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cherrywoes · 3 years

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dark sun. (ryoumen sukuna x f!reader x oc)

i. ikigai.

— the reason for being; the reason you wake up in the morning.

rating: mature for sexual content, violence, blood, gore, etcetera.

warnings: violence in this chapter, graphic descriptions of viscera and gore, murder.

a/n: i caved and finally wrote it. feedback is appreciated (adored *cough*). next on my list is a chapter for the girl in the foxes’ den. <3

THE SMELL OF BLOOD would make some people gag. But you—sitting complacently in the small, cramped room offered to you by the Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College’s higher ups, the only thing they would even deem appropriate to allow you to own—were used to the faint tang of iron, the putrid odor of someone’s bowels spilling out of their body through a horizontal gash between their hips.

It was a regular occurrence, or at least a daily chore, that you had to clean blood out of the tatami mats and replace the shoji doors entirely. Most of your tiny allowance, collected from the bodies of the assassins who had been paid to kill you, was enough to pay for it, but sometimes you had to wonder if it was just as much a chore for the janitors to make the bodies vanish as it was for you to try to get blood out of tatami mats—which was hilariously difficult.

Staring at the decapitated head lying at your knees, you dodged a spurt of arterial spray coming from the stump of the neck, following the trajectory with your eyes and internally withering away as it struck at yet another set of shoji doors, rendering you up to two sets you would be replacing in the next couple of days. Masamichi Yaga would be disappointed in you; at least, you figured he would be. It wasn’t as if he was paying you many visits lately, not with the way your Curse was acting up lately.

Ama-no-Kagaseo slumbered away peacefully in your arms. Held by a sash wrapped around your shoulders and back with Shinto charms woven into the very seams, he was virtually hidden from sight so only you could see the small, chubby face within, and the wisps of pale hair curling at his forehead. He looked almost innocent like this, if you could just ignore the body bleeding before your kneeling form and the way an invisible breeze brushed hair away from your ear to whisper an unintelligible term of affection, as if you were oblivious to his presence.

“Another body, [Name]-san?”

The gentle touch at the back of your neck vanished. You looked over to the now opened shoji door to see your teacher—over qualified executioner, you liked to call her—Fujiwara, Sayaka standing at the threshold. She wore the typical black uniform of the college, personalized into a sleek and form fitting pant suit embellished with charms and cleverly woven Jujutsu spells to shield her from Ama-no-Kagaseo’s temper. While you had never told her they wouldn’t do any good, as he had tore through higher grade spells like paper before, she seemed to be aware of the constant danger she was in by just being around you or in your personal space. Sayaka was sketchy and dodgy at best, but she could match Gojo, Satoru on a bad day, so you trusted in her power at least only marginally. Your fondness for the woman was probably the only thing keeping her alive.

“Yes.” The carefully crafted speech of the Shiraishi clan was something Sayaka hated and you used as a security blanket. The elders couldn’t say anything if you were polite, respectful, and kept Ama-no-Kagaseo on a leash; which was foolish, you’d wanted to tell them, because the malevolent god was not above overpowering you and waking from his sleep if he so wanted. “This would be the sixth one this month. Do they ever run out of bodies to slaughter?”

“I’m afraid not.” The woman’s pale pink hair shone in the sunlight peeking through the broken roof that the assassin had launched himself through. It had been a comical sight; you’d even dropped your green tea in shock, even though you shouldn’t have been surprised with how often it happened. “Well, you can’t stay here—not now, anyways. I’ve been given new orders to secure your lodging on the college campus, effective immediately.”

You raised an eyebrow. You had never been allowed to set foot on the campus ever since you’d taken your position as Ama-no-Kagaseo’s vessel. You vaguely remembered the people there—Fushiguro, Megumi and Panda to name two—and what it looked like, though it had been so long that you wondered what they looked like now. They had been young, like you, when you met them, Panda being an adorable presence that had raised your spirits if only for a little while. Ama-no-Kagaseo was considered a threat to all life and, as such, you had to keep away from the main populace of Jujutsu sorcerers for their safety… or the higher up’s whims. So to hear you were going there, immediately, without question, raised a few red flags for you.

“What’s going on?” You asked, though the demand in your voice was clear. It was something you had picked up from Ama-no-Kagaseo when he had first started speaking to you through your linked souls. Sayaka always seemed unnerved when you demanded something of her, as if seeing something you couldn’t, not that you would be surprised if she could. She’d seen a manifestation of Ama-no-Kagaseo’s essence around you more than once and nearly lost her eye for it; the scar running lengthwise down her face was proof of it. “You know as well as I do that they would never let me set foot on those grounds unless something more important than keeping Ama-no-Kagaseo sealed came up.”

Sayaka squinted at something over your shoulder right as you felt the jade pins in your hair tinkle like windchimes. “He’s here, isn’t he?”

You offered her a sheepish smile. Ama-no-Kagaseo was fond of getting on every single one of Sayaka’s nerves through you, since you wouldn’t let him kill her without shunning him entirely. It was an unusually innocent form of torture for him, one you never took for granted. That didn’t mean that she understood exactly how lucky she was that he didn’t resort to his more cruel methods of torture.

“He’s been calm today,” you said in lieu of reassuring her. You deliberately left out the fact that he was more occupied with playing with the anklet around your sock clad ankle, a Shiraishi family heirloom that hadn’t been worn since Ama-no-Kagaseo had been sealed. The malevolent energy it gave off was distinctly Ama-no-Kagaseo’s and you doubted any of the other women before you had been comfortable wearing it. “You’ll be okay for today.”

“Like that’s supposed to be reassuring,” she scoffed. You had to begrudgingly agree; he had been calm the day he’d given her that scar, although the incident leading up to it had been… extenuating, to say the least. She eyed the still form of his human body in your arms and then looked away. “How far does his domain extend now?”

You recognized the question for what it was: a distraction. Clearly whatever was going on was something you weren’t privy to, or were ever going to be privy to. You pressed your lips together and Ama-no-Kagaseo stopped playing with your anklet to swipe an invisible finger over your mouth, unpleased with your dour expression. You attempted to relax your facial muscles ever so slightly and that seemed to satiate him, because he went back to fiddling with the charms on your anklet. If Sayaka noticed, she didn’t say anything.

“It’s extended.” You adjusted the sash around your shoulders uncomfortably. Ama-no-Kagaseo’s domain was not something you wanted to talk about; Sayaka reported everything to the higher ups, and as a consequence, what little freedom you had was suppressed with every little progression that Ama-no-Kagaseo’s domain made towards more leeway. You had a feeling that he repressed his malicious urges for your sake, but you couldn’t be entirely sure—he never spoke in entire sentences, just fragments of words and quiet terms of endearment. “I think maybe a few feet. I’m not sure.”

It was more like another mile, rolling his total up to two miles, but you kept that part to yourself. Sayaka seemed to accept your answer, still eyeing the space that the Curse was occupying beside you, and then looked at your kimono like she always did. It wasn’t as if it was exactly normal.

When you had gained Ama-no-Kagaseo’s trust—or affection?—your wardrobe had been sliced to ribbons and replaced with shimmering kimonos of the highest quality silk, imbued with Ama-no-Kagaseo’s Curse energy and embroidered with his personal sigil. You had been distraught over your lost possessions, many of them belonging to your mother, the former vessel before you, but you had grown to appreciate the garments for their beauty and comfort. The silk seemed to have a permanent projection of the night sky upon it so that when you moved, the stars would shift as if in a time lapse recording. Ama-no-Kagaseo only let you remove it when you went to bathe or got ready for bed. By the time you were awake and moving out of bed, the kimono—sometimes a variant with thicker layers or thinner ones—was already wrapped around your body again as if it had never left in the first place.

“I’m guessing you won’t be allowed to wear the uniform,” she sighed, indicating that you’d need to blend in for whatever it was that was going on. “Damn. Okay, well, we can work on that later. Right now we need to get you packed and moving before—”

“Kelp.”

You hadn’t noticed the new presence at the door, or even within Ama-no-Kagaseo’s domain. Your eyes darted to the door, instinctively bristling as if an assassin was awaiting you, and all at once, you felt the temperature in the room—once a comfortable sixty-five degrees—drop significantly. Sayaka’s eyes widened and almost a second too late, she shoved the white haired male to the floor. A fraction of a second later a harsh gust of wind blew the wall behind his head out, the roof slumping down and crumbling into a pile of debris.

“Inumaki-san!” Sayaka growled, gritting her teeth in frustration. She got to her feet and when she was sure that Ama-no-Kagaseo’s curse energy wasn’t fluctuating for another hit, she pulled the male to his feet. He seemed a little shell shocked, or at the very least surprised, and his dark gaze drifted to you in minute curiosity. “Didn’t I tell you not to come in until I explained everything?”

“Salmon. Mustard Leaf.”

What? You fluttered your eyes open and shut in disbelief. Was he talking in… ingredients?

“Of course. I guess I should have expected that.” Sayaka rubbed her face and crossed her arms. Then she looked at you. “Shiraishi-san, this is Inumaki Toge, a second year student. Inumaki-san, this is Shiraishi [Name]. She’ll be on campus for the foreseeable future.”

“Nice to meet you,” you replied, feeling Ama-no-Kagaseo’s hostility dwindle with your calming heart rate.

“Kelp.” He bowed his head slightly, but for the most part remained straight and standing. That allowed Ama-no-Kagaseo to calm down completely and you had to wonder why, but your attention was quickly ripped away when Sayaka spoke again.

“He’ll be standing in for me when I am unable to attend to you.”

This was news—frankly shocking news, if you were being honest—to you. Sayaka had not left your side since you were ten. She had to be in her early thirties, your latest estimate may be in her forties, not that she would tell you. She saw any personal information as a weapon to be used against her by Ama-no-Kagaseo. She was adamant that it had nothing to do with you, personally, but the Curse who you carried against your chest as if he were your own child. You admitted it was a smart thing to do, but you also knew deep within your heart that if Ama-no-Kagaseo wanted to hurt her, he wouldn’t need her life history to do it.

“What do you mean?” You inquired, phrasing it as delicately as you could without appearing you were about to fly into a murderous rage. Sayaka was your only friend—not that she’d even let you call her that—in the entire world. You considered Ama-no-Kagaseo a protector, in a convoluted way, and a companion, since he would be with you until the day you died. You couldn’t call anyone else a friend in the way you could her.

Sayaka almost looked uncertain about telling you. She looked to Inumaki for confirmation and he shrugged, indicating the decision was up to her. You watched the interaction with keen eyes, noting the slight familiarity and the way Inumaki was deferring to her with his body language. Clearly he knew something you didn’t, something he shared with Sayaka. Before she opened her mouth, she waved for him to leave the room; obviously she was concerned whatever she was about to say would earn him another blow from Ama-no-Kagaseo.

“Long story short—Ryoumen Sukuna has been incarnated into this era.”

Bound to Ama-no-Kagaseo as you were, you were as in tune to his ‘emotions’ as he was yours. So when Sayaka let that little piece of information hang in the air like a guillotine ready to drop, you felt Ama-no-Kagaseo’s rage bubble up inside you like a potent poison. It was all consuming, hateful, and everything you dreaded when he got truly furious because once he was angry, and you panicked because he would—

And you were gone, taking a backseat in your own conscious. Ama-no-Kagaseo was too infuriated to apologize to you properly, barely managing to even sweep an illusory breeze across your cheek before taking control of your body. You knew he wasn’t angry with you, but this man Ryoumen Sukuna who he seemed to know well that he was beside himself.

Ama-no-Kagaseo had dressed up your shared consciousness to resemble something of a palace of stars and a night sky. The few times he did take control of your body (usually to stop you from tumbling over cliff edges, falling out of trees, or skinning your knees) you were granted access to this mysterious place, and yet it seemed you had a permanent residence despite only being present for a few times. You had a little mat seated beside his at a table; your favorite flowers were littered around the metaphorical palace in porcelain vases; you even had a closet full of star studded kimonos, which was where you assumed he got all of the kimonos he manifested upon your person now.

