The dawn arrived quietly in the redwoods, whispering through the canopy in shafts of pale sunlight. The air was still cool, touched with the scent of moss and old pine, the sort of sacred hush that only came when the world was waking slow. Branches high above creaked with the passing of birds, but the ground below remained still.
Arc had been awake for a while.
Eyes open to the filtered sky, not quite focused, not quite present. The ache in his body from yesterday’s strain was mostly gone—replaced by the dull pull of lingering bruises and a strange, persistent warmth pressed tight against his side. Calia hadn’t let go of his arm. Draped around it like it was something hers to hold.
He hadn’t tried to pull away. There was no reason to. The warding spell he’d shaped around them during the night still pulsed gently beneath the earth, silent and unseen, offering them a buffer from whatever might have roamed too close in the dark. It had been a long time since he’d felt compelled to make a space like that—so intentionally soft, so obviously safe. But he hadn’t been thinking about that last night. He’d just… done it.
Although surely there was much to question in it, but he hadn’t bothered to find a purpose to do so. Letting himself ebb consciously between cat napping and wakefulness, knowing that they would have to start the whole meandering towards the mountains all over again when she was ready to do so. Granted, getting some food would be wise considering the whole, she had herself cut up to ooze out the black taint within herself and he’d been successfully barbequed by a mighty divinity.
Well, now he knew how that all worked and what would happen to himself if he was exposed to it in such high concentrations. Not that he was thrilled about it but good to know!
Calia may have slept in later than what’ve usually would be normal, and she would not want to admit all the likely culprits for it. That she’d needed the rest after so many days of stressful events. Or that for the first time in a very long time she’d actually felt secure enough to let herself sleep that deeply. None of that light sleep, ready to jump up and start swinging a weapon at a moments notice. Just pure restful unconsciousness somewhere safe.
Or someone safe, but she wouldn’t want to say that either.
When she did finally stir it was with reluctance to shift out of what was a nice little cozy nook. Perfectly aware she still had the man’s arm held captive and somehow not even feeling an ounce of shame or regret about it. Just glad he was still there and there was no need to go peering around to find him. Calia did take advantage of savoring the moment, though. A brief moment of peace. The lingering protection of magic and the gentle familiar smells of lush moss. How quiet and lovely a forest morning could be with just the sounds of beeping birds starting their own morning routine and the brush of wind in the trees.
A memory to hold tight too, for it wouldn’t be long before they were headed into the northern parts of Edelguard and then back into the mountain tunnels.
Calia did finally release her hold on the demon’s arm to sit herself up with a sigh. Turning where she sat to bend over him and see just how close to wakefulness Archimedes might be. Reaching ever so softly to touch the tip of her finger to his nose.
“Do you want leftovers and to get going, or something hot and comforting?” she asked oh so softly. It felt like a morning for hushed voices and gentle quiet, anyway.
Whatever round of half-conscious drifting he’d slipped into—neither sleep nor wakefulness, just the muted space between—was quietly severed by her shifting beside him. No sudden jolt, no urgent movement. Just the gradual loosen of her hold around his arm, relinquishing it from the possessive way she’d curled around it during the night. Her grip had been firm enough that he’d thought, for a moment, she might not let go at all. Like a stubborn imp clinging to something she’d claimed as hers, if only in sleep.
A gentle tap to his nose followed, not punctuated with the familiar boop she sometimes gave, but enough to drag him fully to the waking world. His lids parted slowly, violet eyes languid beneath the weight of morning, not startled so much as faintly bemused. Raising attention to study her a beat longer, not in suspicion but in quiet evaluation. Trying to determine if the soft tone came from caution, or simply the kind of sleepy intimacy that didn’t need volume. His answer never came in words—only in the gentle shift of his body as he stretched, slow and unbothered. Arms rose above his head, back arching faintly as vertebrae gave muted pops that spoke of strain and wear. Too many days walking, too many nights curled on the forest floor.
The stretch ended with a low sigh and the lazy drop of an arm across his eyes. A hum passed from him—low, thoughtful, near amused. She’d asked a question, after all. Something light, and tentative, and quietly considerate.
“Yah’re the lass in charge,” he murmured, his tone smooth and unhurried. “Whatever pace yah wanna go, I ain’t about to start bitchin’ about. So entirely whatever works for yah.”
There was no jest in the words. No teasing flick of tone or overt effort to coax a laugh. Just a rare softness in him—gravelled and honest, resigned to whatever came next. Because whatever else he might have been thinking, whatever weight still lingered between them, Arc wasn’t about to be the one who asked for more than she was willing to give.
A thoughtful hum was her reply, leaning on a hand there like this had always been the morning routine. Giving quiet consideration since she was in charge of this entire endeavor. Well, she always had been, except perhaps this was the first time she was taking due consideration to things beyond just the next hour. A casual up and down perusal of the man with just verdant green eyes was enough to tell her how well he himself slept. Setting those thought inwards then to herself and how her own body was doing.
Calia could charge forward. Relentlessly pushing until she finally gave way to passing out somewhere. He could always continue to ride on her shoulders as the beetlebug without any problems.
Only, it wasn’t so much the body Calia was now concerned with, and certainly not her own.
They’d been traveling for days and within it there’d been enough complications to make anyone want to drop everything and go find a hole in the ground to die in. There was more than enough stamina in the both of them to keep up pace of traveling, but if events were going to continue to get brutal – rough on a demon with fragile feelings and rough on Calia who was admitted a hot mess of feelings herself…? They needed rest just for the sake of morale. If they didn’t find some way to tend to their mental states, they were liable to fall apart somewhere along the way. More hurt feelings, more fighting.
Their peace was now a priority.
“Is there somewhere near enough by to spend a couple of nights? Some small village with a good bed and enough drink to knock an ogre on his ass? We could eat fast and just head directly for there.”
It likely was due to the exhausted state of emotions, physicality and everything in-between that he’d been spared the night from having to deal with round whatever of Fawna’s everlasting mental torture. So much that he had not better look a gifted horse in the mouth about it!
While the dark haired princess was giving him the once over –shortly following her stare from under that of arm, to wonder what on earth it was about and whether or not he was about to find out- there was a ear raise to her question.
She’d asked him that before and he hadn’t been able to tell her whether there was something nearby or not. This zone of Edelguard was uncharted from him after so many years but, Arc shrugged. Folding hands over that of abdomen as he was looking skyward through the canopies. Thinking, “Well if yah want somethin’ small, before we get too deep and have to really backtrack, there was a village about I’d say a day or more southeast. A sort of border crossing town. If it still exists,” he pointed with a thumb towards the direction, the exact opposite to where they had walked thus far. “Yah could travel that way if yah want.”
Arc shrugged, “I’ll make myself comfortable in the woods while yah do yer recuperatin’. Ain’t feelin’ too interested personally on gettin’ all glammed up and we both know my appearance and reputation alike is well known in Edelguard.” He wasn’t actually bothered about it. Well not so terribly that he was willing to bullshit his way through some lengthy excuse. Telling her plainly that he was a bit bored if not uneasy having to continually hide who he was but it was for good purposeful reasons that he did.
And he wasn’t about to tell her not to get her comfort on. Likely wishing to find some new beau to flirt with so her spirits lifted and a burning drink to refresh one’s wit. He’d just done it so he did understand.
This was a moment of deja vu, with her making suggestions and him somehow not clueing in that she meant it as a means of rest for them both. Calia didn’t interrupt, though, considering the distance and direction. Not quite liking they’d have to deviate so much and waste so much time… but things kept getting derailed in every which way whether she wanted it to or not. At least this would be by choice and for a good purpose.
“I’d like it to be a place appropriate for both of us, not just me alone. Didn’t really consider you needing to glamour, though…” that was a soft admission, leaving her going quiet and debating what else could be done. Truly, having to put up appearances and be someone else did get exhausting after awhile. Calia almost suggested that he could simply be himself – surely her own reputation of being his new wrangler had to have spread all over Edelguard by now. If anyone had ire with him, they would have to get through her first and Calia was not shy about swinging words or fists.
She didn’t want to put him in that position, simply because she wanted a bed, booze and music. The point was to lift their spirits, not beat them down further because the world was cruel and didn’t understand them.
“Hmn, never mind it,” she decided with quick efficiency. Giving his shoulder a small squeezing before shifting to rise to her feet. “I’ll just keep a slower pace and we’ll stop somewhere once we’re through the mountains. So then, light breakfast so you can walk or heavy so you can nap in my pocket for a few more hours?”
Arc had perched up on his elbows, listening without interrupting as she explained her reasoning. That they might have a moment among civilization. That maybe—just maybe—they could sit in real chairs, drink something that didn’t taste like burned root or melted pine, and pretend they were people rather than two wild things skulking through the underbrush like half-feral wolves. She admitted, gently, that she’d forgotten how dangerous it could be for him. That his face was a memory long carried in the minds of elves who lived centuries, and who forgot nothing. Not betrayal, not blood, not who he’d once been.
But she was trying. He saw it in the way she phrased things, the way she hesitated, as though expecting him to bristle or refuse. He didn’t.
She needed the rest. Maybe more than she was willing to say aloud. She looked like someone who needed a break from shouldering the world, and Arc wasn’t cruel enough to make her keep trudging through thorns just because he was cursed to walk alone in shadow.
So he spoke, and his voice was soft. Resolute.
“Yah wouldn’t have suggested it unless yah wanted to do it,” he said, like it was a simple fact. No judgement, just truth. “What’s another day or a few in a glamour. Yah need to take the good when they come, and I know how important it is for yah to be able to shrug off the weight of the world. Especially with the chance for boyish company and a stiff drink.”
He wasn’t going to make her feel guilty for trying to breathe. Not when every breath came with its own price for her.
He had chosen this path. He had agreed to the terms, to the risks. That didn’t mean she had to break herself on it, too.
“Yah can try yer fae travel too,” he added, with a tilt of his head. “If it would keep yah at peace. Yah need some proper bedding, a wash, and food not hunted by yer own hands.”
It was, in every way, an offering. A choice. He would endure the glamour, the watchful eyes, the long silences that came from moving through places he no longer belonged to—if it meant she got to feel like herself again. Even for a little while.
Calia paused, crouching down on her haunches to rest elbow on her knee and chin in her hands so they could speak at eye level – because apparently they were going to have a full back and forth about this. He’d called her out on something she really couldn’t deny if she wanted to remain truthful with him. She did really want that moment of being in a crowded place full of a different kind of life. For as much as she loved the forest, sometimes one needed to be reminded about the entire fun of living too. He certainly needed that himself, Calia was not so dense that she didn’t see how much he also craved being around people and having that social contact.
