t about Archimedes himself, simply that Nova was the sort of woman men sought after and Calia knew she couldn’t be that. Her own insecurity that she had to deal with.
Finally, she just sort of hope that Nova got her wish and a lovely evening. If anyone deserved their wishes coming true, it’d be Nova. With Arc or with someone else, it didn’t really matter so long as she was happy.
Regardless, it was a pleasant walk back to the tavern and inn. With nothing but smiles and soft giggles pointing out those that were struggling to get themselves back home after one too many drinks. The families with over-tired younglings that were far too sleepy to do anything else, but still not wanting to go to bed just yet. All of this life she was so happy to see and be around… while still wanting a good bit of rest and sleep herself!