You appeared upon his throne, which was bizarre since you usually wound up somewhere near the entrance to wait for him to escort you back to your body, a pale metal contraption adorned with blue, green, and purple gems and silk that was smooth and silky to the touch. Since he stayed here often, he had made it comfortable; you had only seen his personal representation of his physical appearance once, and you had been so flustered that you immediately hid your face in your sleeves while he laughed in amusement. Besides that one time, you had only ever seen it in paintings, which were much different than the real—metaphysical?—thing. Ama-no-Kagaseo abhorred earth and for the limited time he was willingly present within it, he was usually only there for you.

A bright blue orb appeared in your lap, hovering just above your legs. You grasped it, worried it would fall and shatter, and found yourself staring through your own eyes at Sayaka.

Her face was contorted into panic and sheer terror. You knew that your appearance changed when he took control—your eyes completely blacked over from corner to corner and appeared as if they had stars in them, and two delicate dark blue dots appeared beneath your eyes to signify your soul and his—but you were curious what you actually looked like. You couldn’t be that terrifying, could you?

“Ama-no-Kagaseo.” Sayaka’s voice was strained. “Where is [Name]?”

That was the first time you’d ever heard her say your name without honorifics. Your surprise must have been evident, because Ama-no-Kagaseo allowed a brief flicker of wind to run down your neck. It was chilly, indicative of his anger, and you pulled your kimono closer around you as if it would help.

“She is present.” That was also the first time you’d ever heard him speak more than a single word. “I am allowing her to watch to reassure her I will not harm you in my anger.”

You would have been dying at his usage of full sentences if you weren’t so worried about Sayaka doing something foolish. You knew she would report this to the higher ups, but you had a feeling this intentional. Ama-no-Kagaseo picked up on your thoughts as well and agreed, gently tugging a jade pin out of your hair. The physical version of you was untouched, but you lost the pin in the metaphysical world.

“I see.” Sayaka carefully sat down, locking her knees and tucking her feet underneath herself. It was the complete opposite of the one she took when you were around. “I’m sure you heard, but—”

“Yes,” Ama-no-Kagaseo interrupted her, using your hand to pick up your discarded cup of green tea. “Ryoumen Sukuna. It has been over a thousand years since I’ve heard that name.”

Sayaka ignored the cup. “I am aware that he played a vital role in sealing you to this realm.”

That was news to you—you seemed to be discovering new things at every turn of the corner. You furrowed your eyebrows and brought your knees up to your chin, watching the globe more intently.

“Not Sukuna himself,” Ama-no-Kagaseo sneered. In your voice, it was a strange thing to hear. “His followers. But he was the indirect cause, so I am attributing the fault to him since I strung their corpses upon his precious temple.”

You could tell that Sayaka found his logic extremely concerning by the twitch in her cheek. A stream of sweat crept down her temple.

“You can’t kill him.”

“And why not?” Ama-no-Kagaseo’s tone went frosty. You watched a shudder roll over Sayaka’s shoulders. “Do not presume to tell me what to do, mortal.”

“He will keep coming back.” Sayaka backpedalled, clenching her fists. “We don’t have all twenty fingers. His host, Itadori Yuuji, is too good of a chance to pass up—if we can get him to intake all of them—”

“You can raze Sukuna from this earth and get rid of him for good.” Ama-no-Kagaseo inferred. “Except it will not be that easy.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Ama-no-Kagaseo didn’t answer her. You felt a telltale pull of your lips and were slowly pulled back into your own body.

“I bore of you,” he said, after a moment, and then allowed you control once more, the darkness bleeding away from your eyes.

You felt him settle into a doze within your consciousness and simultaneously found yourself staring at Sayaka. When you smiled at her in apology, she collapsed back and blew out a harsh breath.

“For a minute there I thought he was going to kill me,” she sighed, then sat up and fixed you with a glower. “You didn’t tell me you could see when he takes control.”

You shook your head and raised a hand, keeping the other firmly rooted against Ama-no-Kagaseo’s physical form’s back. “This is the first time I was able to. I didn’t even know I could.”

Sayaka narrowed her eyes and then looked away, seemingly in thought. “Well, I guess there’s no use in telling the higher ups right now. They have bigger fish to fry at the moment. And it’s not like we didn’t know all of that about Sukuna… Ugh. This is giving me a headache.”

“Me too,” you sighed, unnervingly aware of the way Ama-no-Kagaseo’s fingers were following the collar of your kimono, deceptively docile compared to moments before. He had decided to give up on his nap after all. “So, when do we go to the campus?”

“Right now. Pack up your stuff and meet Inumaki and I outside.”

When Sayaka left the room, you carefully began putting back your tea pot in its box and wandering to find something suitable to put your clothes in. You found a cloth bag, blank except for a few flowers embroidered on it by hand, and had just enough room to pile on your box of jewelry—all of it Cursed with Ama-no-Kagaseo’s energy—on the top. You didn’t have a lot of belongings because of the higher ups, but what you did have you treasured greatly; your favorite piece was an elaborate diadem of foreign make, decorated with diamonds and crystals that were made to turn into weapons if you willed it. You tucked it safely beneath two of your kimonos and found a ring lying on your nightstand where there hadn’t been one before.

You walked over to it, drawn by Ama-no-Kagaseo’s familiar energy. The jewel glimmered with power and visibly made the air around it ripple; you picked it up and found it warm to the touch.

“Protect. Sukuna.” He was back to one or two words again. You were almost disappointed but went back to examining the ring, wondering what finger to put it on. You eventually decided on your ring finger and it was a snug fit, as if it had been made with exactly that finger in mind.

“Thank you, Ama-no-Kagaseo.”

An affectionate ruffle of your hair was all you got in return.

masterlist | next chapter. >

let me know if you want to be on the taglist until the masterlist is posted.

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen sukuna #ryoumen sukuna x reader #ryoumen sukuna #oc x reader #fushiguro megumi #i swear to god i have a lot of smut planned for this involving both sukuna and this oc okay i promise it's gonna be wiiiiild #like imagine two godlike entities one of which is an actual god just pining over you #god sandwich yes #goujo satoru #jujutsu kaisen gojo #gojo satoru #itadori yuuji

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kpopisthereasonihavenolife · 4 years

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kim taehyung / reader [f]

genre: royal/fantasy au, arranged marriage au, serpent prince!taehyung, priestess!reader, very soft romance, slow burn

warning(s)!!: slow burn (there is a lot of backstory oof), insecurity, jealous taehyung (who isn’t completely aware he’s jealous), heartache (a lot i’m sorry), hurt/comfort, almost nudity or translucent wet clothes, attempt at picking a fight/no-good townsfolk, past kidnap attempts, very minor depictions of violence, very breif mention of death, taehyung cries oops, y/n loves so much it hurts, taehyung being the most devoted boy to ever devote, obvs. religious themes (i.e. prayers, worship, offerings etc.), the royal family isn’t toxic and is in fact very sweet, jungkook is featured as a monk who refuses to cut his hair

w.count: 16.6k

Series | One-shot | Two-shot | Drabble | [Rated: PG-15 ]

synopsis: When he was born, Prince Taehyung was marked as the Serpent King’s Descendant with the mark of scales on his chest to prove it. As he grew up, he was appointed a playmate who would soon be training in the royal shrine as a maiden because of her unusually large spiritual power. They were pronounced engaged when Taehyung was just shy of his teenage years by royal command and he did nothing to fight the arrangement. Now, you’re a grown woman and head of the shrine as the Center Priestess and devotee to the shrine and royal family with a heart filled almost too full of love for your future husband-to-be. When the wedding is announced and a ball is held in an advanced celebration you wonder, does your fiancé really want to marry you? Or is he just following his father’s royal orders? You don’t know what your heart can't take more: the idea of being rejected and unloved, or never knowing the true feelings of Prince Taehyung’s heart.

t.list bc @lysannnnaa & @bella-victoria002 wanted to be notified when it was posted!

The Serpent King was an old mythical king of ages that had stories upon stories spun about him.

He was a man given the powers of a great sea serpent and among his journey to harness his powers and grow as the future king he knew he was destined to become, he traveled far and wide until he came upon an island. This island was completely devoid of creatures- be it human or animal- aside from a giant snake he had found lay sleeping in a cave by the sea. The Serpent King decided to make this island his home- and began to craft and build his kingdom to which he would rule- the snake by his side.

Years passed and soon there it was, the kingdom the Serpent King had dreamt of. However, before he could see it continue to grow and prosper, he fell ill and weak. Dying on his bed surrounded by his people and the snake that had accompanied him in his goals, he prayed that the power in which he possessed would one day be reborn inside a new future king.

The mighty island was named by the late Serpent King as the Hissing Isle. When he passed, the kingdom took not to grieving, but to work and worship. They built a shrine alongside the castle he had crafted. Created memorials to which townsfolk and the occasional visitor may visit and pray to. Monuments of him with a giant snake wound around his body. His people continued his kingdom and a new royal family was chosen and so the generations passed; everyone waiting until the next Serpent King would be born.

His companion snake was never seen again, rumor spreading that it took the to seas to watch over the island because it’s master was in the sky among the heavens.

Centuries later, the royal castle was in full bustle as the queen had gone into labor unexpectedly. Ushering her to a delivery room in the medical wing of the castle, the king not far behind as he left his work and notes in his study at the news of his wife. Servants very quickly scurried about in panic for the arrival of the new royal child.

It was an agonizing five hours later when the new baby prince was born. However, among the servants and the spiritual monk with the king and queen, none spoke. The room was silent aside from the cries of the newborn baby- the same baby who had a mark on his chest. A mark that was small, just the size of his newborn fist and detailed so delicately as a patch of scales.

The king shed a tear as he smiled at his wife, holding her hand to soothe and congratulate her on a well done delivery of her first child. The baby was soon cleaned and swaddled in a bundle of the softest cloth before the queen was requesting to hold her son. As he was placed in the woman’s arms, she smiled down at him as he instantly calmed. The king sat beside the two, his hand on his queen’s leg as they both looked at the mark on their son once more.

The Serpent King had finally chosen a new spirit to gift power to. Reincarnated into this small, healthy baby prince hundreds upon hundreds of years into the future. Serpent Prince Kim Taehyung, that is his name.

Two years after the young prince was born, another baby was born with special powers. Born in a brilliant blue aura and a strong, healthy body, a shrine monk had been shocked speechless at the amount of rare spiritual energy the newborn infant possessed. It was decided among the few hours after her birth, that this baby girl would grow to be a magnificent shrine priestess and when the time would call for it, her training to harness her abilities would begin.

Both the serpent blooded prince and the infant priestess would soon grow into bodies that would learn many things and experience many occasions and emotions. First, however, they would need to meet.

“Y/n, come here for a spell,” your mother called for your attention as you sat at a small open chest filled with small wooden toys and bells and ribbons you had been gifted. It had been four years since you were born and to you, your life had just started as your memory finally started allowing you to retain information and people’s faces.

Your mother stood at the door to your room in her dress of a distasteful shade of brown that laced around her stomach to shrink her waist and strapped over her shoulders. The dress trapped the off shoulder white blouse she wore over her torso as her hair was braided along the back of her head, pinned up and out of the way.

You looked back over your small shoulder still dressed in your pale yellow nightgown that reached your ankles with sleeves that covered your entire hand to your fingertips when you stood. Hair unkempt and unbrushed from sleep, as you had woken up and immediately took to your toy chest to occupy your time until you were fetched by your single parent.

Standing, you abandoned your trinkets as you rushed to your mother’s side. Grabbing her skirt in your fists and pushing your face into the fabric of her dress, giggling at the warm embrace she gave you. Her hands pushed on your shoulders and back as she leaned to greet you a good morning.

“Good morning, my dearest little girl,” your mother cooed as you lifted your face from her skirt and smiled up at her. You were always a shy child, but she hoped now that you were more aware of your surroundings, you would grow out of your shyness. She gently pushed you away just enough so she could kneel on the floor in front of you, brushing your messy hair out of your face with her fingers. “We have to get you dressed. Today is a very big day,” she told you.

“What does that mean, mommy?” You asked, your small voice pitched and as sweet as song bells to your mother’s ears. How she loved the sound of your voice.

“It means, dearest, that you’re going to meet someone who will become your friend today.” The woman watched your puffy child-fat-cheeks, extend in a pout as you frowned. “Now,” she started, softly but sternly, “do not pout like that. It would make me very happy if you would play with another child.”