She gave him a bit of a knowing twist of the mouth and a rise of her brow. Expression in her thoughts on being caught in what she really wanted, but definitely about to debate this compromise.
With just the faintest hint of amusement, for who would have thought they would argue over taking care of each other. What sort of damn lunatics bickered about this sort of thing.
“I would like it yes, but not at the cost of you having to put on the masks. You need to exist as yourself just as much as I do, to just get to be places without having to pretend. So then, what shall we do?”
The question was rhetorical just as much as it was sincere. Tapping her fingers against her cheek, chewing into her tongue as she thought, until finally she just decided it was better thinking it through out loud for the both of them.
“Come as you are and let me deal with whomever doesn’t like it,” she suggested first holding out a single finger, knowing this was the option he was most likely to refuse, because of course he would be stubborn. “Or let me do the glamor on you so you don’t have to do it. You wouldn’t look any different, they’d just not recognize you.” That was the second finger.
“Or,” the third suggestion and third finger came with the most brilliant of smiles. Impossible to tell if she was joking or serious, and damn it all if the way her expression sparkle that she just might mean it. “We get really drunk and naked out here in the broad daylight and see if woodland faeries get as scandalized as modern elves.”
“Well—” He had started only to dawn shortly that she wasn’t actually asking him the question but murmuring her thoughts out loud. The sort that were asked but not currently looking for an replying opinion. Just voiced to be heard! Helping him shut his trap quickly to listen, even if he knew well enough that such things weren’t so easy. As much as he may have wanted to exist in this world, one couldn’t ignore the sort of things he had done to bring him to their current present. That was truly not something she could change nor should she.
That was the thing with choices, the good and bad. You had to deal with the after math regardless. His was just never to be accepted in a culture that had once been his own. Elves, again, lived a long time. And they were dedicated to remembering everything that was of little consequence. What he had done, his former title, that was massive!
But she was thinking and posing the idea that he either just go as he was –which got a look from him. Something surprised, something embarrassed and something uneasy- then to the idea that she could put the glamour on him. To a form that he blinked at her. Having not really thought of a glamour being in effect that simply twisted one’s thoughts that they didn’t recognize him rather than putting some other face over his own. That was curious and he watched that third finger rise up.
With a grin that was absolutely full of shit! The same one that was far to innocent and to devilish to be anything but!
“I think they just might join yah if yah did that. And yah might get caught up in some woodland fairy orgy.” Arc shook his head at her, chuckling at the whole idea. Letting it all linger a good moment till he eventually sighed in a sort of accepting way. “Let’s just avoid yah getting’ frisky with a wendigo or somethin’ out here, when yah can get yer freak on with someone that eyeballs yah like a valiant goddess. Yer second option is probably the most reasonable.”
He wanted to say something else but wasn’t sure what it was. Appreciation or wonderment that she was going this far. Whatever it was, it was not necessary right now. “If yah are doin’ this, then the border crossing settlement is what yah want. Drinks, random faces, hot springs and nestled in Gaia’s forest bosom.”
“Fae orgies and wendigos? Are you trying to tempt me with a good time?” The rejoinder was so instant, there was no time to think about whether or not it made her sound like an absolute whore if he took it seriously, or if he’d take it for the pure nonsense that it was. Especially when she grinned all the wider about it, almost pretending to be seriously considering it. That’d sure as hell be one way to fully introduce herself to the faerie world for the first time.
Better than that, though, he did seem to like her second suggestion, glad to have it landing well. Enough to have that smile of hers soften into something contented pleased. It was truly as close as he could get to being himself without others creating hateful or uncomfortable situations. Not a perfect solution and who knew what sort of things people could gossip about that’d reach his ears, just safe enough.
Calia would still kick someone’s ass if she needed to.
“You had me at drinks,” she finally said, reaching to grab his hands to rise to her feet and then help him up to his own. “If it’s a day and some’s walk by normal means, then we might try some tricks to get us there faster. I might manipulate your side stepping, or blinking, or… charm a big stag out of the woods to give us a ride. See about getting us there by the evening at the very least.”
That grin. That comment. And his look all paired together merely expressed he was terribly amused, “Well when yer good and done with the mortal race, then I suggest doin’ such thin’s. Yah might not go back to the elves and humans after cause yah’ll be disappointed.” As if he knew, but well they could be comical in this moment. It was far better than stress and uncertainty.
Taking the assist to get him to his feet, hands were already moving. Dispelling the magic that had given them a place to rest while being secured in that barrier that seemed to have worked well enough for any passerby’s.
Dusting off his rear end, “I bet I did. Yah’ll have to charm all sorts for the free drinks to get to yer drunken stupor that I am guessin’ yer cravin’.” The demon shrugged and then gave her a bit of a look when she was mentioning the means of getting their faster.
“Blinkin’ is easy enough if yah know where yah goin’. Just takes a bit of an awareness to yer environment so yah don’t meet face first with a tree.” Arc considered her a moment. Delving deep into his knowledge banks. His tongue clicked and then there was a concentrated thought pronouncing itself. “Yah mentioned the night prior about yer disbelief that infernal and fae magic are as opposin’ as I know they can be. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t other options, if yer interested.” He had told her before that he usually just cast magic because he had been inclined too.
“There could be somethin’ a little more reliable from that of yer fae magic and my arcane. A hybrid creation that is controlled through my knowledge of the arcane but targeted by the means of fae’s travel. Actually needing to be a joint creation without slicing me open for another bloodstone.”
He took a few steps away. Clawed finger tips tracing that of jaw. “A portal shaped by fae magic but aimed with the precision of blink theory.” Vision flickered upwards, “A thread that is made in a gate format. Tethering two points across space and stabilized. Fae and arcane.”
There was more motion in him, already starting to cultivate the idea. Extending hands outwards to be an animated effect of thoughtful creation. “If I can mark the locations by that of the blink theory, while keeping it reagent-less, it ought to work by anchor-locks.” A turn, a press of lips. “Arcane provides the logic, the stillness and the coordinates. Fae provides the magic, the motion and the breach. Together, they build on each other achievin’ something greater than something alone.” Dusting off his fingers from absolutely nothing and turning holding her gaze. “Yah already have the power to open the door. What I want to do is help yah aim it with what I know.”
“Certainly never had a problem getting my free drinks before,” she agreed, sharing that smile and a moment that was for once basking in a gentle comradery. With something they both could look forward to and couple days to just not have to think at all about the greater world? Of quests and responsibility? This would be good. Calia was even almost considering trying to fall herself into someone’s bed.
But what really got her immediate attention was that thoughtful expression he got on his face once he mentioned the blinking. She’d long since caught on to that specific look he got whenever she’d ask just the right interesting question, something confusing or inspiring enough that he suddenly had his wheels turning with all sorts of ideas. It had her tilting her head and eyeing him in her own faeish twist of do tell, only missing those pointed ears and sharper features that were so distinctly fae.
“I’m listening,” she coaxed, following along with what was turning out to be quite the theory on blending his arcane knowledge with her fae. Of course, as many of these things went she followed along to a point, until things got a little more layered and complex. Then she was resting her hands on her hips with that petulant, impatience far too reminiscent of any scholar student. That very brief flicker of I’m going to bullshit this together, if you talk any longer.
Calia didn’t interrupt though. Oh she held fast to her tongue and made sure she got the most important parts out.
…it did take her a minute though, frowning deeply to hold out her palm. Doing he habitual thing she did of brushing her fingers over her skin as if she was trying to physically put all of those words into the little taps of her fingertips and somehow that was going to draw the magic she wanted.
“So then… instead of walking the distance with the world bending the space, I just-” she made the little form of her fingers, gesturing the circle. “-make the door, and then you bridge the gap.”
Sounded both complicated and simple all at once. Pure madness and whimsy really. Thus naturally Calia grinned and was entirely on board.
“…well then, what is magic for if not trying something usefully fun. If I can make an Arcanum Hollow, I can surely make a gate.”
There were many reasons he had ended up being a young archmage. The depth of his manna fountain, the complexity of the arcane that housed itself within his body, or the sheer fact he could in fact create spells with fundamentals attached. Combining and adjusting items of intangible existence till they became functional pieces of spellcraft.
Here and now was exactly that very thing.
Constructing the variables of functionality with the nuances of both distinctly different magical resources till they worked with another rather than against.
Oh he seen her impatience appearing but he ignored it. While she preferred to bullshit her magic at times, it was necessary for him to construct and ensure its purpose. To make it feasible, so she would have to just for once trust that his efforts were for use, rather than for delay.
As he solidified his thoughts, Arc turned to her. Nodding easily at her quick summary with easy agreement. “Aye. Yah will be doing the casting and I’ll be yer anchor. The directions.” Magical brawn and intellect combining with another.
“It’s all mental like the hollow, so yah certainly will manage this effortlessly. It’s just opening a door to somewhere entirely else. Easy,” Arc threw in it to sound casual.
“Hmn, when you say it’s easy that makes me think I may end up launching squirrels,” she murmured with amusement. That had been a little too casual on his end for her tastes. Luckily for him, Calia had no doubt in her mind that he could come up with something ingenious. A man like him didn’t get into the sorts of troubles he did if he hadn’t been incredibly clever when it came to magic. Too clever for his own good in the end, to be sure, but that was quite fine for someone like Calia.
Magic was made to be played with! To experiment, to try things, to create and shape the world. Now he’d landed with someone that could do the very things he imagined into existence.
Calia just wondered when he’d finally allow himself to tap into that binding and pull from her. It was her natural gift unbound to her heart, he could use it.
“It’s good that I have seen you open portals twice now,” she mused.
Stepping to the side and pulling one of those threads of magic from her palm. Pulling it and stretching it, coaxing it with gentle hands even while she was trying to imagine the entire process in her mind. Expressive in how she’d hit something that didn’t feel or sound right, giving a twist of mouth or a frown. Grinning when she’d worked it out. A bit of pacing back and forth too – Calia was so physical with her magic one could bet she’d end up like storybook faeries using a magic wand.
The arcanum hollow existed in her mind, which was why it took her so long to understand how to create it in the first place. Trying to make a portal door? A lot easier to grasp now that she’d made several into the hollow. The trickiness was just making the door without it yet going anywhere. …and there her lightbulb moment illuminated, for really all she was making was the frame. The ability to get from one place to another! Arc would open it.
It was quick the wicked bit of giggling once she had it, sweeping motions of her arms and hands to create the framework for this spell. Bending the air and space and time for a circle of hovering magic. Not just that, who needed to do simple when you had an archmage demon to impress? Calia added flair and style, taking it from the shimmering wiggling lines of just pure magic to give it a more solid shape at least in appearance. An illusionary archway of white marbled, carved with little goofy depictions of demon beetles and googlie-eyed fae creatures.