“Well,” your small voice started as your pout lessened, “if mommy wants me to, I can try.” your mother smiled as she gently kissed your forehead. You were only four, but you were very kind and gentle, and smarter than you thought.

“That’s my girl,” she encouraged as she backed you up into your room to ready you for the day. Placing you in a dress the color of daffodils that reached just past your knee and the long sleeves open at the shoulders, your mother messed with your head.

You admired your dress in the standing mirror in your room. Ruffles of soft yellow running around your skirt and the white fabric on your chest dotted with small flowers. Hair now brushed and pinned only partially back with a flower clip, your mother was soon sliding flat, black shoes over your feet. “You look beautiful, dearest,” she cooed as she kissed your cheek.

“Mommy’s way more pretty than me!” You cheered as she stood and you took her hand, letting her lead you out of your room.

You had lived in the castle your entire life, but only recently did you start remembering the layout of the massive royal home. You often remembered going to the shrine more often than not, feeling so peaceful and calm inside the shrine’s walls. The fountain inside with a statue of a man and a snake always seemed warm to you.

Your mother walked slowly at your side as you clung to her hand the entire journey from your room, down the halls, past servants and guards alike until she came to stand at a grand, red doorway. You gripped her hand tighter, nerves bubbling in your small stomach.

She offered two easy knocks that reverberated through the halls, bouncing off the walls in echoes that seemed so loud you wanted to cover your ears.

“Majesty, it is Lily of the Shrine Courts. I have brought my daughter as you have asked,” she announced to the closed door. You thought her crazy until a voice echoed from behind the doors offering her entrance into the room beyond the red entrance. She looked down at you before smiling. “Do not worry, I will be with you the whole time,” she assured as you nodded, unaware of who was going to be inside.

She pushed the door open with loud, aching creaks as you followed her in. your young eyes were wide as you looked around the room you had entered with your mother. Large, wide and open with a single red carpet with gold trim lining the floor from the door to a set of 5 steps with thrones sitting atop them. There were three, dark wooden thrones in your line of sight.

One on the far left was the biggest of the three. Glorious and plush with red cushions that looked like you could jump on and sink right into the cushion. Gold trim surrounded the cushions as golden tassels hung from the arm rests of the throne.

The middle throne was much less extravagant and smaller in size, but still as beautiful as the one before. With A fanned, three curved humps at the top of the back and red cloth that hung from the cushion like a bed-skirt over a box spring.

The third, was just about the same size as the middle one. Resembling both the first and second, it was like a hybridized fashion of the first two- a child of the two thrones so to speak.

In two of those three thrones, sat two adults. In the first, glorious throne was a man dressed in black, gold and purple with a fur lined robe over his shoulders. A golden, magnificent crown sat along his head. Next to him was a woman, a small tiara sat atop her pinned and folded hair as her dress was a soft purple and flowed so elegantly you knew without touching it that the fabric would be soft.

You knew without a doubt it was the king and queen of Hissing Isle. The royal family that lived in Serpent Castle. You had never truly met them face to face before, and you thought your legs were going to freeze then collapse.

Your mother soon came to a respectful halt a fair distance in front of the steps leading up to the thrones before she lowered her chest in a deep bow. In theory you would have copied your mother, but you simply couldn’t move due to the nerves rampaging through your body.

The queen looked at you with a smile on her face as she soon rose from her throne and picked up the floor length gown as she revealed her jeweled heels as she stepped carefully down the steps and soon was approaching you both. You jolted as you felt your mother’s hand on the back of your head.

The queen was soon kneeling in front of you, her graceful beauty within arms reach, but all you could do is stare in wide-eyed awe and anxiousness.

“You have a lovely daughter, Lady Lily,” the queen's smooth, rich voice spoke to your mother even though she was looking at you. She reached out her hand as she brushed the back of her finger across her cheek and through your freshly brushed hair as you gulped. “Hello, sweetheart,” she softly called.

“Hello,” you croaked out as the hand of your mother’s brushed along the back of your head, soothing you.

“Do you know why you’re here this morning, child?” You nodded your head at the queen’s question “There are many things you are destined for, small lady. First, my husband and I would like to introduce you to another child just a couple years older than you. We hope you both can become friends.” You silently nod once again, still gripping onto your mother’s dress like a lifeline.

The queen stands back up and steps away from you as she exchanges words with your mother. You look around the throne room and back behind the curtains that drape behind the set of thrones you see a faint silhouette. You shuddered, thinking it was one of those shadow monsters you see in the corner of your vision.

You jolt when the shadow seems to have locked eye contact with you. You tug on your mother’s dress and reach to grab her hand as you look up towards her. She’s soon looking down at you, her precious child with eyes that can see almost too well, before she is grabbing your hand back tightly in hers.

“What is it, dearest?” You crush your face into the fabric of her dress as you feel her leg behind it. “Y/n,” she cooed, trying to have you behave just a bit better in front of the royal family.

“There’s a shadow in here,” you muttered as you felt her other hand on your head again, avoiding snagging her fingernails into your clipped hair. “Behind those big chairs, there’s a shadow,” you whine. Both your mother and the queen turn to look behind the set of glorious seats and the queen only smiles at the ‘shadow’ you had seen.

“Oh my,” the queen breathed, “why are you hiding back there again, Taehyung,” the queen called. You looked up from the fabric of your mother’s skirt as you peered around her to see the shadow move- making you jump. Soon, a young boy was walking out of the shadows, dressed in a black shirt and pants with a golden vest of thick embroidered shoulders and hems on his small framed torso. His blonde hair shining like a star. Your body relaxed- it wasn’t a shadow after all.

“I apologize for her,” your mother addressed and you instantly felt guilty. Your mother was apologizing because you jumped to conclusions because you weren’t able to tell the shadows from people yet; these shadows only just started appearing in your vision recently and they scared you. “Her eyes can see more than what others can, so she hasn’t learned spirits from humans yet.”

“I see the rumors about her abilities are true then,” from behind the queen, the king who had been sitting in silence had finally spoken. “I can feel her spiritual pressure even from here, and she’s of such young age. You should be proud of your daughter, Lady Lily.” The king rose from his throne as he descended the steps and called the child boy over to his and the queen’s side.

Soon, the king and queen stood in front of you as the young boy stood between them. You didn’t need to be told that this was their child- the prince of whom you knew of but had also never met. The look in his dark eyes made you shiver, like he wasn’t a happy child. But, the royal family was so kind and made you feel warm- why would his eyes look so grim then?

The king soon placed a large hand on the prince’s small shoulder.

“Young Y/n, as of today I would be honored if you would keep my son company.” You looked up at the king with a dropped jaw. The prince was the new friend your mother had told you about? You looked back down at the prince- his expression unchanged as if he was unhappy about your newfound company. Maybe that is why his eyes looked that way, he didn’t want a playmate. “Is that alright?” The king asked as if your four year old little heart had the gall to say no the royalty.

“Yes, sir,” you squeaked in shyness. “It’s alright,” you confirmed with your small, bell voice your mother always praised. It made the queen and king smile as the queen wrapped her arm around her son's shoulders, kneeling to his level and gaining his attention.

“Now, Taehyung,” she started softly, “Y/n is going to be your friend, so you treat her kindly, alright?” You jolted and sucked in a small breath when the prince looked back to you before returning his bland gaze to his mother.

“Yes, mother,” he muttered. The queen brushed back Taehyung’s hair and sent him off, out of the throne room. Soon, your mother was advising you to follow after him. With a small head pat from your mother and a gulp of attempted bravery, you trotted after the six-year-old prince who didn’t seem very happy to have a new friend.

It had been four days since you were assigned Prince Taehyung’s playmate and friend. You often spent time in the library reading while he studied, or walking behind him as he roamed through the gardens before sitting on a bench with a book, you sitting on the opposite end of the same bench.

Every night your mother would tuck you into bed and ask how your day with the prince was and you would always tell her the same thing. You were nothing but a duckling following around the royal prince as he never spoke to you even if you spoke to him. You feared he disliked you and you often sought your mother’s comfort as you would nearly cry at the thought of your first real friend hating you.

Every morning you’d wake up and pick out the prettiest dress and most eye-catching hair pins and ribbons to try and attract the prince’s attention. Even when you tried wearing shoes that clack with each step, he never even spared you a glance.

It was midday of the fifth day of being Taehyung’s new friend when you decided to try and be more aggressive with your mission you had dubbed: ‘make Prince Taehyung my friend’. You both sat in the library as he was scribbling in a book with another book open next to him. You had recognized the book he was studying today- a book of hymns from the past that are typically sung about or for the Serpent King’s spirit and the Sea Snake. You were currently being taught those same hymns by the shrine maidens and monks during the time you weren’t trailing Taehyung.

“Prince Taehyung,” you called softly, knowing he wouldn’t answer you. You swallowed your nervous breath as you pushed more words out instead of giving up instantly like the days prior. “Are you very interested in the Sea Snake and Serpent King hymns? If so, I can sing them for you,” you offered. You saw his fountain pen halt in his hand for just a moment before he resumed writing.

You almost smiled, that was proof he was listening to you- just ignoring you.

“You know,” you continued, stepped just ever so closer to the chair he sat in as his feet dangled, still far too short to reach the floor. “I’m being taught a lot of those from the shrine maidens. They said I need to know them because I’m going to become a shrine maiden one day too. They told me I’m going to be a priestess and that the hymns would be very important to know when I’m all grown up.”

He didn’t pay you any mind just as you were used to. You wracked your young mind to think as to why he was so uninterested in you. You’ve always wanted a friend around your age, and he was only two years older than you. He wasn’t so superior to you as a six-year-old that you had to be ignored. Maybe he was just a snobby prince? But, that didn't seem to fit him. The aura he gave off felt sad and calm to you- like he wanted something he just wasn’t getting, but staying to himself about it.

Then, you had a thought.

Prince Taehyung is the Serpent King’s descendant- his reincarnation as you were told- who was blessed with the ancient king’s blood. He would one day rule the kingdom and lead the Hissing Isle into a golden age- even more peaceful and prosperous than the Serpent Kingdom is right now.

“Prince Taehyung,” you addressed him again. You had gotten beside him and gently grabbed the cloth of his shirt around his elbow between your fingers. “Are you sad about being born like the Serpent King?” For the first time the child prince stopped his scribbling and the air around you changed.

It became tense and you felt like you were suffocating. Did you cross a line? Were you supposed to just keep your mouth shut and follow him like a little duckling for the rest of your childhood until he finally snapped and told you to leave him alone? You shivered. Would he snap now? Would he yell and tell you to be gone because you were prying into business that isn’t yours?

“Am I sad about being born this way?” The first sentence ever spoken to you from the prince’s mouth and it felt sharp as it hit your heart. “Am I sad about being told who I am and who I’m supposed to be? Am I sad about being so different that people can’t even use my name? Am I sad that I’m just ‘Serpent Prince Taehyung’?” He finally turned to look at you, his dark eyes lined with frustrated tears. “Wouldn’t you be sad about that?” He softly choked.

“Prince,” you called in a small breath, unable to recognize that the small prince had been carrying such a burden on his shoulders. Was he really outcast like he claims? True, when you followed him around, all people did was bow their head and offer praises of the blood of the serpent king.

“How are you okay with the shrine telling you who you’re destined to become?” He asked, turning away from the book full of hymns and swiveling to look at you standing next to him.

“Because my mom said I’d grow up to be a great priestess one day,” you spoke in a heavily whispered answer. “And my mom would never lie to me, so I believe her.”

“She’s planning your life for you. Doesn’t that make you mad? Shouldn’t you have the freedom to choose what you want?” This was the most the prince had ever spoken in your presence.

“I’m not mad,” you quickly deny. “I really like learning all the hymns and the dances the shrine is teaching me. I get to dance with bells and ribbons and sing songs that will help people when I grow up. I get scared of shadows and odd creatures I see, but the more I learn from the monks, the more I can face those scary things. I have so much fun with the shrine people, so I could never be mad about growing up like they say I will.” You let go of the prince's sleeves only to grab his hand hesitantly.

His hand is relaxed in yours, not moving to pull away or to return the gesture. You think you finally understand why the prince’s eyes are so sad. He’s scared of his future and feels trapped. You step closer to his chair, making him lean back as you got into his personal bubble that had never been popped before.

“If you’re unhappy, the king and queen would surely listen to you!” You announced with a brow furrowed in determination. “If you told you mom and dad, I’m sure they’d listen and accept whatever you said! My mom always tells me to tell her anything and as long as I’m honest, she’ll listen without anger. I’m sure your mom and dad think the same thing, Taehyung.”

His eyes were wide as you quickly spoke- throwing out his title in the spur of the moment. Advising him to go talk to his parents about his woes? Addressing him so boldly in an attempt to cheer him up after all he’s been doing for as long as he could remember is brood in the idea of his set in stone future? Could he really tell his parents that he was scared of letting them down? He was just a child, a small little six-year-old who was scared of disappointing his parents.

“I can’t tell them,” he whispered to himself more than you, trying to get the idea of speaking his mind out of his head. He couldn’t be selfish, not when so many people expect so much from him.

“Then, you can tell me and I’ll tell them for you!” You announced again. “You’re my friend, Taehyung, and if you can’t tell them, then I’ll do it for you.” The prince dropped his jaw as he looked into the total seriousness of your eyes. You meant it; every word you’ve said you have meant. You looked down at your hand when you felt the boy grip it back, holding your hand tightly.

“You don’t think they’d be mad at me?” His true colors of youth finally broke through. You smiled brightly at him as you shook your head. “Then, I guess I can try… later, at dinner maybe.” you saw a small hue paint his cheeks as you giggled at the sudden cute turn his demeanor took. “You said you knew some of these?” He asked, referring back to his book of hymns. You nodded as he got up, let go of your hand and fetched a new chair for you, setting it beside him as he climbed back into his. “Then, could you sing one?”

Your child-like voice of bells sang any hymn he could find you knew and he could feel the serpent blood in him react to it, reaching out to the songs it found so familiar.

Two years passed, and Taehyung had finally started becoming a prince he could be proud of. He had apologized to you and your mother for being so rude for the first week of your friendship, but since then, you and he were inseparable. He would often come to the shrine to see you practice your dances and listen to your songs.

The prince was smiling more and enjoying his studies. He often talked with his parents when he had troubles now, and he had accepted his role as the future king. He had thought he needed to be perfect in the past, and now he knew that as long as he did his best and never lied, it would all be alright. Failure kept him humble, but it would never hold him back like it once did before.

On your sixth birthday, your mother gifted you with your first shrine maiden robe. Of red and gold, it hung loosely around your shoulders and tied around your waist with a golden sash. A set of golden threads looped into small snakes on each lapel of your robe connected with a red thread across your chest.

When you were dressed in it, you were eager to show Taehyung, but first wanted to learn a dance to properly show the robe off. It was your first ever maiden robe and you had been training in the shrine for as long as you could remember now.

Your mother who was growing older every year laughed as you would occasionally stumble over the long robe’s fabric as you attempted to learn the way it moved with you. That evening, Taehyung had come to the shrine to see you, having not heard a word from you all day.

When he arrived however, you were fast asleep on the marble floor, resting against the side of the fountain placed inside the shrine of the purest sea water. A pyramid of bells rolled out of your palm as you sat peacefully asleep in your new robe.

“Good evening, Young Prince,” your mother greeted, making Taehyung jolt. “I’m sorry if you’ve come to see Y/n. My daughter practiced too hard it seems and fell asleep the moment she sat to rest.” Taehyung looked and watched you sleep against the fountain.

Over the course of your training and aging, he had felt your spiritual power grow alongside the power he felt in himself. He still remembers the day you finally broke him of his shell when you told him how you would train to be the proud priestess your mother said you’d be one day.

He smiled as he walked to you, lifting your lulled head up and placing it on his shoulder as he sat next to you on the shrine floor. He looked up at your mother who was stuck between telling the prince to not sit on the floor and to just wake you up.

“Do you mind if I sit with her for a while?” He asked as she just smiled.

“Stay as long as you’d like,” she told him before retreating back to the castle. She later returned with the queen by her side when dinner came around and the two just stifled laughs at the young prince’s head resting on yours, you both fast asleep.

A year passed and Taehyung had finally grown his serpent scales and eyes that would stick with him the rest of his life. Golden scales grew under his eyes as the dark shade of them brightened to a gold you found hypnotizing. He had initially hid his face from the palace, unable to show his scales. It took a whole afternoon of you sitting in his room with him to convince him that it was okay and that his new scales didn’t make him scary.

Ever since his scales and eyes came in, he had been able to hear you sing from wherever you were. You could be in the depths of the shrine and he could be on the opposite side of the castle and he could hear your songs and feel your messages. He could tell when you were sad or happy or sick or in pain with each song he heard. Able to convey your emotions through your songs, he wondered why it was he couldn’t hear any other people.

When The monks chanted their mantras or the other maidens and priestess’ sung, he couldn’t hear them. Only your voice was heard in his ears.

He had often spoken to his father, the king, about it. The king was unsure as to the reason as well, but passed it off as a result of your spiritual power and your control over it. However, it wasn’t until one afternoon that Taehyung realized that he could not only hear your songs from anywhere, but he could find out where you were located if your situation grew dangerous or dire.

You were in the palace gardens studying flowers and leaves as part of your training on what plants or herbs to dry and place as offerings to the Serpent King’s spirit. Placing herbs and flower petals inside of a clay bowl, you had heard someone approach you. Turning around, you saw two men dressed in foreign clothes you hadn’t seen before.

“Hello,” you greeted weakly as you stood on shaking feet. Your clay bowl in hand as they just look at each other. “I’ve never seen you before in the castle, what are you doing here?” You had gotten braver each year and as a proud standing nine-year-old, you were determined to figure out if these were the king’s visitors or uninvited guests.

“Little girl,” one of them spoke as it made your skin prick. “You are a priestess?”

“Uh, yes,” you squeaked. The moment one of them moved to reach behind into a pouch they kept on their hip, you panicked. Throwing the bowl of herbs, you closed your fist, extended your two first fingers and chanted a small protective spell. The herbs that flew towards the intruders caught fire and gave you just enough time to turn and run into the maze of hedges to hide.

Taking so many turns in the maze you had no idea the layout of, you were soon tucking yourself away in a corner, trying to hide in the shrubs as much as possible. With each rustle of the plants and wind you grew more and more tense.

You suddenly remembered a certain song you were taught recently that was instructed by the king for you to learn. It was a song of calling when in danger. If ever there was a time to test it, now was that time. So, under your breath you whispered weakly the lines of hymns you were taught.

Taehyung was in the study with his father when the air shifted outside. Looking out the window, he stared out into the open gardens of trees, flowers and bushes. Even further, he could see the open sea of his island kingdom. He wondered why the air felt heavy so suddenly. He felt suffocated and stuffy as he pulled at the collar of his turtleneck shirt.

The king noticed his son’s discomfort. “What is it?”

“It just got really stuffy in here,” the prince replied, “that’s all.” Yet as he returned to his lessons, the uneasiness in his chest didn’t stop. For minutes it lasted until your name flashed into his head like a siren as his skin pricked before he was hearing you sing again.

Taehyung jumped from his chair, pushing it back with enough force to kick it back onto the floor, startling the king close to him. Taehyung’s golden snake-like eyes were wide as they looked out the window beyond the palace walls.

The king slowly stood, unable to determine his son’s sudden burst of haste. “Taehyung,” he tried, but the prince’s attention wasn’t drawn.

“Y/n,” he whispered. He walked around the fallen chair and to the window, placing his palms on the glass panes as he looked down into the gardens. Flashes of the shrub maze playing in his subconscious as he listened to your shaky, fearful song play in his mind. He saw the faces of two strangers, a bowl of clay, fire and then your back retreating into the maze before he started to panic. “Father,” he called in haste as he turned to the king behind him. “There are intruders in the garden and they’re after Y/n.”

The king was quick to act. Immediately dispatching guards to the gardens to catch the uninvited guests before they caught you. Taehyung couldn’t settle down, even with his father trying to convince him it would be okay and that help was coming to you. It didn’t help calm his blood that screamed to find you first.

His gaze stuck outside, your voice still echoing in his head, your song replaying over and over again as your fear pounded in the center of his chest. He didn’t even register himself ripping his arms out of his father’s grasp as he ran out of the castle and into the gardens to find you himself, knowing exactly where you were.

It was two hours later when the culprits of your attempted abduction were caught and imprisoned, followed by a party of castle guards finally locating your hiding spot. Only, they were shocked to see that Taehyung had been crouched in front of you, holding your head on his chest as you cried before eventually falling asleep.

It was hard to explain to his parents and your mother how he could hear your songs, and feel your emotions. It was even harder to explain how he was able to know exactly where you were and know what had happened as if he had been there himself. It was that very evening that the king had made a decision that would affect you both in the coming years.

“Y/n,” Taehyung had called as you were knelt in the shrine, hands clasped together before you lowered your arms and looked over your shoulder to your prince. You were ten-years-old now while Taehyung was nearly in his teenage years. You both were nearly the same height as you stood to come to his call.

You nearly felt your cheeks blush in the presence of your beloved prince. Ever since you were nine and nearly kidnapped from the castle gardens, Taehyung had become increasingly more protective over you. This in turn created a delusional crush you held for the royal heir. You had to be careful of your songs so that he wouldn’t catch on to your feelings each morning and evening when you sang songs of greeting and farewell to the sun and sea.

“Yes?” You waited as you came to stand in front of him. “Do you need something from me Taehyung? I thought you had archery this morning?” You tilted your head in curiosity as he quickly took your hand in his, something he started a year ago so that he could always feel you behind him. “Taehyung?”

“Father and mother have called us to the audience chamber.” Your mouth opened in question as your mother came up behind you. Taehyung was quick to greet her. “Good morning, Lady Lily.”

“A fine morning to you, young Prince.” Your mother soon placed her hand on your back, silently ushering you on. “You can finish your morning devotions after your audience with the king and queen. It is alright,” she smiled. She seemed to know something you didn’t, like she knew what the call of presence was for. Though, you couldn’t ask because of Taehyung quickly pulling you out of the shrine with him.

“Your morning hymn was lovely,” he told you as he entered the castle’s second floor, taking your hands and helping you up the staircase so you wouldn’t trip on your long gown.

“Do you think so?” You asked, wavering on how you sang this morning. “I had thought my sound wasn’t as clear as before.”

“You improve everyday. Perhaps if you feel it needs improvement, sip water from the shrine’s fountain. That will certainly cleanse your throat and replenish any diminished power,” he advised. Typically, one would not be allowed to access the sea water of the shrine’s fountain, however you were the exception to that rule.

You never knew why, but the day Taehyung offered you a small sip of the fountain’s sea water to ease your aching throat, you were permitted exclusive access to the sea’s blessed water. As, if you weren’t granted permission, that small sip of pure ocean water would have spread like poison and certainly taken your life.

As Taehyung led you to the audience chamber, you grew nervous. Just what could the monarchs of your Isle be calling you about? Were you not doing a good enough job as a training maiden? Were you lacking somehow? Or perhaps you were going to be told to stop hanging around Taehyung, the future king, as often because of his coming of age. The idea of being torn from Taehyung made your heart ache.

“Do not be nervous,” he told you, squeezing your hand. You swallowed the lump in your throat, only nodding before he knocked on the chamber door, announced himself and you, before walking inside with you in tow.

The queen and her husband sat in the two tallest, iron chairs behind the long, table in the large room. They watched you both enter hand in hand, just as they had seen you do before. As the heavy door shut behind your back, Taehyung led you to a chair across from his parents. Sitting you down first, he then takes his own seat beside you. His choice of opting to sit beside you instead of his parents confused you for a moment until he took your hand in his again beneath the iron table top.

“I apologize for interrupting your morning session, Y/n,” the queen softly called. Though aged from the first time you met her, she was still carrying herself with the same grace and beauty you had remembered all those years ago.

“It’s alright, Majesty. My mother is finishing up the offering with the monks and I can return to the shrine to finish my devotion before midday.” Your voice was rigid from you trying to keep your nervousness undetected. You felt Taehyung’s hand tighten in your grip as he ran his thumb over your knuckles. You had to strain to hear the royal family’s words over the sound of your heart in your ears.