A little whimsy for the dramatic mage.
There was little more than a subtle side-eye when she mentioned potentially launching animals into the solar system—because that was going to be a thing now, wasn’t it. Every time they so much as theorized something possibly useful or disastrous, that became the metric: launching small animals. Damn that prince…
He shrugged, all too casual, when she claimed she’d learned enough from watching him open portals.
Demonic, not arcane.
Not that it mattered. He was infuriatingly and obviously proficient with both—his own natural magic and the kind gifted with a pair of horns.
Now, he merely stepped back and watched with mild amusement as Calia animatedly set to work, hands moving with purpose, voice muttering fragments of invocation. She didn’t just follow instructions; she absorbed them, broke them down, and rebuilt them into something that was hers.
A few moments. A few paces. And she was already halfway there.
Arc didn’t speak. Didn’t interrupt. He studied in silence, letting her work, observing with the same studious grace one might use to examine spellcraft in motion or something far rarer—a wild fae adapting theory into form. It was compelling. He’d admit that. Silently.
Until, of course, she stepped back from her architectural masterpiece with a flourish, gesturing toward it for his appraisal. He took one look and rolled his eyes.
The archway she’d drawn into the air was an elaborate display, clearly crafted in homage to him. Or rather: a stylized, exaggerated version of him. In the beetle form with so much more than necessary. Swirls. And those utterly nonsense eyeball motifs she liked to sprinkle into things. She was so dramatic.
Still—he had to admit, she’d built a damn fine expression of a portal frame.
And he wasn’t about to let her have all the flair.
With the elegance of a bored nobleman preparing for court, he dusted off his lapels, cleared his throat, and squared his shoulders. Then came the finger-cracking. Completely unnecessary, but—that was the point. Every gesture was intentional theatre. His hands moved in fluid patterns, drawing light and geometry into a ripple of heat and space. With a final flourish, he materialized the conduit—a thread of magic that laced into the portal structure and gave it weight. Direction. Destination.
The arch shimmered. The door solidified.
And then, like peeling back the world, Arc reached out and opened it—revealing a glimmering vista beyond. Not where they stood. Not even remotely nearby. It shimmered and curved with soft refractions, peeking through to the outskirts of the Border Crossing town.
Not the middle of town, thankfully. Even he didn’t want to deal with that sort of chaos today.
He turned toward her, offering a deep, courtly bow with just enough smirk to salt the air between them. “After yah, Princess.”
This was beautiful. Extraordinary. Wonderful and every bit of the word magnificent. Was there ever going to be a time where she wasn’t completely enchanted with just the means of constructing some new piece of spellwork? Would it ever grow boring and everyday, la-de-dah like a chore never given second thought? Calia hoped not.
For this was such a lovely expression of what they could do together.
Though she said none of these thoughts out loud, it was clearly written all over her face. That sincere delight and pride, taking on every bit of their airs of a royal queen to bid him that blow of a kiss with her fingers as she passed him by and gladly took the first experimental steps through the portal they’d created.
Anyone else might’ve hesitated. Calia was fearless.
She could feel that familiar comfort of her own style of magic blended so seamlessly with the arcane gate when she passed. Stepping through on the other side to this new location as if it had only been a couple steps away the entire time. Beaming with a grin when she spun around to wait for him, already rubbing her hands together in prepping a glamor that was going to make his stay in this waytown a little easier.
When they weren’t being problematic constipated emotional goblins, they were quite the formidable pair. Even he could admit that while she was adding onto the whole show of being a jubilant royal. Kisses being blown and her feet moving through that ripple of constructed magic from here to there. Encouraging him to figuratively brace himself for whatever sort of added nonsense was about to come their way.
Hopefully no more than flowing drinks and pretty faces that either of them could entertain for affairs that were scratching deviant itches. Instead of dark fae, mystery demons and rumours of a murderous queen looking to cut down her dark haired women populace.
There was no lingering hesitation once he moved through the space that whisked them mere inches rather than hours of walking, to the border crossing town. Passing her a look that stated probably that she would need to disassemble the portal for now. Merely snapping his own fingers to disengage that of the door that they had stepped through. Letting his gaze move to the town that had certainly grown in the last century.
Vel’kyn. The border crossing town. The last bastion of civilization before the wild tundra curled northward and the mountains swallowed the sky. A convergence point between trade and diplomacy, it was part outpost, part market haven, and part sleepless melting pot of travellers, traders, and the occasional fugitive passing under assumed names.
The trees loomed tall— their high canopies letting in shafts of golden light that danced on mossy stone paths. The town wasn’t carved through the forest but into it—buildings rising around trees, roots winding through floors, branches used as rafters and canopy-shelters. Nothing in Vel’kyn was straight or overly modern; everything curved, aged, or leaned just slightly like it was grown rather than built.
The streets were a mixture of worn elven stonework and patchwork additions: wooden boardwalks, arched rope bridges, and enchanted lanterns dangling from long branches. Elves walked with measured grace, drows moved like shadows through the alleys and undercrofts, and trolls—hulking, tusked, and draped in wool cloaks—loitered with surprising gentleness, especially near the bakeries.
Despite the chill in the northern air, the town buzzed with activity. Travellers came through for business or passage deeper into Edelguard or the border territories beyond. Some came for trade, others for healing, and some simply to disappear.
“If I recall correctly,” Arc started, “There ought to be the Crescent Hearth, a high end inn and bathhouse run by a former noble elven and his drow partner. Boastin’ mineral hot sprin’s for its reason to stay.” Music was filtering from balconies above, stories whispered under canopies, and some rooms could be bought for coin, while others require a secret or a favour. The fae rarely show themselves here—but their influence lingers faintly in the smell of sweet cedar smoke and the uncanny way paths sometimes shift when you’re not paying attention.
And while the town was considered neutral ground between elven kindreds and the other races of the north, no one truly forgets the old tensions. Smiles are real, but never without weight. Every handshake has a grip too tight. Every “welcome” is a little too precise.
But still, there is safety here. For a night, a week, or however long you can afford to linger.
Sometimes Calia was amazed he could do such complex bits of magic with nothing but a snap of his fingers. Always with that tilt of her head, watching, contemplating what it took to simply do the magic by thinking it and not using your entire body to physical move it. It’s not as if she hadn’t done it herself before! Her fae travel seemed to work that way, no conscious effort or physical force.
All mental no doubt. Did the world even realize he was that much of a genius because she rarely saw a mage, wizard or witch that could do what he did with such ease. Ignoring all the demon parts, simply the arcane.
Regardless, she’d dismantled her archway with a flourish of her hand, quick to sidestep next to him as they walked. Working on her glamor for him as they did so. Again, having the physicality of it in needing to reach out here and there to brush her fingers against his cheek, or flick through his hair.
Even the single fastest poke to a butt cheek, done so quickly without even a hint of mischief crossing her fingers, did it even happen at all? And what the hell for if she had!
She was done long before they’d reached the first active parts of this town, with her full attention put on admiring the build of the place. There really was beauty in how the elven people developed their villages with the natural world instead of in spite of it. How homes and businesses were so interwoven with the trees, allowing the roots and forest floor itself dictate how the paths would flow. In turn being just as shaped by it’s frequent inhabitants to spring up underbrush in nooks and crevices between buildings or growing branches as perfect awnings of shade and cover.
Sometimes it was difficult to admit that even for all of her solitary habits, Calia still needed people. Even if all she wanted was to be around them for a little while to be reminded that life was much more than just wood and green, ice and stone.
She found it funny too that in being a border town, she could still recognize where the tensions held the very same as they did in the outskirts of Caeldalmor, where the valley shifted upwards to the northern mountains, where other tribes, clans and kingdoms lived. Or even just the unclaimed lands where rogues and caravans of thieves preferred making their homes outside of where the rule of law could get them.
“Spending a day in a hot spring has a certain appeal. Without the weight or burning sensation of holy judgement,” she remarked, likely not something to be joked at all about considering how fresh that was. Yet she’d reached out to grasp his hand tight in a squeeze, making sure he knew it was something she meant as sincere.
There was a quick glance of uncertainty—an arched brow and a sidelong look sent her way as Arc tried to decipher what the hell she was doing. He was mid-thought when he was abruptly and unceremoniously prodded in the butt cheek.
He straightened. Blinking. Then gave her an incredulous once-over, like he wasn’t sure it had happened at all. No words came as none were particularly needed. Whatever glamour she’d cast, he could feel the enchantment sliding over them like a veil. He accepted it with a stoic hum, if not a flicker of wariness—and together, they came to the forest edge overlooking Vel’kyn.
The town sprawled beneath the redwoods like a dream stitched into the roots of the forest. Arc’s gaze moved across it all, offering a quiet hum of recollection—places half-remembered, others freshly built.
“Still a heavy draw for tourists,” he murmured. “Not that anyone can resist a natural hot spring.”
His tone was thoughtful, but his smirk said he was already several thoughts ahead.
It wasn’t The Sable Fawn, of course—nothing compared to the bathhouse-brothel gem buried in the Imperial Lands—but not everything needed to come with velvet ropes and scandal to be enjoyable. Still, better to keep that commentary to himself.
His eyes scanned the people milling nearby with a quiet expectancy, waiting to see if anyone gasped, hissed, or recoiled. But no one spared them more than a passing glance. Calia’s glamour held true. Satisfied, Arc made a half-hearted motion across his features, swiping away the telltale trace of horns and shadow to leave behind a face that read as simply elf. Clean, safe and perfectly his own. Nevermind that he had a dull realization that he could have just as easily changed his eye colour and hair colour and then the whole Archimedes the Menace, wouldn’t have been nearly as easy to see. As eye colours did have a familial line to them.
He was just about to speak when Calia cracked a joke, dark and sweet like poisoned honey. “Now now,” he drawled, squeezing her hand as she snatched his, “Yah only get one chance like that to banish me into the hells.” Letting his smirk deepened. “And yah missed yer opportunity. I ain’t tryin’ that again.”
Throwing his gaze to wandered upward to where buildings merged with the trees—some spiralling around trunks, others hanging like lanterns from the canopy. “I’d say a meal and a pair of rooms is probably first order of business,” he mused aloud, “Before yah try yer hand at turnin’ yerself into a prune in the mineral baths, lass.”
And with that, he took their still-joined hands and swept her gently toward him, looping an arm around her shoulders. He leaned in—not quite heavy, not quite soft—but just enough to guide her with familiar ease. “Could try the inn, if yah want the full hot spring experience,” he said. “Or—” a knowing flick of his brow followed, “There’s, or was, a tavern higher up the ridge. Place with a bit more bite. Music, drinks. Busty maids and roguish barkeeps. Whole damn shindig.”