“We won’t keep you long,” the king announced. He looked at you and then to his son before he closed his eyes. His hands came up to rest in front of his mouth, fingers interlaced as his elbows rested on the iron table. “Would you say you enjoy my son’s company, Y/n?” The king’s directness made you jolt. With the smallest pink tinted cheeks, you glanced at Taehyung, seeing him only looking at his father with inquisitive eyes.

“I would. I greatly enjoy the Prince’s company.” You answered with a smile that spread unconsciously to the set of royal parents in front of you when you directed your gaze back to the pair.

“As you know,” the queen started in place of her husband, “Taehyung is the heir to the Serpent King; however, as you may have noticed, our son has a special connection with you particularly.” You lifted your eyebrow at this. Since when had the prince and you had a special connection? In truth, Taehyung never told you that he could feel what you feel when you sing and can pinpoint your location as your voice carries to the sky like a beacon. His grip in your hand falters.

“Mother,” he warned. He didn’t want you to know in fear that you would find it invasive. What if you found out and you hated it and locked up your voice in retaliation? He thought his heart would shrivel up and die if you stopped singing.

“Our son is able to hear your songs from any location on the island, we believe that it’s due to not only your bond you’ve built over the years, but also your spiritual power.” You remained silent as you took in the information. You had known Taehyung could hear you, but from such a wide scope? That shocked you. “Taehyung and you share a special bond, that much we are certain, so my husband and I spoke with Lady Lily.”

Your back straightened as the mention of your mother. “You spoke with my mother? About what, might I ask?”

“It is our intent to have you both become engaged to marry.”

You felt your heart stop at the king’s declaration. Engaged to marry? You and Taehyung? Your heart began to speed up, doing somersaults in your chest as your grip on the prince’s hand slacked. You turned to look at the preteen prince.

“Me, marry the-,” you cut yourself off, unable to speak the words. Your young cheeks flushed hot when Taehyung turned to look at you, pulling your hand tighter against his under the table. Making up for the space you created when you pulled away. His golden eyes burned into yours as he then turned back to his father.

“I’m willing to go through with it,” the young prince announced, shocking you. “That is,” he turned his sights back to you, a soft smile on his face replacing his previous look, “if Y/n agrees as well.” The queen had to hide a smile behind the back of her hand as your face wouldn’t cool down. You looked down to the hand he held out of his parents’ sight before taking a breath.

It wouldn’t be selfish to want this- you look back up at him with hopeful eyes- right? Smiling back after a heartbeat or two, you turned to his parents and lowered your head.

“I’m honored by the royal families decision. If you’ll accept me, I agree to the arrangement as well.” A small talk about formalities and official announcements of the engagement later and you and Taehyung were dismissed back to your daily routine. However, everything felt shifted now.

As Taehyung led you back to the shrine, you stayed absolutely silent- something the prince noticed. You were always talking to him about something, but now you were speechless and it made him nervous. He wasn’t even holding your hand anymore, because the moment you both stood to leave the audience chamber, you had let him go.

“I’ll properly thank your mother when I see her next,” he told you suddenly in the empty hall he walked with you down. “Since I’m your fiance now, it’d be rude if I didn’t thank her for her permission to marry you.”

“Ah, right,” you made a small noise before acknowledging him. He stopped in the hall and sighed, turning to you.

“So, it is the engagement that’s making you so quiet.” You shrunk, not wanting to be a problem. “It’s okay. If you don’t want to agree to it, then-”

“No!” You screech, immediately covering your mouth. You cleared your throat, looking around to see if anyone had seen your outburst and gathered your thoughts. Your heart wouldn’t stop beating and your stomach felt fuzzy from the speed of it all. “It’s just happening so fast,” you breathed, “that’s all. Really, I don’t mind.”

“Are you positive?”

“Yes, I am.” It was an odd sensation when Taehyung pulled you into his chest to hug you. He had held you before. When you were lost in the maze, when you were sleepy during your lessons he attended with you out of curiosity, when you both hid from castle guards who were trying to coerce you both back inside. This time was different though.

“Don’t worry. Nothing’s going to change,” he assured you. As you lifted your arms to hug him back, you knew why it was so different and why any embrace from him would be different from now on.

Because every time from this point on, forever, would be an embrace shared between betroths.

You took a deep breath of the ocean air as the ship you were aboard grew closer to the docks of your beloved Isle. You were returning home after a trip to the mainland to familiarize further with their culture and step closer to establishing a lasting treaty. You weren’t exactly pleased forming relations with the world outside of your island home, but in the end it had to be done.

On a positive note, you were returning with all sorts of new herbs and dried meat, roots and fruits that Hissing Isle didn’t have. They would surely work well as offerings and if not, a fine snack for the castle.

“Lady Y/n!” Someone called as you turned to look for the call. A young man dressed in stained white and brown clothes and a bandanna around his waist had been the one calling. “The ship will dock in just a little while. Please prepare your things for departure. I’m sure the Prince is eagerly waiting for your return.” The man offered you a polite, if not playful, wink before he was scampering off.

A lot has happened since you had gotten engaged to the Serpent Prince twelve years ago. Your twenty-second birthday had just passed as you stood on the side of the ship, your bag of belongings and mainland offers on your back.

When you were twenty, you had surpassed your trainers and taken over the shrine as the Central Priestess. Your abilities to harness and use your spiritual powers in both offensive and defensive strategies still awed some. In fact, you planned to use your power to enforce a barrier around the island as soon as you could. Bringing back a sacred dokkosho from the mainland, you planned to use it- combined with your powers- to protect the island from malicious intruders.

However, years have not always been so kind to you. Among those years, you still wish your young mother was around to see you flourish into the priestess she had known you to be. She had fallen ill when you were eighteen and she did not last the year. You still remember how your heart broke as Taehyung shushed and held you for days upon days, as you could do nothing but cry and mourn. You could not even sing her farewell through your tears.

As the sea breeze blew through your hair and whipped at the long, loose sleeves of your dress, you smiled as the sight of your home growing closer. Your dress was off your shoulder, loose around your chest and tied with a brown sash around your waist as the skirt fell to your ankles. It was a simple dress and not at all what you would typically wear when fulfilling your role as isle priestess, but it was yours.

When the ship docked and your feet finally hit land again, you let out a breath of air. It had only been a month, but you felt like you had been away for far too long now. While you were gone, you had left the shrine in the hands of a monk who had come from the mainland years back. His skills were exceptional, but his playful attitude always left you a bit nervous.

“Lady Y/n!” The same man from before had called as you had stepped off port. You turned and quickly caught something he had tossed towards you. Looking, it was a ripe apple. “Come travel with us again soon,” he offered as you smiled at him.

“I’ll look forward to the next time then,” you bowed your head as you headed off. Heading through town, you were met with small smiles and children running to hold your hand and welcome you back home. In your small kingdom, you were well known as the main priestess and many would come to you for advice. Your position as Taehyung’s fiance added to the warmth of the island-folk.

However, not all were as kind as most.

A young girl hung off your arm as you humored her with your attention as a drunken man cut off your path. Your destination towards the castle temporarily halted. Typically, you would brush past him, however the young girl at your side only shrunk away at the sight of his disheveled appearance.

You knew this man, of course. He often gave you a rough time, unable to swallow his bit-swollen pride and accept orders from a woman who technically wasn’t of royal blood. Spending all his time and money in taverns, you were certain if you wounded him, booze would pour out of his body instead of blood.

“May I help you?” You sneered, tilting your chin and looking at him in a collected, calm warning.

“It’s a shame the mainland princes’ didn’t want to keep you over there,” he slurred. “Do us a lotta good if you stayed put on the other side of the sea.” You remained calm as you took a breath. You looked down to the young girl who clung to you. This man was not only well known to you, but to the rest of the castle town. He wasn’t exactly too well liked because of his attitude.

When he saw the little girl staring at his stubble, unshaven face, he sneered. “What are you looking at brat? Huh?!” The verbal attack to the youth was cut short when something was thrown at the drunkard’s head. Stumbling back in an over-dramatic fit of drunken balance, he looked at the ground. There lay a single, red apple.

“Even among a basket of perfect fruit, there always has to be one bad apple it seems.” Your arm was lifted, the only needed evidence the drunkard needed to know you had thrown the fruit at him. “I suggest you direct your disgust elsewhere and not towards the Isle’s youth. They will determine in the future to help or neglect you. You’d be wise to not mistreat them.”

“Why you stuck up-” the man had stomped towards you, harshly pushing you back as he grabbed the front of your dress into his fist. The child on your side was knocked away as she started to cry for the man to let you go as he just growled into your face. His breath was horrid, teeth yellow and skin tinged sickly.

“If you keep drinking, you’ll last no longer than the season,” you calmly told him even in the state you were being held in.

“My lady!” the little girl cried, as a crowd started to gather in a murmur. You knew better than to fight back, it was against your views to harm your people- even if they act so grotesque towards you. You would only tell yourself to grin and bear it.

There was a sudden hush over the crowd before they could even begin to act on freeing you from the no-good drunkard, and it was without surprise as to why. The man was grabbed by the back of his shirt collar as it was yanked back, the shirt riding up to his neck and thrusting him into cut-off, breathless panic.

His grip on your dress released immediately as he was yanked backward until he fell over his feet onto his back on the stone roads. His eyes were squeezed shut and were only opened when the one who had pulled him back and off you squats to come closer to his face. The man froze at the pair of golden eyes glaring down at him with brilliant matching scales under them.

“I do believe I’ve told you before that the next time you harass my priestess, I wouldn’t let it slide,” Taehyung sneered as the little girl had rushed back to your side, hugging you around the waist as you placed your hand on her shoulders. “Stay on the ground,” he demanded as the drunkard only nodded weakly as the prince stood back up and looked at you. Your dress was stretched and messed up around your chest now.

Yet, you smiled warmly to him nonetheless.

“Welcome home, Y/n,” he greeted as he came to your side. He smiled down to the child in front of you, petting her head. “How about I take her home from here?” He told the little girl as she ran off back to her home, leaving the crowd to disperse and the drunkard to be picked up off the road and taken back to the castle by a set of guards that were stationed in town. “I’m sorry you had to deal with him first thing after returning.”

“It’s nothing I couldn’t have handled,” you reassured, even if you had no intention of actually instigating a fight. “What brought you into town? Running errands?” He smiled as he shook his head.

“No. I felt your spiritual pressure when you landed. I simply couldn’t wait to see you after such a long time,” he told you. Your heart squeezed in your chest as he then began to lead you back to the castle. You asked about the shrine and how the offering and sessions were progressing. Taehyung was curious as to what the mainland was like and you offered to show him the goodies you brought back with you once you reached the castle.

All the while your heart pounded in your ears.

The crush you had on your prince only kept expanding in size with each passing day since you were announced engaged. You were sure if that had never happened, you would have grown out of it, however your love for him was deeper than the sea surrounded the island. You were absolutely sure, however, that Taehyung would never truly love you back.

He had always shown that you were his closest and deepest friend he had. Loving you as his first and best friend and close companion that helped him grow. However, you doubted he would ever be in love with you like you are with him, and the knowledge of your betrothal made such a bittersweet taste on your tongue.

You had often attempted to talk to him about the arrangement of your marriage. You wanted to give him the option now that he was a grown man and was able to understand what marrying you would mean. You wanted to give him the option to choose if he wanted you to become his wife for the rest of his life or not. And if he chose not to wed you, then you’d accept that, no matter how much it would break you.

You never had the strength to bring it up though. Too scared of letting him go, when he truly wasn’t fully yours. Unable to let go of the fantasy of marrying him, unable to let go of your selfishness.

You let out a sigh as Taehyung had entered the castle with you. He looked at you with furrowed brows and gold eyes.

“That is the fifth sigh since town. Are you unwell?”

“What?” you were unaware of your unconscious sighs until he had said something. “I’m fine. Just tired from the trip is all. I think I just need to rest a bit before I return to my shrine duties.”

“I’ll make sure to instruct Jungkook to keep watch over the shrine’s progression until tomorrow. Take a break until then. You’ve just returned from a long journey that I’m sure required a lot of strength. Do not push yourself.”