“I think if I ever needed to banish you, I’d do so with a lot more sparkle and flare,” she teased, Even adding a pointing of her finger upwards that it wouldn’t be the hells she sent him, but straight up into the sky. Calia was truly never going to let go of launching things into the stars.
He was doing that thing again, though, where he was tugging her and putting his arm around her. As if these sort of friendly motions were their everyday thing. Almost making her awkward with it, if it weren’t for the fact that there was also a sense of relief. Calia wished it stayed like this all of the time – or at least most of it. She didn’t mind their bickering when it was just quick snaps and pops back and forth. Dirty looks and exasperated sighs. She didn’t mind the yelling either so long as they were still together.
This was just better though. Stupid grins and planning benevolent trouble.
“So it is a choice between the posh tourists and the bawdy vagrants?” she laughed. Calia already knew which sounded more appealing and had a feeling so did he. “Can’t say I want to spend the entire time naked. Music, drinks, and loud company are a must.”
He tilted his gaze upward, following the point of her finger, just long enough to track the direction she’d indicated—only for his brow to pinch slightly in confusion. That was where she’d send him?
She clarified: not downward to the abyss, but skyward.
Of course.
Arc’s eyes practically rolled into the back of his skull.
It had officially become the running threat between them—banishment by trajectory—and, stars help him, it was probably going to stick. All thanks to that damned prince Liriel had married. Truly. Damn that prince.
Before his thoughts could spiral into that particular abyss of unresolved opinions and generational grudges, he shifted. Lightened. Pulled from the mire with a low exhale and the old rhythm of camaraderie, easy as slipping on a well-worn coat.
His arm slid over Calia’s shoulders again, drawing her in with the kind of casual familiarity that only came from years of proximity and earned comfort. “Well,” he began with a lopsided grin, “This’ll be fun.”
Because he truly had no idea what still remained of the Vel’kyn he remembered. These businesses could’ve vanished, shifted, been bought out by gnomes or burned down in some troll wedding riot. Half the fun was in figuring out where memory still held true—and where time had dusted it clean.
He cast his eyes up the redwood-lined slope, tracking the wooden stairs and winding platforms that wrapped the ancient trunks. Lanterns still swung from hooks like soft-glowing fruit, and the scent of smoked cedar and baked bread drifted faintly through the air.
Of course Calia was drifting more toward the prospect of drink than food. Not that he was surprised. “Well, it is still mornin’,” he drawled, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “So we may not get much in the way of loud company just yet. Probably still sleepin’ off last night’s hangover’s.”
His gaze flicked to her sideways, knowingly. “And food that isn’t claimed by drink or desire is still a good idea.” He shrugged with a charming nonchalance. “Wouldn’t want yah struttin’ up to a new beau smellin’ of holy water and faint regret, now would yah?”
Her own eyes were still taking in the shape and style of this forest border town, quietly enchanted with how seamlessly it blended in with the natural world. Somewhere in her was this small sense of guilt – that she’d dare have more fascination and attraction to some far off place that wasn’t her own home. Caeldalmor had been all she knew, and Calia loved it dearly. From the snowy mountain cliffs to the deep evergreen forests.
…but it wasn’t infused with magic the way Edelguard was. People lived on top of the land like decorations on a cake. Save for the royal castle itself, nothing was sprouted from the earth and ground itself. No harmonious blending, no connection with the natural world…
He was squeezing her again, slipping an arm around her shoulder and giving that trademark lopsided grin that on many occasions irritated the shit out of her just as often as it filled her with a sense of relief. Setting this strange lurching twinge in her stomach to even think about it.
Calia had something to lose now. She definitely didn’t want to think about it.
Instead she shifted into this wide teasing grin of her own, poking him gently in the side.
“Fine, I’ll eat first. Maybe even take a bath. THEN I’m going to spend the rest of the day getting so stupidly drunk that elven bards will be singing songs about me for the next five hundred years.”
An all-too-easy chuckle slipped from Arc’s lips—not loud, but warm with a tangle of amusement and resigned admiration. It was unclear whether it stemmed from genuine mirth or the quiet, knowing understanding that once Calia set her mind to something—whether glamour, mischief, or hellfire—there was no coaxing her from it.
“Now that would be a feat,” he murmured, casting her a glance like the flick of a card across a table. “If yer goin’ to get that hammered, yah might as well make it worth the legend. Not just a flash of light and a tragic little puff of brimstone. Make it loud. Somethin’ the elves’ll still be talkin’ about when their grandkids are weavin’ moon-thread and forgettin’ how to curse properly.”
He arched a brow, thoughtful now—seriously considering her bardic leanings, the way she could craft a tale out of spilled wine and a stray glance. “A flamin’ bear,” he said, letting the words sit as if tasting the shape of them. “No. Three flamin’ bears. Spittin’ sparks and holy fury. Toss me through the canopy mid-battle while a choir of woodland sprites sings yer praises. They’ll write it into bloody epics.”
There was a twitch of a smirk at the edge of his mouth, smug and soft all at once.
He shifted slightly away from her latest prodding—whether to dodge, escape, or out of sheer ticklish reflex was hard to tell. The movement was fluid, practiced, and casual in the way only someone used to her nonsense could manage. Elven grace with a demonic twitch underneath. Controlled chaos.
His gaze wandered skyward once more, tracking the high platforms woven into the redwood trunks. The elevation always gave him a sense of uncertain memory—some businesses up there still flickered in his thoughts like candlelight, others had surely changed hands a dozen times. He raised a hand to shade his eyes, squinting against the gleam of filtered sunlight and possibility.
“Well, lass,” he drawled, the words slow and smooth as velvet over wine, “Seems you’re the one with the nose for either trouble or breakfast.”
He stepped back, giving her a faintly dramatic bow and an exaggerated gesture toward the ascending stairs of carved bark and woven rope. “Lead the way. See what yer glamour-laced instincts sniff out first—grub, or glory. Maybe both, if yer feelin’ ambitious.”
Archimedes slipped into suggestions of mischief, which he really shouldn’t be doing at all if he knew what was good for him. Calia’s first instinct was to roll her eyes at the theatrics of the idea – obviously, she hadn’t intended to actually cause that level of mischief – and yet…? Now he’d put an idea in her head, so the faint expression of amused exasperation gave way to sincere though, pure and wickedly delighted in it’s pondering.
Magic was meant to be used, yet she’d rarely in her life just got to play with it. For the fun, the spectacle, the pure joy of doing something outrageously silly and nonsensical. Raining down toasted marshmallows in Tir Elas had been a taste of it, and how wonderful tempting it was now to lean into that whimsy.
Still, they needed rest, not to be making mischief simply because Arc was oh so good and making it sound like a grand bit fun.
Calia didn’t give an answer to such a tale, not a verbal one in any case. Only that flicker of evergreen eyes with a little glimmer of sparkling promise and a soft smile to match. The sort of look that anyone sane would recognize as pure trouble.
Since he was putting her in charge of choosing their first order or restful business, Calia set her attention to leading the way and exploring this new village in the only way she knew how. Sure-footed steps following the smooth wooden steps and frayed ropes. Casual and observant in ways only someone who was used to this sort of familiar exploring could be. A royal education had given her plenty in the means of how villages tended to be laid out, yet it was her own exploring through Caeldalmor that taught her the rest. How to discern the natural flow of a town, where things trickled to places of daily errands or over to less frequented shops. The more worn paths that went towards cultivated meals provided by busy taverns, or simply places for weary travelers to stop with their wagons and animals.
Briefly she realized this felt like the first time they’d entered a town actually together. The last time, they’d come into Edelguard pretending the other didn’t exist simply to keep some form of peace. The first time before that, he’d killed a girl and she burned the tavern down.
This was progress.
With it too early in the day for Calia to hole up at a bar and drink her woes away, along with this need of Arc’s to make sure she ate a meal first, that narrowed up her options in terms of where to go first. Not that she made any rush about it. Content to wander along paths and bridges, soaking in the feel of the place and vibes of the people. A border town like this was used to strangers, so she and Archimedes didn’t gain much in the manner of second looks. Perhaps for being tall, maybe a little for her round ears as that had not yet grown common.
In the end she settled for this beautiful nook up high in a tree, because why wouldn’t she immediately chose the highest place in all of the village serving breakfast just so she could be up amongst the branches! Carved right into the redwood, with outside decking and seating all around it. The best part was that the place had the feel of being a homey family business. Quiet, quaint, without hints of the sort of establishment that could get someone like Calia in trouble.
She’d had enough of trouble, godsdamnit. Let her give this demon a day of peace!
Arc caught the subtle shift in her features—the way the corners of her mouth twitched and her eyes lit up with a glint that could only mean she was up to something. He didn’t need magic to read that expression; it was the same one that had preceded a number of events which had ranged from “mildly chaotic” to “borderline felonious.”
He didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. The amused flick of his gaze said it all.
Instead, he kept pace beside her, falling into step with the same loose, confident saunter that always made him look like he had nowhere to be and yet was exactly where he wanted to be. As she led the way up the winding stairs and narrow paths of the redwood town, Arc’s eyes wandered. Not aimlessly—never aimlessly—but with a casual sort of vigilance. He took in the layout, the inhabitants, the subtle signs of tension or hospitality that marked any good border town.
He clocked the mix of denizens—elven, drow, even the odd troll moving with slow, deliberate grace beneath the higher walkways. Familiar. Predictable. Comforting, in its own way.
He glanced at a passing stall and sniffed, brows drawing slightly. “That fish has been sittin’ out since dawn, and it wasn’t fresh then,” he muttered more to himself than her, before catching the tail end of her movement ahead. She hadn’t paused or second-guessed once.
“Right then,” he murmured, lips twitching faintly. “She’s navigatin’ like she built the place.”
He let her take the lead without argument, content to trail a step behind—not out of deference, but because he preferred the view and the angle. Arms folded lightly behind his back, he carried himself like a creature both at ease and entirely coiled beneath the skin. A paradox in motion. That was Arc.
And truthfully? He found it oddly satisfying to watch her do the picking. There was something pleasant—almost grounding—about her focus when she moved with purpose. She wasn’t rushing. Just…reading. That way she always did when moving through a space like she was deciphering a language carved into the stone and timber of it.
When she veered upward—higher, naturally—he exhaled a soft sigh of mock-exasperation but didn’t resist. The café she’d chosen perched high above the lower districts, nested among the broad branches like some cozy, wooden aerie. It was quaint. Honest. Not the sort of place he would’ve picked.
Which, of course, made it exactly the right choice.