You nodded. Jungkook was the monk in-charge of the shrine when you are absent or unable to manage it for a number of reasons. He often watches it once a month when your body is in such pain that moving from your bed is a battle in itself.

He was a stubborn monk, but he was well versed in his craft you had to admit. He was different from the other monks you’ve grown up with. For instance, he refused to cut his hair like the others who had clean heads without hair at all. His long, brown locks curled around his ears and over his forehead, occasionally being tied back with a hair string for rituals.

“Yes,” you agreed, “that would be nice.”

You two had walked further into the castle when someone had rounded a further corner ahead and caught sight of you. Speak of the devil.

“Hey! Y/n!” Jungkook waved in his robes of black and purple, rushing towards you. He was a friendly monk, child-like and free spirited and never addressed you properly by title. You almost admire that about him. He came to a stop in front of you and Taehyung as the prince suddenly drew quiet without you noticing. “Welcome back home,” he grinned down at you, standing a head taller.

“Yes, it’s good to be back.” You smiled in greeting as you both conversed. Taehyung watched you both talk so openly and comfortably. You often spoke without formality when you were with Jungkook. With himself though- even if you had known him since he was six- you still held a sense of formality. He didn’t realize how much he missed your relaxed speech when you were young until he was watching you talk so comfortably with the long-haired monk.

“I hope you won’t mind keeping charge of the shrine until tomorrow. I have to wait a bit longer for my powers to return to normal. The mainland pressure is far different than the island, so adjustment takes time.”

“Leave it to me, it’s not so hard.” He shrugged smugly. You rolled your eyes as Jungkook soon looked passed you to Taehyung who had been standing in silence. He looked back down to you. “The lovely couple off somewhere?” His chide was met with you snatching the staff he had at his side from his grasp and whacking him with it. “Ow! What’s with the sudden aggression?” He whine sorely as he rubbed his back. You gently handed the staff back to him as if you had done no wrong.

“That’s your punishment for improper speech to the woman who is technically your superior,” you told him, but you both knew the real reason you whacked him. Jungkook was the sole person you’ve confided in about your feelings for the serpent prince. “Return to your shrine duties, I’ll be stopping by with new offerings later,” you told him as you started away.

“Yes, yes. As you wish, My Lady,” he submitted as he watched you leave, Taehyung silently trailing behind you.

It was silent again as Taehyung and you continued on your way to the throne room to greet the royal family and tell them of your return. They must already know you had come back since Taehyung had shown up so quickly as you landed, but it was still a requirement of the shrine’s center priestess to announce her departure and arrival.

“You and that monk seem to get along well,” Taehyung spoke, bitterly refusing to use Jungkook's name.

“Yes, well, he is two years younger than me. It’s easy to speak naturally to him when he’s only just turned twenty.”

The conversation was short lived as Taehyung didn’t speak after that and you didn’t either. The silence was almost comfortable and before long, you were entering the throne room with Taehyung just as you had a million other times before now.

As you grew closer, the queen sat higher in her chair. Her hair had faded to a shade of silver from age as the king’s black hair had begun to follow. “Ah, young Lady Y/n, I’m glad you’ve made it back safely. Did you enjoy your visit to the mainland?”

“Not as much as I enjoy the feeling of being home, Majesty.”

“Of course,” she mused. “I’m glad you have returned. My husband and I would like to speak to you and Taehyung if you have a moment.” You looked at the man beside you as he looked at his parents with an indifferent gaze like something was weighing on his mind.

“The wedding is next week?!” Jungkook screeched. You had just returned to the shrine from the castle in which the royal family had decided that you and Taehyung would be married by next week's end. “It’s so sudden,” the monk stated in a much milder tone.

“Not really,” you told him as you removed the wrapped herbs and roots from your bag. “I’ve been engaged to him since I was young. It was bound to happen one day.” You kept replaying the conversation from earlier in your mind. Just as it had been in the past, the moment his parents decided it, he just nodded and went along with their plans.

The same feeling in your gut wrenched and twisted like a dying tree root. Was he just going along with his parent’s decision because he admired them so much? Was he just doing this for the sake of his people because you were the Isle’s priestess? Or, was he doing this because it was something decided so long ago and he felt like he had no way out now?

As you set your items along the marble alter inside the shrine Jungkook watched you with soft, dewy eyes. He knew how much your heart loved the prince and how much you kept breaking your own heart over and over again. You never let yourself have the satisfaction of being with Taehyung all because you wouldn’t let yourself believe Taehyung would ever love you.

“Y/n,” he gently called. “Why don’t you just talk to him? I’m sure if you told him how you felt, then-”

“There would be no point in that,” you interrupted. “If I told him how I felt, and he didn’t return those feelings, then the whole relationship we’ve built up our entire lives would be ruined. At least if we get married as childhood friends, I can keep a piece of my happiness when I wear a ring around my finger.”

“But, if you just-”

“Jungkook,” you cut him off again. “Please, just drop it. I’ve made up my mind, you can’t change it.” The monk yielded as he just sighed and moved to stand beside you. Looping his arm over your shoulders, he pulled you in for a side hug.

“Just don’t get hurt,” he whispered.

Three days later, a ball would be held in an advanced celebration for the prince’s wedding. The event is grand, even invitations sent to the mainland were met with positive notes and promises to attend. You grew more and more anxious as the ball grew closer, specifically because you were going to be in charge of the first song of the evening.

A part of you thought it unfair. You were in charge of singing the first song for the guests in attendance. Meaning you wouldn’t be able to participate in the first dance and even more sour tasting is that Taehyung had the option to dance with whomever he chose. It was your engagement ball too, but there was no way around it- since it was the priestess’s duty to sing after all.

Jungkook offered to take your position and perform a hymn in your stead, but you simply told him not to worry about it. He wouldn’t be attending the ball- even if he was invited- simply because he had to watch the shrine while you would be preoccupied for the day.

Everyday prior to the ball you were cooped up in vocal training and hymn precision so as to not ruin the first dance. The morning of the ball, you only practiced once and then saved your voice for the evening of the event.

The castle was bustling with servants and guards running to and fro, along with the steady flow of mainland guests arriving in the town’s port. You sat somewhere in the twists and turns of the hedge maze as you tried to steady your heart. The wind blew softly, like a blanket of comfort before you were opening your eyes to see the prince in front of you.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he said calmly in the wind.

“Everything’s so busy, I guess I just wanted to escape the chaos for as long as possible,” you shrugged as he came closer to you. You slid down the bench you sat on as he moved to sit beside you. It was silent for a time before he spoke up again.

“Do you remember the first time you came into this maze?” You looked at him. “You were confronted by criminals who had sneaked into the castle grounds with the intent to kidnap you. You ran into this maze, crouched into a ball and sang. I still remember that day so vividly.”

You looked away from him as you turned your sights to your lap. Dressed in your common gown, your hands were folded on your legs.

“Yes, I remember. You came to save me that day. I remember I was so scared, then you came running around the corner and I just started crying.” You laughed bitterly at the memory. “Next thing I knew, I was waking up the next morning in my bed like always.” You paused, contemplating on if you should speak more or let the silence envelope you both. “I guess you were always saving me, even all the way back then.”

Taehyung watched you as you kept an eye on your lap, fiddling with your hands in the warm breeze of spring. Your hair dancing in small wisps, almost hypnotizing him.

“Mother told me you’re performing the song for the first dance this evening,” he opened in a new conversation. “Which hymn have you chosen?” He asked.

“You don’t already know?” You looked at him. His gold scales reflecting off the sunlight. “I thought you always listened to my songs,” you teased with a lopsided smile. He returned the gesture back to you.

“I’ve been trying not to listen to your songs the past few days, as to not ruin the surprise.”

“Then, I guess you have no reason to know what I’ll be singing.” You both sat comfortably for a while and you even started thinking about actually unloading your heart to him. Jungkook’s constant push to tell Taehyung how you felt nagging at your mind as you sat with him so calmly in the garden. Now would be the perfect time, but it seemed you spent too much time thinking it over, you overran your chance.

“Lady Y/n!” You sighed as you heard someone call for you from afar. Taehyung straightened his back, narrowing his eyes to the distant voice who had disturbed the peaceful atmosphere. He looked to you when you suddenly stood and called back to them.

“I’m here!” You shouted as you stood and looked down to Taehyung. You smiled at him, but his eyes widened when he saw a small touch of sadness on your lips. “I look forward to seeing who you’ll choose to partner with during the first dance tonight.”

“Wait-” he reached out to you as he had begun to stand from the bench but you had already moved away from him. Disappearing behind the shrubs and out of his sight before he heard you conversing with a servant who was probably going to rush you off into preparations for the ball. He listened to your voice grow distant as he looked at the open palm of his, not able to remember the last time he held your hand. In that moment, the spring air felt colder to him in the sunlit maze.

You’ve never dreaded putting on a formal gown more than now, knowing that you’d be wearing it to your engagement ball. The dress itself was beautiful. White lace surrounded the breast and around your waist to wrap around your entire torso before the lace ended at your hips to let the red skirt fall to the floor where more white lace hemmed the end of the skirt. Your arms were covered in open fingered gloves that extended just past the elbow as the dress had to straps and rested on your chest.

Your hair was partially pulled back, the fronts of your locks pulled back behind your head and pinned into a knot with a white ribbon as the rest lay on your shoulders. A servant had come into the room as a lace was being wrapped around your neck when another necklace was presented. A small, red gem in the shape of a teardrop- apparently a gift from Taehyung for you to wear. You wore it along with the lace choker. You could already feel the beginning of an ache in your feet from the heels that encased your ankle and enclosed your toes.

You stood outside the ballroom entrance door, trying to gather your breath. You would typically enter the ballroom with your guest, but Taehyung would be appearing later on with his father and mother- fashionably late as royalty demanded.

The moment you entered the ballroom, all eyes were on you along with a small murmur followed by an applause at the arrival of the lady of the hour. You just waved them calm before you took to mingling like a proper lady should. Speaking and greeting the visitors who took the time to come to your island home, you couldn't get your throat to unclog.

The anxiousness of singing, the dread of possible mistakes, the sorrow of not being able to dance with the rest of the ladies during the first dance and the ugly jealousy of whoever would be lucky enough to dance with Taehyung first. All of it stuck in your throat like a toad.

You jump when you feel a hand rest on the small of your back, getting your attention. You whirl around, ready to scold who dared to touch you so familiarly, but stopped short when you look up to Taehyung’s snake eyes.

“Prince,” you muttered. His hand that was on your back moved to rest on your waist in your hasty turn. He was dressed in a golden vest that matched his hair and compliments his eyes and scales. His white dress shirt beneath his vest was wrinkle-free and his trousers hung off his waist in perfection as the toes of his boots reflected the ballroom’s light. A royal blazer with embroidered shoulders and decorated lapels. His hair was brushed and parted, as soft looking as ever. You noticed a golden teardrop necklace with the chain tucked under his dress shirt’s collar as the gem rested on his chest.

“You look beautiful, Y/n,” he compliments. Your face is the same shade of your dress as you fiddled with your skirt. You took a breath and looked up to him with a smile.

“You look as handsome as always,” you told him, sincerity dripping off your tongue. You lifted your hand to toy with the necklace that was given to you. “Thank you for this,” you said. He in turn touched his own golden gem that was nearly identical to yours. You looked around, not seeing the king or queen in the ballroom yet. “Where are your parents?” You asked him as he just chuckled.

“I came early. I wanted to see you before the event started.”

“Oh,” was your instant reply to the soft smile on his face. You cleared your throat as you gathered your thoughts and changed the topic. “So, have you decided on someone to dance with while I sing?” You ask as cheerfully as you could muster. Your resolve faltered at the look the prince gave you without speaking. Maybe he hadn’t been asked yet?

“I won’t be participating in the first dance,” he declared with a slightly dipped brow. “Why would I, knowing that my fiance wouldn’t be my partner?” He grabbed your hand. “I will dance and mingle through the night just as I’m expected to, but if you cannot dance in the event’s opening, then neither will I.”

Your face grew rosy. His words were heavy on your heart and squeezed your chest like you were drowning. Would he ever be aware of just how much his words mean to you? Would he realize one day that everything he tells you and every praise he sings made you want to crumble under the weight of your unspoken, suffocating feelings?

Eventually, the elder royal couple of Serpent Castle had made their appearance and your presence was requested at the back of the room in preparation. As you spoke with the instrumentalists who would replace your voice through the remainder of the night after your song, you instructed them to stay silent and keep their instruments hushed until you were finished.

As the opening was announced, partners were grabbed, the floor was scattered with pairs and Taehyung stood behind you, his hands tucked informally into the pockets of his trousers as he watched your back. Then, you sang.

The hymn was something Taehyung hadn’t heard before. He had heard you sing up close before, often coming by the shrine at early morning or late evenings just to hear it clearly rather than through his serpent’s blood. He did not recognize this hymn, yet it resonated so clearly with his serpent counterpart as his blood felt like it was getting warmer behind his skin. It raised goosebumps on his skin under his clothes and made the hair on the back of his neck stand.

Whatever this new hymn was, it was immediately his favorite. The flutters it put in his chest made him remove his hand from his pocket just to push his palm against his breast. He felt his heart pound under his palm as he just stared at your back with wide eyes of awe.

When the hymn was over and the first dance of the evening concluded, there was a round of applause for your unparalleled performance and then the instrumentalists finally took over.

You felt a weight off your chest as you sighed in relief. You had performed well in your opinion. Not missing your notes or beat, but then again it would be harder to do an official hymn rather than the one you sung.

“Y/n,” you heard Taehyung call behind you. Turning, you saw his eyes shining brighter than usual- perhaps it was the ballrooms light gleaming in them. “That hymn, I hadn’t heard that before.”

“Oh, well it’s because I composed that hymn myself.” You opened your hand and started counting on your fingers. “I suppose it was a few weeks ago, but I have begun writing my own hymns- just to see if perhaps they would be as effective as those written in our books.” You lowered your hand back to your side. “I hope it wasn’t distasteful to you,”

“It was magnificent,” he breathed in truth. “I hope you sing it often so I may hear it.”

“I-,” you stuttered at the compliments, “of course. If that’s what you wish, then it shall be my Prince.”

Taehyung quickly reached for and took your hand, holding it tightly as he pulled you beside him. “Come,” he told you. Leading you out among the peoples in the rooms as they danced to the tunes played by the men who plucked strings and blew into flutes. “Be my first dance,” he smiled. “It may not be the first, but it shall be our first dance.”

Taehyung’s hand re-positioned in yours as his other rested on your waist as you gripped his shoulder and your feet were soon slotted beside each other. Your chest brushing against his as the next song had begun and your feet moved with the harp and flutes tune.

Taehyung spoke as you danced, speaking of the upcoming wedding and it’s preparations. The set up and guest attendance will be filled with all the people in the ballroom currently, leading to him telling you that they would all be staying on the island until the wedding had concluded. The ceremony was hopefully going to be quick and not a drawn out afternoon, as you got choked up just thinking about it.

Of course, the toughest part of it all would be vows.

Your vows specifically. You briefly wondered if in your vows that fateful day of union, you would admit to him finally that you had loved him for such a long time. Or, should you keep your secret locked up in your heart forever as to not ruin what could be a happy enough marriage. You shook your head, it was clearly Jungkook’s insistent pushing to make you confess getting to you. You had already made your mind up, you couldn’t change it now.

The song of harp and whistles ended and you almost immediately drew yourself away from your husband-to-be. Before he could reach out and stop you from retreating he was flocked with all sorts of visitors. Women asking to dance- to which he cannot refuse- and men wishing to converse of trade and business with him. He watched over a sea of heads as you ran off until he couldn’t see you anymore.

You had retreated to a wall hidden by a table with glass flutes of a sweet alcohol. Typically, you avoided the beverages, but just this once you decided to indulge just a little. It was a white wine, clear as crystal but not as delightful to drink as the fountain's shrine water.

“Good evening, My Lady,” a man addressed from beside you. You were unaware of his approach and his opening startled you. Turning, you saw a man who was undoubtedly from somewhere far inland you imagined. “I am Duke Lethan. I watch over a small country stead far from the coast of the mainland. I must say, your song earlier was beautiful.”

His flattery felt nothing like Taehyung’s words. His cheap words did not make your heart flutter or your stomach toss. Though, he was being kind and so as to not ruin the merry mood of the ball, you humored him- as much as you wanted to be left alone.

“Thank you very much, kind Duke.” You spent a small amount of energy carrying general conversation with the duke of the mainland as you kept your guard up. You never did trust the men from off the island, your recent visit abroad having one too many encounters with rude, entitled ones.

You smiled when you were cued to smile, and you laughed at his small attempts at humble humor, but you just wished for the conversation to end and him to be on his way. Instead, he began to persist in the idea of a dance with you.

Trying to politely decline the offer, he tried convincing you- obviously not taking no for an answer. Ready to put your foot down, merrymaking be damned, you felt that familiar hand on your back before it slid around to encase your waist and rest just above your white laced stomach. It was no surprise- or perhaps it was- to see Taehyung at your side as he held you to his chest.

“I do believe she’s already refused a dance. Go find a different partner if you would, Duke Lethan.” Not in a position of authority to begin to argue, the duke just lowered his head and went on his way into the crowd to find some other poor woman to give in to his pressure. “Y/n,” he called as you looked up at him from where you were once watching the duke retreat. “Dance with me again just once more.”

He had been watching you as soon as he could locate you after you left him after your dance. When that duke approached you and started making you smile, something in his chest lurched. He felt irked just knowing you were conversing so happily with a stranger and not with him. He was distracted as he danced with a lady from the mainland and he quickly left her abandoned mid-song at the look of distress on your face when the duke wouldn’t depart from your presence.

However, he would never disclose that to you. He didn’t even understand how he felt, all he knew was that he felt better when you were beside him like this.

“I’d be honored to dance with you again, my Prince,” you agreed with a smile up at him and the pain in his chest soothed instantly. You chalked it up to your imagination, but it felt like during this dance Taehyung held you tighter than before.

As the evening finally started dwelling down, guests started dismissing themselves back to their temporary rooms in the castle or back into town where their room in a local Inn was waiting for them. You were standing outside the ballroom, fiddling with your necklace. Exhausted from the evening of non-stop mingling and dancing.

Taehyung had pulled you away from a handful of men who seemed a bit ‘too interested in his fiance’, he claimed. You danced with him each time he did so.

“Y/n,” Taehyung called behind you. You startled, not expecting to be found in your little nook away from the dwindling down madness. He came to stand beside you, his golden eyes and scales seemed to grow faintly in the dimly lit halls of his castle. “Are you well?”

You felt a lot of things tonight. The burning eyes of mainland damsels on your back when you danced with the prince they knew they couldn’t even begin to woo because he simply didn’t give them the time. The watching eyes of older couples of tradition who thought it unjust for a simple priestess to marry into royalty. The sly eyes of men who wanted to dance to you and maybe catch a grip of something more- not that you’d allow that. And the squeezing of your heart whenever Taehyung held you and danced.

You sighed, making Taehyung take a step closer as he raised his arm to rest on your bicep, stroking it in comfort.

“I just,” you cut yourself off with closed eyes and a breath. “I’m just overwhelming myself and thinking about something.”

Taehyung moved to stand closer, grabbing your arm and hooking it around and under his own as his hip was next to you. He smiled down at you as he started walking forward, pulling you with him lightly.

“We’ll take a walk outside. Fresh air will help,” he told you in promise. Maybe the moonlight would shed away your worries- you could only hope. You were hardly aware of where Taehyung was leading you as you were so lost in your head. The fact that the man beside you was going to marry you in just a matter of days spiraled in your head like a hurricane. As did the doubt of if he even wanted to.

When you finally noticed you had been walking with him in silence for a while, you clocked back into reality and realized he had taken you back to the garden maze. This same maze is where you first truly realized you were in love with Taehyung and would be for the rest of your life- even if you were so young back then.

When you were in danger, and you sang- it was him who came running. It was him who found you in the maze and it was him who held you as you cried yourself into unconsciousness.

It was also this maze where you both sat just hours before that same day, talking in the sunlight that felt so comfortable. The spot where you realized you were going to marry your childhood playmate. Your one and only love interest and also your kingdom’s precious prince who was filled with serpent blood. It was this Taehyung who would be your husband and your feet stopped.

You halted in his step as your arm slipped from around his where it rested and he jerked when he felt it fall and slip away from him. He stood in front of you, half turned back to see your arm fall back to your side and your chin dipped.

The way the moon cast a shadow over your body should have been a romanticized look of an ethereal priestess, but the way you stood and avoided eye contact only made it grim. The prince felt his stomach twist as he straightened his back as you lifted your head to look directly at him for the first true time tonight.

His golden eyes widened a fraction at yours, seeing something in them waver and shake. It pinned his feet in place. Stood frozen in a half turned state, facing you as your fists balls behind the skirt of your dress, wrinkling the palm of your gloves.

“Be honest with me, Taehyung,” you called, foregoing his title and addressing him by name. It made his hair stand. “Are you going to be happy marrying me?” The prince parted his lips as he looked at you incredulously. Did you not want to marry him? Was that it? Was that what was weighing so heavily on your mind?

Ever since he could remember, ever since he got engaged to you so long ago in youth, he had known this day would come. He knew a celebration would come and a wedding would soon follow. He knew you were going to become his wife and a princess along with your priestess role. He had always known, and he had always been impatient waiting for all those moments to come. Now, they had and he was so caught up in himself and his own feelings- had he been wrong to think maybe you’d want to marry him too?

“Do you regret agreeing to marry me, perhaps?” He asked in answer to your question, still not giving you a proper answer. Your fisted hands uncurled just enough to ensnare your skirt’s cloth as you squeezed them shut once again.

“That isn’t it,” you harshly breathed. Denying so strongly that, that isn’t how you felt. “I’m- gods, I’m overjoyed that I get this chance. I am- just,” you took a calming breath. “I want to know if you’re doing this because you want to, or because your parents told you to.” You felt guilty, playing the card of his parents. He hadn’t often gone against their wishes because they were mostly reasonable people. You feared this engagement was just another order to him.

“You mean,” he stuttered, finally turning fully around to face you. Still not daring to step closer yet in fear you’d turn and run from the tense air. “You don’t know?” You flinched under his words, thinking for a split moment he was reaffirming that this was because his parents thought it was for the best. “I never knew you thought I didn’t want this marriage to happen. I’ve always been under the impression we agreed to this because we both wanted it.”

You looked at him with a twisted brow. What? What does that mean? Before you could ask him, a tear slid down his cheek. Falling over his golden scales from his equally as gold eyes. You gasped, stepping closer to him and the moment your hand caressed his cheek and your thumb touched under his eyes, he felt like he could breathe again.

“Why are you crying, my Prince? Don’t cry, please,” you pleaded. “I apologize, I should have kept it to myself,” you tried to fix the situation, but the hiccup that leapt from his throat at your words only seemed to worsen it all.

“Tell me,” he choked as he sniffed and you watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. “How do you feel about me as a husband?”

“I-,” you hesitated. You could lie, tell him a fib to appease him. Though, if you did- you’d just be biting into your very own poison apple. You wouldn’t lie anymore. “I love you, and I do want to marry you. I have ever since we were little because I’ve always loved you, Taehyung.” The word vomit spilled out in quick sentences, thinking that the speed of the words would hurt less coming out.

The prince crumbled, his knees weakening as he grabbed your hands and pushed them further against his face. His palm covering the back of your hand as his crying grew louder. You panicked.

Taehyung fell to his perfectly ironed knees as he kept your hands on his face, weeping. You panicked above him as he reeled into his mind- coming to such sudden realizations. You had been the only constant in his life aside form his very own family. You were always beside him, helping him and learning with him. You helped him when you were little and you were helping him even now.

Since when did you really grow up? When did he fall in love with you?

He was so ignorant of his feelings, he had pushed them off as- he didn’t even know what. Perhaps, he’s always known- but was too cowardly to admit it to himself and confront that love. All while he sat in his ignorance, you were withering in your admission and acceptance to how you felt. For so long, you had been growing more tired and the ache in your chest just kept growing because of him.

He cracked his eyes open from their squeezed state when he felt your hand move under his to wipe his tears. Your figure was blurry, blending in with the moonlight in the maze when he snatched your wrist and yanked you towards him.