He tilted his head, assessing the place as they reached the entrance. There was a lazy smell of honeyed oats and something baked in clay—flatbread, maybe. The sort of warmth that settled into the bones. Old chairs. A creaky sign hand-carved and aged. Staff that glanced up and didn’t so much as blink at their presence.
Arc took a long, slow breath in and released it through his nose. “Well,” he said, stepping past her and surveying the open-air seating, “no blood on the threshold. No screaming. Not even a bard croonin’ a sad thing in the corner.”
Then a dry grin. “You’re gettin’ soft, Your Highness.” He moved toward a table near the railing, hand dragging lightly along the back of one chair before gesturing to it with all the exaggerated flourish of someone announcing a throne. “Pick your seat, Princess. I’ll even behave long enough for breakfast. After all…” His gaze drifted out across the town below. “Can’t very well set fire to the establishment till we’ve had a bite, can we?”
“You did say I need to eat before I start my drinking and menacing,” she pointed out, responding to that dry grin of his with an oddly soft smile. Something affectionate mixed in there, even if Calia wasn’t aware she was doing it. Finding herself far more focused on slipping into one of the wooden chairs and melting herself into a position of lazy rest, so natural one would think this was her stop for breakfast every day for the past twenty years.
It didn’t take long of them sitting there before a stocky older woman (actually looking older too, instead of all these damned elves with young faces and being a hundred years old), came bustling over in an apron covered in berry blue stains and smelling of sweet fresh breads. With a natural blush across her nose and cheeks, she blossomed into a wide welcoming smile.
“What can ah get yah folk? We got fresh chicory coffee, persimmon pudding, soft boiled duck eggs, toast and all the like,” she explained breezily.
“If you can pretend I am some puffed up royal princess from a foreign land and slap together the biggest plate of all your best and favorite things, I’d be delighted,” came Calia’s reply, just as breezy and with a charming smile to match.
“Ah, is that so? Ya gonna have the pockets to match it?” was the woman’s grinning rejoinder.
“If I don’t, he’ll be paying.” Calia cracked a wider grin, tilting her head towards the demon without even an ounce of shame. Most notably, was a severe lack of her usual wariness. That anxiousness she’d had before about even being perceived had vanished somewhere along the way, leaving nothing but Calia being her ever so cheeky self.
The elven woman in turned launched into a jubilant laugh. “Ah see she’s out here keepin’ yah on yer toes then, love! What’s it for yah, then? A glass of water to spare your pockets, or the royal treatment as well?”
“Yer right, I did.” Arc’s voice carried that effortless lilt that made even backhanded concern sound like a blessing. “Wouldn’t do yah any good if, mid-drinkin’ and menace-makin’, yah went down like a sack of taters ’cause it all hit yah too fast.”
He gave the place another slow once-over, eyes gleaming with faint interest and faint suspicion. There was a flicker in his expression—not quite recognition, not quite confusion—as though the walls whispered of a past that refused to confirm itself. He couldn’t tell if he’d been here before or just imagined it in some fevered travel stop. Either way, it didn’t matter now.
Because trotting toward them came a woman who most certainly had been here long enough to outlive four taverns, three tavern fires, and no less than six generations of flirtatious idiots trying to charm their way into a free cider. The elder woman held herself with that quick-footed authority of someone who’d been doing this since before either of them were born, paper and pen in hand, her apron dusted with the kind of flour that came with early mornings and honest labour.
And Arc?
Arc transformed.
He leaned forward with exaggerated delicacy, elbows settling on the table, chin dropping into both palms. His roguish smile blossomed like a flower catching full sun—too pretty, too practiced, and entirely intentional. He looked up at her with the sort of wide-eyed charm that made it impossible to tell whether he was trying to seduce her or convince her she was the only person on the continent that truly mattered this morning.
“Good mornin’, love,” he said, in a voice just a touch too sweet, “Aren’t yah a sight for tired eyes and travel-worn hearts?” He offered a blink, slow and deliberate, that would’ve been scandalous if not for the twinkle of humour behind it. There was no subtlety in it. No restraint. He was being cute, and he knew it. Not for gain—well, maybe for gain. A little extra toast. A fresher cut of sausage. A less watered-down cider. But more than that, it was a performance, and she’d walked onto his stage. He wasn’t about to let the curtain fall without applause.
Of course, he let Calia go first. It wasn’t just manners—it was strategy. Let the princess make her declarations. Let her dramatics unfold like the bardic chapter they clearly were. Her request for a half-rack of moose and royal treatment was met with a bemused flicker of his brow, one corner of his mouth twitching in appreciation. He said nothing, though the look said you’re really writing your own epic here, aren’t yah?
The waitress, to her credit, didn’t bat an eye. She chuckled, clearly amused at Calia’s gall, but the real prize came when she turned her sights on him and gave a knowing little smirk. Arc placed a hand over his chest in the most offended little gesture of mock betrayal, gasping as if he’d been stabbed in his coin pouch. “What? Me?” he asked, eyes wide in scandalized delight. “Is nothin’ sacred anymore?”
The act only lasted a breath before he broke into a soft, melodic chuckle—smooth as velvet and full of mischief. His hand fell away, and he leaned in just a little closer, stage-whispering as though confiding in the woman. “Aye, if it ain’t my toes, it’s certainly my wits. But that’s the fun of it.” Doling out a properly placed wink to ensure he was finding the moment amusing. “Might as well pamper us both if the purse is to be drained. Lavish it up. Drown it in gravy. Make it sparkle.”
Then, with a sly tilt of his head and just enough sincerity to seem like he might be telling the truth, he added, “Just no marjoram, if yah please. Unless yah want a dead man on the floor and a story no one’ll believe.” There was a pause, and then he leaned back in his seat again, all self-satisfaction and folded elegance. The smile he gave her was the kind of thing that belonged on stained glass or scandalous postcards—brilliant, irreverent, and far too pretty to be trusted. “Truly, I’d hate to ruin yer mornin’ sweepin’ me up.”
Such a woman with that many years on her working a place like this, one could bet she took Arc’s attention in stride with all the grace of age and an experience in having all sorts come through. Lawless or lovely, without a care in the world of what type she got so long as they paid well and didn’t break anything. So she had Arc’s number in an instant with those raised brows and giving him a little wink. Uncharmed, yet amused all the same.
As for Calia, it was all said in the way she shifted to rest her elbow on the table and watching him with that faint smile and a look that said you’re so full of shit, but I’m not complaining without her ever having to utter the words out loud. Really, who fell for this overdone nonsense and pretend platitudes. He’d been mad at her once before because she didn’t believe of word out of his mouth when it came to compliments – and he was the example why. How was anyone supposed to find his words sincere when he put on a performance like this.
“Ah see, a pair o’ troublemakers if ah ever seen ’em,” she murmured with all good humor, scribbling down something unseen on her little notebook before gesturing at the two of them with her pen. “How about ah bring the pair of yah the continental, seeing as yah look more like ya came crawling up out of the woods instead of a royal castle and if ah don’t get paid fairly, ah come out here brandishing some marjoram muffins. Drag yer lad home dead, yah got the muscle for it.”
The softest of a hee escaped Calia, leaving her all toothy grins and delight. “Or I could just do a day’s worth of dishes and spare you the trouble of wasting good muffins.”
“Aye, aye, that yah could! Figure it out, then, loves!” she sing-songed called, already bustling away in a flurry of skirts and letting out another musical round of laughter of her own. Perfectly entertained with the antics of youth, and seemingly not a bit worried on whether or not they were teasing on how much they could afford. Too old to be fretting about it, and plenty practiced in consequences should they not!
“You have to eat all the sparkles,” Calia warned him the moment the elder was out of earshot. Not quite as smiley now as softly pondering how she was going to mix marjoram with dandelion to create the perfect spell of protection without it having wild effects. If she was going to do it for one, might as well do it for both!
Oh, he liked this one.
She wasn’t new to his type. Not even remotely. She’d likely seen a hundred Archimedes’s pass through her doors—each one charming, full of wit and wind, with coin that might or might not exist. She didn’t fall for his sugar-glazed grin, nor did she dismiss it. She simply handled it with the quiet grace of a woman who’d outlived five tavern roofs and too many pretty mouths. She called them troublemakers, and Arc, without missing a beat, tipped his fingers to the side of his head in a mock hat, brow cocked in acknowledgement like a gentleman rogue in a stage play. The grin on his face turned a shade more saccharine, as though he’d just been praised for doing something he wasn’t at all sorry for.
But at her warning—the one involving muffins laced with danger—he leaned back in theatrical horror, hand splaying across his chest. “Muffins?” he echoed, scandalized. “That’s no way to go. I’d weigh more dead than injured! Can’t imagine you’d want to lug me down the stairs for the price of a scone and some jam.” He cut a sharp look toward Calia, as if to say don’t get any ideas. The kind of look that carried centuries of absurdity and a very specific fear of being done in by breakfast pastries.
His voice dropped into faux solemnity. “All tabs shall be paid,” he said, crossing a finger over his heart with one hand while the other gestured outward as if he were reciting sacred vows. “By coin or hard labour—may Gaia be that of my witness.”
Of course, whether the gods were watching—or caring—was up for debate. And he sure as hell wasn’t offering a contract. One was enough. Especially when that particular contract sat across from him with a glint in her eye and a history of setting things on fire with him.
The elder woman seemed satisfied enough by the promise. Likely didn’t believe it fully, but accepted it the way barkeeps do: as a gesture, a song, a little shared joke between liars who tip well.
Arc settled back in his seat again, smoothing down a stray lock of that wild blue hair with fingers that never quite managed to tame it. His movements were casual, but not idle—his eyes followed her retreat with the same practiced grace of someone who always clocked their exits. It wasn’t until her parting words—something about eating all the sparkles—that his mouth twisted again, this time into a smirk. “Depends,” he mused aloud, fingers drumming on the wood, “Is it just gonna turn me blue?” A pause. “Or into a massive, glitter-covered paperweight? I’ve met a mage once who tried both. Neither ended with dignity intact.”
But then he caught it—the shift. Calia’s mischief was gone, or at least momentarily filed away. In its place was something more thoughtful, quiet in a way that carried weight. The sort of look that meant wheels were turning behind her eyes, and not the kind that ended in fireworks or summoned sweets. Something inward.
Arc didn’t call it out. Didn’t tease. Instead, he leaned forward, chin back in his palms again, voice dropping low enough to fold into the space between them like warm cloth. “What yah be thinkin’ so hard about,” he murmured, “That yah might just turn into a tea kettle with steam funnelin’ out yer ears?” There was no edge to it. No grin, no drawl. Just curiosity. Genuine and quiet, held between them like the steam rising from the kitchens.
Now Calia had all sorts of questions on why any mage would’ve attempted to make him blue or a sparkling paperweight, ready to give her usual round of curious questions on just what a big group of mages actually got together and learned, seeing as her experiences so far suggested it was a whole lot of nothing.
Then he managed to catch her by surprise. Some hint, some expression of hers must’ve leaked through and he’d picked it up. Wondering why it surprised her at all, when hadn’t she herself been hyper sensitive to his every inflection and shift of mood? At least it wasn’t anything problematic. Her getting into one of her darker moods, or harboring some ill thought liable to plague her forever.
Calia was doing her absolute best not to think about anything outside of the right now. Not of yesterday, not of tomorrow. Just these moments in the present where everything was okay.
“Magic,” came her reply, both honest and vague at the same time. Damn well knowing it was with the way she slowly blossomed into a smile and returned her chin to her hand. He didn’t need to know it was for him, especially seeing as she wasn’t sure how to do it just yet. “If you haven’t noticed, that’s all I ever really think about in one way or another. I had to be careful about it for so long, now it’s kind of hard not to constantly be spinning in my head on how to actually do things beyond manipulate what is already there. And it’s probably not a good idea to have to shed my own blood and yours all the time just to cast anti-holy shields and whatnots.”
It was such a clean answer. So neat, so contained—so utterly and unmistakably Calia.
She said she’d been thinking about magic, and that was that. No dramatics. No brooding poetry. No sweeping conspiracies to uproot a kingdom or conjure rainstorms made of fire and honey. Just magic.
And it was so on-the-mark—so completely aligned with what he’d come to understand of her over these tangled weeks—that Arc didn’t even try to question it. He didn’t probe, didn’t tease, didn’t toss out some sideways accusation of withholding. It would’ve been a lie to pretend he didn’t understand. Worse, it would’ve been a dismissal. And he’d grown past that. Mostly.
Instead, he let out a low hum—not quite disappointment, but close to it. A sigh followed, more dramatic than necessary but still honest around the edges. He sank back in his chair, long limbs sprawling like a creature with absolutely no responsibilities left in the world. Head tilted. Shoulders loose. Not a single thought in his skull beyond the pursuit of air and not falling out of the seat. He perfected the expression of a man in utter mental vacancy—a performance so seamless it bordered on art.
If anyone had glanced their way, they might’ve believed him truly, blissfully stupid.
But only for a moment.
He turned his gaze lazily to his hand, holding it out to examine the fingers. The nails were tidy now, shaped and filed away from what they’d once been. No sharp points, no feral edge—tamed down with quiet, unspoken effort, the kind that could only come from someone else’s persistent influence.
“Y’know,” he said slowly, conversationally, “I suppose I walked right into that one.” A flicker of something like self-mockery passed over his face, fleeting and wry. “It’s a fair point. Yah not havin’ the time or the freedom to think about it like that. Not for fun. Not for the hell of it.” He dropped his hand back to the table, tapping the wood idly, as if feeling for a beat that wasn’t quite there.
Then came the side-eye. “Yah say ‘anti-holy shield’ like that’s not just a dark magic spell with good PR,” he drawled. “Slap a new name on it, light a few candles, and suddenly it’s no longer taboo—just tactical.” He lifted a hand and gestured vaguely, as if conjuring some invisible spell scroll from the air. “‘Ward of Sanctified Inversion’ or ‘Divine Nullification Bubble’—call it what you like. It still burns paladins in plate mail and makes priests cry.” His grin crept back in, sly and crooked, before he folded his arms and let the silence stretch again—comfortable this time.
Then, with a raised brow and a lower voice, he added, “Suppose we both could use a bit more… play. Less war, part of the reason for coming here I guess.” It wasn’t a statement. Not really a question either. Just a quiet offering. Left on the table like an extra slice of toast—there if she wanted it, unspoken if she didn’t.
With a simple statement she watched him deflate, like a man that’d dreamed of intrigue and had been informed there was nothing there but dull everyday nonsense. By now he ought to know she was a simple person with not a single aspiring thought in her head. What she said was what she meant, and even with her life turned to shambles and chaos, her mind was of a singular focus.
Not like him. He was a universe of questions somehow wrapped up in a single man. Someone that had been born for something far bigger than the life he’d been given – the life he’d end up losing. Now he was leashed to her, a person without ambition and dreams. Just a shooting star destined to burn everything in her path before crashing to earth.
He was right, though. Calia had never had a chance to just enjoy magic for everything it was.
…and neither had he.
So that smile of hers remained, perhaps even grew a little wider with the way she shrugged her shoulders. Not dismissive, just an agreement. At least until he suggested than anything the opposite of holy was to be dark magic, for all that did was tickle those little thoughts in her brain of wondering what exactly even made holy magic holy. Divine magic divine. Dark and infernal and arcane and wild… and all these categories of things that were meant to be so different when it, sure maybe sometimes one would feel spicy and another as cool as an iced over river… but it was all the same magic in the end, wasn’t it?
Almost even opening her mouth to start that line of questioning and debate, like any fledging student demanding their teacher to explain. Pausing in an instant when he finally came to the realization all on his own that they needed rest. Real rest. Play. Not having to drag him out of a mage’s dungeon, or to save himself from a demon. Not her getting kidnapped by a big stupid bitch with dreams of grandeur.
A chance to exist in the world as themselves, free and unapologetically magical.
If only she could’ve said all of that out loud, instead of the way she nodded in relief. Quiet herself, but genuinely in agreement.
“Summoning a few fiery bears did have it’s appeal, but I think if you just show me how to create a lasting enchantment the rest of our entertainment could be of the more mortal sort.”
Draping head back slowly as the violet rings fell her way once more, watching as she gave him the agreeing nod that expressed that she found some wisdom in his words. Likely because she was feeling that need to be no more than another face in the crowd, rather than some masterminded gold cog in other’s schemes. A sentiment well deserved and owed and well maybe she did need a chance to get so shitfaced drunk that there would be a living tale about her.
“A lastin’ enchantment.” Arc repeated. Rolling the thought through the confines of his skull and shrugged no sooner. “For one that’s permanent, likely would need some sort of metal that holds enchantments. Nothin’ soft and well, I don’t know if we are goin’ to find somethin’ that precious here.” There was a pause before he decided he ought to reword that. “I mean, we might. But it either has a price tag so steep that a small castle would look manageable to purchase instead, or it’s not legit. And I’d need to know what sort of enchantment purpose so I could tell yah the right ingredients.”
Said demon shrugged, folding hands behind his head. “Ain’t nothin’ worse tryin’ to do a enchantment spell thinkin’ yah need cuts of sunlight when in actuality, yah need to dance naked under the moon.”
Metal to hold it. In this case, for this particular enchantment it would make sense as she intend it to be in the form of a physical gift. Calia could bet it needed to be a strong metal to hold up such an intricately crafted spell as well. For it was certainly going to have to be in layers if she wanted to protect him from those allergies without it back firing in strange ways that’d cause more harm than good. It was going to be the most delicate piece of magic she had ever done. A piece of pure art crafted with all the care in the world.
“What are the best metals then? I don’t need them now, just the knowledge,” she suggested. Mostly because Calia wouldn’t have to pay for it if she could pull it out of the very mountains or forge it herself. It did lead to some other questions. “…could it be gems too? Since most are stronger than metals?”
Then there was the golden question of just what she was wanting to make an enchantment for. Bringing out that fox-like smile as she shifted in her chair, resting her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands.
“Properties of protection. Dispellment. Notification. Maybe a little tingling. Some other things I haven’t thought of yet. Honestly, it might be best to give me a good long lesson on metallurgy, woven spells… …and is there actually spells that require me dancing naked in the moonlight? I might do that just for the fun of it.”
And on the thought of the magic for fun part… Calia leaned to the side just enough to tilt her head towards the wood woven railing of this lovely sky deck. Letting out a slow, controlled blow of breath until that faint wind caught the wood itself to sprout up wriggling twines of green. Letting them crawl along the branched railed, sprouting itself delicate icy blue flowers until they reached Arc’s side of the table, where a much large blossom bloomed in full. Spreading wide it’s petals to reveal the most offensively stupid, deranged google-eyed face inside, completely with pistols sticky out like a dopey tongue.
Lowly he gave a pondering hum to the question. Which were the best metals then? Of course it would be very easy to just go into a detailed list about them, but at the same time, there was more to it than that. Warranting a pull of the heliotrope gaze to land upon the princess of the mountain. Lingering and her of course chipping in a few more added wonderments in which he had to contemplate the whole of it.
Settling to, “It all depends on the type of enchantment.” Arc was being serious now, the play in his voice replaced by educational value. “And the same for gems. Yah wouldn’t wanna use lead for any sort of sun magic, since lead is best against blocking magic. And gems are the same. Topaz for protection, luck or clarity. So yah wouldn’t use it if yah wanted to use it for earth type powers or blood magic.” The demon hummed a little.
Watching her lips turn into that sly bend while telling him that she wanted to know so much more. Raising a brow slowly even at her suggestion of dancing naked in the moonlight. Earning a breathy laugh, “Yeah, I shouldn’t be surprised in that regard. We can talk about this all in depth if yah want when there’s less of a chance to be interrupted by food.”
It was clear she was up to something but unless she told him the very specifics of it, he couldn’t entirely help her out. Outside listing everything and saying, have at it.
It could be interesting to do and he may have considered it somewhat, but the whole her using magic to influence the wood to come to life, Arc let his focus fall to that. Observing a long moment till the flower opened and but of course. “Yah have a problem.” Arc laughed at her and her stupid gods damn need to make googly eyed things!
Calia could see those curious, intrigued, little inflections in his expression. Those signs in him that she’d piqued interest and triggered his natural instinct to stare sharing all that knowledge stashed away in his head. He always seemed to think she was teasing him when she pointed out his professorial habits, but truly it was nothing but complimentary. Archimedes was born to learn and to teach that knowledge in turn. The mages of Edelguard had taken someone extraordinary for granted and in turn likely made him vulnerable to all the trouble he ended up in.
“I guess you’re right. The only enchanting I’m going to be doing here is the charismatic type,” she grinned in regards to delaying this educational conversation for later. Besides, there was time. Calia wasn’t going to rush through slapping pieces of magic together hoping it all worked out. This one was too important.
At least her soft mischief magic was doing exactly what she hoped it would. Sending him into laughter even as he accused her of having a problem. Prompting this serenely soft smile and a pleasantly pleased curl in her stomach to watch him light up. For this was his real and genuine laughter, and not the practice charm he put on for others or the mask of fake humor he’d wear to look unaffected by the world. Calia was never going to be good with words, or be that gentle soul he seemed to need. But she could at least bring him whimsy and nonsense to make the world a little brighter to live in.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she answered smoothly, still all smiles even as she reached a foot out to nudge gently at his own. “Is it not elegant enough for those elven sensibilities? Does it need more sparkle?”
“Ah, the things yah know so well and have ample practice at already.” Arc relented easily to the idea of her saving any wants to learn magic or its purposes in such a narrowed view for a later purpose. Needing not to get into the details, the whys or how’s of it right here and now. Because he knew Calia now. If he started, she’d have a new question for the question that she had just asked. Snowballing that the whole day could potentially turn into the back and forth which would severely hamper the whole getting drunk and relaxing portion of this sidestep excursion.
Granted if he had expected the little miss to get her twist on magic involved here and now. Encouraging the flower to bloom into what was really only a new googly eyed annoyance that she really did enjoy making.
Sure that if she had a chance, everything and anything would be brought to the same reality. All boogled eyeballs with a doofy sort of existence. Hence, her problem. Not that it staved off his amusement!
“Right, not at all. Entirely oblivious.” Arc rolled his eyes for effect till he was poking the flower as if checking to see if its eyes actually rotated around in its… well he couldn’t call it a skull! “Elven sensibilities?!” Another laugh, short and quiet. Slowly tipping his attention towards her due to her foot nudging him and the suggestion of having more sparkle for the nonsense of sensibilities. “Yah remember who yer talkin’ too? When have I ever had such thin’s, petal? And no, it don’t need no more sparkle. I fear yah might give it two extra eyeballs to do just that!”
As if waiting for that very thing, the moment the icy blue blossom of the googlie persuasion was poked at by gentle finger tip it snapped itself off it’s stem and sprouted a pair of thick legs. Half it’s petals turning downwards to make itself a rotund body and the rest forming into a ridiculously long neck and oval head. A llama made of frosted petals, beady mismatched eyes and a wriggly pistol tongue.
It thbbbt an alert before it went dashing to hide behind the demon’s arm. Apparently just in time for the elder dame of this outdoor tree cafe to come bustling over with a big tray balanced in one hand.
“Now ah ain’t saying this is the spread ah’d be bringing out for the Queen ‘erself, but for a couple of ne’er do well wannabe royals, this ought to do yah just fine.” Laying down an arrangement of platters, Calia had to wonder if the woman had fallen for Arc’s batting eye lashes and nonsense charm after all. For if this wasn’t fit for the Queen, she wondered what else the lady had in her kitchens! Lamb sausage with a bright green herbal sauce, rhubarb tarts and lavender honey. Fresh eggs cooks just enough to leave the yolks runny and a warm dark brown seedy bread. A pavlova covered in blueberries and a soft creamy cheese. Complete with a steaming pot of that promised chicory coffee and a couple glasses tart juice. Colorful and beautiful in all of the best ways.
The woman took Calia’s awed silence for the compliment it was, preening a little with a twist of her shoulders and giving Archimedes a cheeky wink.
“Yah know yah done good when they go quiet. Don’t forget to tip well, love.” she gave him a soft pat on the shoulder before she bustled off.
Calia sighed, long and deep.
“I think I might actually miss Edelguard once we’re gone. Do you know what they serve up in the deep mountains? Haggis. And if you don’t know what that is, then good.”
As the thing came to bloat and twist itself into a new animal creation of absolute absurdity only to duck behind that of arm so the elder woman wouldn’t see it; he had to complete a total double take to the sight of the meal.
It was no measly offering either. Nor would he say this was fit for a queen, it looked like it could have fed and entire hall of battle weary soldiers! And then with leftovers to spare, which they’d easily make use of with said Arcanum hollows in their possession. As his gaze rotated over the arrangement being placed down, for a moment he was truly at a loss himself.
Needing to rebound quickly at the woman, “Aye, granted I’d be surprised at someone able to articulate anythin’ in reply to such a grand meal.” Eyes followed her as she helpfully suggested they ought to tip well –for this service, yeah! He really ought too.
Requiring a pause before reaching over to help himself to the steaming pot of said coffee first, likely because he needed time to decide how one tackled such a smorgasbord. Raising his attention up to her a moment when the darling sloe haired woman finally managed to collect herself. About to say something absolutely witty that was properly cut down at, “Haggis? What the hell is that!”
Calia had quite the opposite thought on where all of the food would disappear to. Immediately into her stomach, every single ounce of it, without complaint! Her appetite just as voracious as ever, if not more so with the gratuitous use of magic, this way and that, along with that silent always tethered bond that shared a healing thread between them even when he was so determined to refuse it. Calia could eat a whole deer by herself at this point, but this beautiful array of culinary delights was going to be so much more satisfying.
Naturally he had to ask exactly what haggis could be, drawing out a pause from her right in the middle of loading her plate full of sausage and pavlova. Tilting her head with a quiet debate on if she should even tell him and potentially ruin his appetite, or if that was the move to make so she could have breakfast all to herself.
Oh well, the demon ate raw hearts, he’d be fine.
“They take an old ratty sheep, too old to even be good for wool anymore and cut out all it’s guts and stomach. Then they stuff that stomach full of it’s own chopped guts, bunch of oats and spices – not even good spices, mind you, all the worst ones – and then they cook it on a fire until any good flavors it might’ve had in it has seeped all out. And to add insult to injury they’ll dish it up with unsalted mashed turnips, so you’re good and full but real sad about it.”
It wouldn’t take a wild guess to find out what Calia’s most hated dish in the world was, simply by way she described it and had the wrinkled nose to match. Almost feeling as if the ghost of haggis was trying to bring it’s distasteful memory back to her tongue. To which she promptly erased away just as fast as she could with a swift bite of that rhubarb tart.
Her little petal of a llama bleated it’s pitiful agreement.
The way she looked at the food was more than enough for him to pick up that she was practically charmed by it. And ready to unhinge her jaw to start shoveling it in. Making it abundantly clear that he ought to just be content with that of the drink he managed to get without her becoming territorial about the meal.
He’d find something later to eat then.
Shifting his weight to lean back upon the back legs of the wooden chair, balancing upon it with due care whilst he had apparently asked one hell of a loaded question. The one being exactly what haggis was and getting an answer that suitably favoured with Calia’s hatred for it and him being perfectly okay never trying such a thing. Which honestly might be impressive that as a demon that had really no problem digesting things in a very blue stasis, was nearly offended at this culinary torture. “Are yah sure that wasn’t made to be a torture device.” Attention veered a little once he was sipping at the hot brew, to the googly eyed beast that seemed to agree with the distaste for the description.
“Sounds like the sort of stuff made to feed mass murderers in the dankest dungeon rather than on purpose.” A glance to the arrangement of food and he then could understand her statement about potentially missing the food fare of his homeland.
“Diabolical.” Arc settled with, feeling it was apt to use as a final descriptor.
“Sometimes I believe the men of the mountains like to torture themselves just to see who is the toughest, roughest, burliest beast in all the lands,” she agreed with an amused laugh, reaching herself to pluck up her glass for a long drink.
Despite the way she was starving, those manners were so deeply ingrained in her that every movement of fork and spoon remained fluid and graceful. Even if it was quick, with a question on whether or not she was even chewing it enough before she swallow! Etiquette didn’t leave her, she was a princess down to the bones.
It made the expression she gave next all the more stark in contrast – the slow creep of a faeish smile. That softening at the corners of her eyes and flutter of lashes that would mistaken as flirting on anyone else. A promise of mischief not even attempting to mask itself when she leaned ever so slightly on the table.
“I am not sure you’re going to be up to snuff for going toe to toe with their lot. If you can’t even stomach some haggis, being a demon has not shaken some of those elven sensibilities out of you enough. Unless you’ve changed your mind about growing a bear’s worth of hair on your back and marching through the valleys in naught but a kilt and a bearded smile?”
He couldn’t even summon the will to argue—not when her point was so horrifically valid. Honestly, if there were men out there willingly subjecting themselves to those kinds of trials just to prove how virile, rugged, or gods forbid, “stoic” they were… they probably deserved whatever rot took over their stomach.
Arc, for his part, was no stranger to discomfort. He’d survived plenty—curses, wounds, hells both literal and metaphorical—and had once, with genuine nonchalance, eaten more than his fair share of raw hearts still steaming from the ribcage. But this? The kind of bragging rights that came with losing one’s tongue to the foul taste of haggis?
No thank you.
He took a long, deliberate sip of his drink—scalding and bitter—if only to wash out the phantom taste conjured by the idea. Lips parted slightly, tongue pressing to one fang like it could scrub the image from his brain. It couldn’t.
Then, with a languid sigh, he leaned back into the comfort of his chair, draping one arm casually over the back like he’d claimed it for himself and no one dared contest him. The picture of leisure. Meanwhile, the comely-looking, ravenous mountain princess across from him was making her way through the smorgasbord with the kind of elegance that masked a quiet, calculated war on every food group.
But then—then—he saw the grin. That slow, creeping mischief that unfurled across her face like dawn breaking into chaos. It made her look breathtaking and wholly untrustworthy. Arc’s brow arched in return, drawn by instinct and invitation both, waiting for whatever spell or scheme was surely brewing behind her eyes. “I suppose,” he began slowly, leaning forward with a sigh of tragic resignation, “I’ll just have to settle for bein’ a sad little excuse of both man and demon, then.” He brought a hand to his chest, all mock gravity and performative woe.
“Because, and brace yerself now,” he leaned in even closer, voice dropping to a hushed whisper like he was about to confess some forbidden truth, “I’m many thin’s—ninety-nine of ’em absolutely terrible—but a mountain man?” He shook his head with solemn finality. “No. Evidently not. I’m far too pretty. Too soft-skinned. Not enough fur grown from my own back and face!”
Then came the grin—impish, unrepentant. “So that leaves you, love,” he continued, gesturing toward her plate with a sweep of fingers like a conductor cueing a crescendo. “Yah’ll have to be the most dangerous thin’ they’ve ever seen. The wild creature from the snowy cliffs. And I—” he gestured at himself with one hand, the other fanned wide in mock elegance, “—will be yer golden beetle. Shiny, oh so delicate, very well-behaved.”
He wiggled his fingers like feelers. “An exotic little pet. Just useful enough to distract ’em while yah do somethin’ unspeakable with a bone knife and that half-rack of moose.” Arc’s tone was playful, his eyes full of mischief—but beneath the jesting, there was warmth. Not defensive, not bitter. Just comfortable. Safe enough, at least in this moment, to be ridiculous in her presence without needing to prove a single damn thing.
Her laughter at him suggesting he’d be oh so delicate and well behaved was loud and immediate. Impossible to stop and nearly had her missing the rest of his bullshitted nonsense about bone knives and moose. Half tempted to affirm that he might not be so off the mark when it came to the mountain clans and the way they would test someone’s mettle.
“Does that mean you’ll be quite literally my shiny golden beetle, just so that you might avoid getting drawn into games of moose and man?” she asked with that tilted smile.
Truthfully Calia was not sure if she were ready for dealing with the clans at all herself, as she’d had enough trouble in Caeldalmor and Edelguard both just trying to exist without man and woman trying to get her to prove herself in one fashion or another! Not elegant and charismatic enough for nobles. Not genteel and soft to be a proper dainty young woman. Too blunt and assured of herself to the point that others assumed she was arrogant. Everyone trying to knock her down a few pegs in some way or another. And if that wasn’t bad enough, now she was a shiny little object a bunch of ambitious assholes wanted to steal and claim – and for what. A heart she didn’t even have anymore?
Why was she even still bothering to go seek out the mountain clans. Calia was not anyone’s champion.
She could practically feel her inner voice trying to claw it’s way back to the surface, attempting to gain a foothold in this one quiet peaceful moment. It almost even had her for a split second, until verdant green eyes followed the movements of her petal llama. The way it tromped onto the table to make a long, trotting figure eight demanding attention through the flick of flower petal tail, two deranged eyeballs looking in different directions.
It was so beautifully stupid. Made simply to get a reaction out of a man that was too much for the world when he was mortal, let alone in being a demon. The world really, truly, did not appreciate how the pair of them were not consciously deciding to reign chaos and hellfire when it would be so easy just to say fuck it and stop caring about anything at all.
Those voices of hers quieted down in an instant, in the wake of a soft smile and the subtle shift she made to give a brief puff of air at the tromping petal llama. A little bit of magic to make it sprout a pair of golden beetle wings, for no other reason than her knowing he’d make faces about it.
“I suppose I have to give time for food to digest before I’m allowed to go binge drinking and menacing well meaning taverns – so then, which of these hot springs do you think is best for your bugloafing?”
“I call it self-preservation,” Arc replied dryly, tone so smooth it could’ve been bottled and sold by the ounce. Her suggestion that he might actually turn into a literal golden beetle just to avoid mountain nonsense was hardly the most outlandish thing she’d ever proposed—but he met it with the same steady blend of wit and disbelief he reserved for things like voluntarily walking into churchyards.
At this point, the way she described these mountain folk, he was picturing a whole tribe of barrel-chested demigods with biceps the size of oxen and personalities that hovered somewhere between dull hatchet and barely animated cairn. People who probably ate salted rocks and declared it a delicacy alongside their haggis. The sort of crowd that thought seasoning was for cowards and that lifting objects heavier than your own ego was a full-time sport.
Was it accurate? Probably not.
Was he going to cling to it like a childhood grudge?
Absolutely.
He gave a noncommittal shrug and leaned back further in his chair, as if physically retreating from the hypothetical mountain clan and their spiritual protein shakes. “I’m just tryin’ to stay off the local bench press roster,” he muttered, mostly to himself, “Lest someone decides the demon at the table makes a fine barbell.”
And just as he was about to enjoy another sip of his drink, his peripheral vision caught movement—that tell-tale shimmer of magic stitched together with fae whim and absolutely no restraint.
Calia had conjured a new addition to her googly eyed nonsense creature.
Of course she had.
This one flitted nearby with golden beetle wings, flaring and flapping with the irritating lightness of something far too amused with its own existence. It bore a vague resemblance to him—or rather, the cartoonish insult of him—a mockery of posture, and just enough shine to be a truly heinous parody. He turned toward it with the slow-burning disapproval of someone watching a bard mangle a ballad he personally wrote. Then he waved a hand at the creature with all the seriousness of a man trying to dismiss a particularly chatty fly. “Go on then,” he muttered at it. “Back to the dreams you crawled out of, gremlin.”
But of course, it lingered. They always did. Calia’s illusions had a spiteful longevity that was frankly becoming a problem. Never mind that he was trying so hard not to humour her nonsense, even if a part of him did find it amusing.
He returned to his cup, only to set it down a beat later as she posed her question about the hot springs—which one, exactly, did he think best to loaf in?
That earned her a show. He arranged himself with great care—elbows on the table, chin in hand, eyes turned dramatically upward as if consulting the heavens for spa recommendations. A hum escaped him. Then a low, thoughtful haw. Then another hum, just to drive the point home. “Well,” he drawled, stretching the syllable like taffy, “I ain’t been here in some time. The only one I recall is that big ol’ one we passed comin’ in. Looked like the sort of place where the steam carried whispers of every poor soul who died of pruned fingers and bad decisions.”
He paused for effect, then offered a lopsided grin. “But I don’t think it overly matters, now does it? When the goal is to plop yerself in a hot pool and forget the world exists, I reckon yah could just do a little spin, point at whatever direction feels the most therapeutic, and march off with your choice made.” Then came the inevitable smirk—the one that always followed when he was about to say something that should absolutely not be repeated in polite company.
“Me?” He shrugged one shoulder. “Whichever one has the most pretty faces. That’s where I like to be.” He lifted his brows with a mock-solemn nod. “Narrows down the choices for yours truly.”
Dramatics about her silly little creatures, dramatics about just where to spend their day lounging. Always dramatics with Archimedes, which was now an odd sort of comfort when she knew he was truly being ridiculous simply because he was, and not some pantomime of pretend okayness. She couldn’t stop the world from sucking for him any more than she could for herself, but at least she could stop trying to take on the world at breakneck speeds so he could actually have this space to heal those traumatic mental wounds.
Once again, fuck Fawna.
“I’ll wander off in the direction all the delicate pretty dames are going and try to blend in,” she answered with another laugh. “You can bat those lashes and charm ladies out of their towels.”
As for the wonderful spread of meal, Calia could absolutely devour the entire lot all by herself without missing a beat. Even with her own magic, there’d always been a need to make sure she was well fed and had the energy to sustain it. Yet, that didn’t mean she was about to let him get away with only a single cup of coffee and not a bite himself. She didn’t care if he was a demon and ‘could go without it’. Between Fawna’s bullshit, and him practically lighting himself into holy flame, Arc needed just as much care put back into him.
If he wasn’t going to make a plate, she’d do it for him. Nothing ridiculous, simply a fair sampling of the things she thought were tastiest on the table so he’d at least have something in his stomach. Setting that plate before him without a single word about it or even an insistent look before she was resuming her own orchestrated attack on her breakfast.
Immediately his gaze moved from her annoying little petal llama, to her. At the whole blithering nonsense that fell from her face at the suggestion that she was going to blend in with the pretty dames. Which incurred a very slow, appraising look that turned into a sort of pressed hold as if waiting for her dumb brain to catch up. “Yah may not be delicate, but the pretty dame part still applies. Blend in…” Arc rolled his eyes, “Blend in, my ass.”
He knew she knew, she was pretty. Otherwise she wouldn’t so heavily be successful in flirting in the recent while without a glamour or whatever other nonsense she used to get her bed shaken.
However, the idea of charming ladies out of their towels was hardly ignored. If anything, he had a look of scheming. And a near suggestion that he could quite literally charm them but a reminder of how well that went last time he did so in front of Calia, was enough to stop him from actually mentioning it.
Settling to be a constant mortal fan to shoo away her incessant creation and then to throw her a suspicious eye when there was a plate being decorated with things she thought he ought to try. Not sure why she was bothering with that because well, he had intended to simply leave the she-beast and her insatiable appetite to successfully devour it all down and potentially through that of the wooden tabletop without a voice of complaint.
Just he didn’t exactly know how to comment about her doing her weird need to feed him that wasn’t in some way reminiscent of being a pet she had to manage less he be too dumb to do it himself, rather than just letting her be comfortable without judgment.
Her idea of care still felt strange against his skin. Like something foreign stitched too neatly against scar tissue. It made the fine hairs at the nape of his neck rise, the way kindness always did when it came without condition. His instincts twitched for the wrong reasons, and he knew it. This wasn’t about her. This was just him—his history, his wiring, the way he’d grown to expect love to arrive with barbs, bait, or bargaining. At least he was learning and not voicing these oddities that would throw them into round twenty of getting all electrified and verbally zesty.
What he did do was pull the cleverly hidden leather throng to rattle coins across the table. To collect a small tidy fund to in fact oblige to the volunteered means of paying for something. And certainly not explaining where he got such stuff either. Rather he made use of himself to seemingly notice something that might be half decent on the arrangement of food and gave a very light try this, to the girl.
Then came the sip of his cup, and Arc let himself sink into the lull that followed. Let the warm quiet settle between them like steam rising from the table. His gaze drifted lazily to the surrounding space, scanning faces, catching snippets of low conversation, judging everyone and everything from his figurative throne with all the sharp-eyed arrogance of a creature used to being two steps ahead and four degrees unimpressed.
Calia hadn’t been fishing for a compliment, but one could bet with the sly smile she shot him that she was still taking credit for it as if she had planned all along to make him say it out loud. Her head was riddled with all kinds of insecurities ranging from well earned to purely stupid, but she knew damn well she could turn a head or two. …even if it did tend to fizzle as soon as she stood and wound up being a few inches taller than the average man.
Grateful that he wasn’t about to fight her and bring about a second round of her begging him to just let her do a nice thing, Calia was content to let conversation lull into a companionable and comfortable silence. Not without a cheeky grin when he did produce that coin, but it needed no commentary or questioning either. That Arcanum Hollow of his hinted at enough hidden goodies and trinkets that she didn’t doubt for a instant he had even better things than money floating around in there. Truly, if she could get out of having to do any work at all, Calia was happy to take it! Just because she was willing to put the hard work in when she had to, didn’t mean she had any desire to do it at all!
Nothing was more appealing than lazing about being completely useless. Like a cat sprawled out in a ray of sunshine or a bird beeping and splashing at the edge of a pond.
Except perhaps doing a little magical whimsy. Her wee petal llama filled that desire a plenty, trying it hardest to fly with those beetle wings and inevitably giving up to roost on the object of it’s obsession. Being as watchful of the people coming and going down below on the ground and along the braided wood bridges as Archimedes himself. Here and there even making itself useful to squaaaaah at anything it thought was suspicious. Mostly just at leaves drifting out of trees, but surely at least one squah or two at some shady looking character actually meant something.
Not that Calia made any sound or motion to acknowledge it herself! She demolished every bit of food within her reach with all the elegance of a queen. Finishing it off with her drink and not about to acknowledge the fact a grown man would be needing to roll himself out of that chair after such a spread! She simply slipped out of her chair with a smooth standing motion, and tilted her head with that crooked smile to gesture it was time to go.