He sighed when you fell down against his chest. His breath stuttered with his exhale as he started to finally calm down.

“I promise to take better care of it,” he started in a stiff, nasally tone. “So, please, give your heart to me and I’ll give you mine in return.” When you stiffened in his hold, he tightened his arms around you, burying his face into your neck where you could feel the chill of his tears on your skin. “I love so much about you, I can’t think of where to begin. Let me be selfish one more time when I ask you to never stop loving me. Because, I don’t think I can stop loving you either.”

You’re not sure when your tears started falling, but there they were. Trailing down your cheeks and dripping off your chin as you rested against the prince’s shoulder. You just nodded, not trusting your voice.

The two of you sat, kneeling in the middle of this garden maze crying for what seemed like an eternity before you both finally were able to talk to each other without tears or hiccups. At the end of the night, Taehyung felt it far too difficult to let go of your hand when he walked you back to your room.

“Mother,” Taehyung rushed into his parents’ room where the queen was sat at the balcony window, a cup of tea in her hands raised to her lips. “Have you seen Y/n, this morning?”

“My, you seem to be in a hurry. Did something happen?” His mother’s question made the prince’s cheeks bloom before she was setting her cup down on it’s saucer before replacing it on the windowsill. “Did you finally admit that you loved the girl?” She chuckled as Taehyung’s chip dropped and his mouth opened.

“You knew?” He asked, astonished.

“Call it a mother’s instinct, darling.” She teased. “Plus,” she chuckled at the state of her son, “your shirt is half tucked in and your cloak isn’t properly clipped.” She rose from her chair and strode to her son’s front, properly latching the golden string across his chest to let the royal violet cloak rest on his shoulders like it should. “Must have been in a rush to see her, huh?”

“I suppose so,” he smiled down at the top of his mother’s head. “I’ve been putting her through so much during our years of engagement, I don’t want to be away from her when I don’t need to be.”

“That’s a big admission from the Serpent Prince, isn’t it,” she jokes as Taehyung smiled wider and shook his head. He knew she didn’t just see him as the ‘serpent prince’, and neither did his father. It was just a long running tease from when he confronted them about his ‘destiny’ when he was a kid- birthed from your young, innocent advice. His smile softened, another realization that opened in his mind of you. “Y/n was called for an early singular devotion. The waves were rough, so she set out to pray in the fountain at dawn.”

Taehyung stepped away from the queen, thanking her before kissing her cheek and rushing off. She just chuckled as she readied a story to tell the king when he came out of his morning shower.

The shrine was deathly quiet as he walked through the doors as quietly as possible. For single devotions, it was required for the center priestess or priest at the time of management to be alone in the shrine for prayers. It would heighten concentration of spiritual power.

As soon as he entered, he could feel your power flowing through the shrine's interior like ribbons. He was one of a small circle of people who could enter the shrine anytime without reason no matter the devotion or time- a perk of being the descent of the island god. He walked through to the center fountain and just as he figured, there you were.

Your back was to him as you were knelt in the fountain water. Your hands were clasped in front of you as your head was dipped, eyes shut and lost in your conscience. He leaned against a pillar, silent as he watched you. It was absolutely silent as you prayed, but he could stand there and watch you do nothing all day and be content.

He pushed off the pillar when you shivered and then gasped with a jolt. Losing your sense of balance, you teetered to the side, splashing your hand into the fountain to stop yourself from falling in completely. The water splashed up into your face and clung to your already soaked, white prayer robe.

He stopped mid step when you turned to look over your shoulder, seeing him there. He felt like he had just got caught in a crime, though he was technically not breaking any rules. He saw you exhale a breath, your rigid back deflating into a terrible sense of posture.

“It was just you, my Prince,” you breathed. You sat back up, moving to stand from your kneeling in the water as you turned to walk out of the fountain. Taehyung rushed to the fountain’s wall, offering you his hand as you took it and watched your feet as you stepped out.

Water followed you in a small wave when you hopped over the fountain wall and the shrine’s marble floor became wet as your robe dripped more water along it. Your robe was nearly translucent.

Taehyung could see the pink of your thighs and stomach all the way up to your ribs and around your back and bum. It was proper attire to only wear a single white robe and nothing more when in singular devotion- a reason as to why it had to be cleared of all others in the shrine was to keep the body of the priest or priestess hidden from other’s eyes.

He quickly unclipped his royal robe from it’s golden string and slung it off and around his shoulders to quickly wrap it around your wet body instead. You greatly accepted the cover, hiding your body and what could be seen behind it’s thick, warm fabric.

“What brings you here this morning?” You ask up to him, drops of water falling from strands of your hair. Taehyung smiled at you, lifting those wet strands and putting them over your shoulder before he leaned to quickly kiss you. When he stood up, you just covered your lips with your fingertips and a flushed face.

“I wanted to see you as soon as possible, that’s all.” He gently led you to sit on the fountain wall as he sat beside you and before you could call him cheeky, you both were conversing like before. Or, perhaps it was easier than before- talking to each other. “We’re getting married soon,” he happily reminded you as if you didn’t already start counting the days.

“I’m very aware,” you humor him as you pull the cloak further around your shoulders. Taehyung placed his head on your shoulder and days later, when the wedding was held he was anxious all day.

Unable to see you until the ceremony, he was restless while you were being groomed up and down, while Jungkook stood back and laughed, watching it all happen. The prince was able to breathe again when you stood beside him as vows were spoken and promises made with them.

You walked out of the shrine a married woman that afternoon. That evening, you slept beside your husband and you woke up, not only a priestess, but a princess too.

- END -

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goldlightwriting · 3 years

Text

Rise of the Sentinels Rewrite (Prologue)

Prologue Part I

You stand before the remnants of a towering structure, taking in the bleak sight before you. Looking past the crumbling architecture and growing moss, you can see the echoes of dignity that this place once possessed. Now, however, it stands empty and silent, devoid of life save for the insects, birds and slugs on the island. You call out, but no one responds. You came to this place seeking to join the Sentinels of Light, but it’s clear that no one remains to welcome you.

You stare at the ruins for a little while longer before turning to walk away. As you approach your boat on the beach, however, you notice another vessel drawing closer. Two figures step out from the craft and begin making their way up the beach.

“Those outfits… Are you two Sentinels?”

“Halt! This is the headquarters for the Sentinels of light!”

“Um, hello? Mind if I catch a ride?”

Lucian: “Well I’ll be. Looks like we were right to come here.”

Senna: “We need to speak to the one in charge here. Where’s your commanding officer?”

“Gone, along with all the other Sentinels.”

“I’m not sure. This place was abandoned when I got here.”

Senna: “What? Then you’re the only one here?”

“Yeah. Sorry about that.”

“Not for much longer. This place is a dump.”

Lucian: “Great, just great! We come all this way and all we can find is one damn Sentinel?”

Senna: “What’s your rank, Sentinel?”

“Rank? I don’t exactly… Have one.”

“I’m kind of new here, so…”

Lucian: “Oh, great! The kid’s a rookie, too!”

Senna: “Enough, Lucian. Listen close, Rookie: right now, there’s a Harrowing on the way bigger than any we’ve ever seen before. Like it or not, no one’s leaving this island until we drive them back.”

“Woah, hang on! A real Harrowing? I did not sign up for this!”

“Oh, finally! Here I was, worried that I wouldn’t ever get to see some action.”

Lucian response 1: “Suck it up, Rookie! You’re a Sentinel, so this is EXACTLY what you signed up for. Wait, where’s your weapon?”

Lucian response 2: “You’ve got spirit, Rookie, now let’s see if you can back it up. You know how to use that weapon, right?”

“Um…”

“I don’t have one. I thought I’d receive one here, but…”

Lucian: “Oh, for the love of-”

Senna: “No time for talk, here it comes!”

Prologue Part II

The Black Mist rolls up onto the shoreline. From the haze, countless malformed creatures emerge, moving toward you with murderous intent. The sight sends a chill down your spine, but Lucian and Senna respond calmly with a torrent of light from their weapons. Their movements tell of years of experience, each shot carefully aimed to tear through the onslaught.

“Wow…”

“I almost feel sorry for the monsters.”

As you watch, transfixed, a shadow looms over you. You turn and see that hulking undead figure with several faces has raised its claw, preparing to strike you down then and there.

Senna: “Look out!”

Senna fires a blast from her Sentinel gun that seems to go right through you, blasting a hole in the monster’s chest. Rather than harm you, however, the light seems to invigorate you.

“What just happened?”

“I didn’t know Sentinel weapons could do that!”

Senna response 1: “No time, Rookie. If you can’t fight, then get inside the base and take cover!”

Senna response 2: “Most can’t, but there’s no time to explain. Get inside the base and take cover, Rookie!”

You start to do as told, but quickly find yourself surrounded by wraiths as you make your way back up the path you came from.

“Um, guys?”

“Oh Gods, don’t kill me!”

Lucian: “Senna, a little help over here!”

Senna: “Lucian, hang on!”

Dread begins to wash over you as you realize how hopeless the situation is. Outnumbered and with no way to fight back, the wraiths start to close in on you. Just as they’re about to reach you, though, something cuts through the Black Mist and strikes down the undead before they can reach you.

???: “Are you quite alright? That must have been quite the fright!”

“Thanks! You really saved me there.”

“Uh, not to sound ungrateful, but who are you?”

“Uh, is that… A giant pair of scissors?”

Gwen: “Oh, pardon my manners! My name is Gwen, but we haven’t the time to talk now! Quickly, we must get you inside!”

Before you can think to respond, Gwen grabs your arm and pulls you along, leading you into the remnants of the old Sentinel base.

Prologue Part III

You breath a sigh of relief as Gwen drags you into the ruins. The interior of the structure seems to be in a much better state than the outside, but not by much.

Gwen: “Ah, so this is a Sentinel base? I must say it’s rather drab in here.”

“Uh, thanks again for saving me, Miss Gwen.”

“Wait, we have to go back! The others are still out there!”

“Yeah, it’s kind of a dump.”

Gwen response 1: “Oh, you’re very welcome! Now then, if you’ll excuse me, I believe your friends require some help as well, no?”

Gwen response 2: “Yes, quite right! You just wait here where it’s safe, and I’ll see to them.”

Gwen response 3: “Well, regardless, it seems that the undead do not wish to enter. I should go and find your comrades to bring them in as well.”

With that, Gwen rushes off, charging back into the fray. You watch from the entrance as she slashes apart the undead with her giant scissors and pierces them with floating needles. Around her, a peculiar mist seems to form that repels the Black Mist around her. Eventually, Gwen vanishes from sight, though you can still hear the sounds of battle from the shoreline.

“…Whelp, time to sit back and relax until they sort this out.”

“Damn it… There has to be something I can do to help.”

With nothing else to do, you look around the Sentinel base to familiarize yourself with your new surroundings. Your attention is drawn to a room with nothing but a lone table in the center, and upon closer inspection, you realize that this table seems to be a map of the known world. A peculiar object rests on top of the table; it looks almost like a Relic weapon, but something about it seems different from the ones wielded by Lucian and Senna. You can hear a faint thrumming emanating from it, almost like the Relic is calling out to you.

You reach out and clutch the Relic in your hand, lifting it from the table. You then notice that a portion of the map seems to be glowing in response: the small island that houses Sentinel Headquarters. Cautiously, you bring the Relic closer to the table. The two seem to thrum in unison together, before both going dim. Then, the entire building starts to shudder…

Prologue Part IV

The shaking stops abruptly. All around you, ancient markings in the walls start to light up one-by-one. Then, in a flash, you see the entire island outside consumed by golden light. In a massive pulse of magic, the Black Mist is dispelled and the markings return to normal.

“…”

“What… Just happened?”

“Woah… That was awesome!”

You hear footsteps behind you and turn to see Lucian, Senna and Gwen walking into the base.

Lucian: “Rookie, you mind explainin’ what in the many hells you just did?”

“Honestly? Your guess is as good as mine.”

“What makes you think I did anything?”

“Just how many hells do you think there are?”

Senna: “Hang on, Lucian. He’s not the only one we should be questioning”

Senna turns her attention to Gwen.

Senna: “Thanks for helping out back there, but just who are you? You’re not a Sentinel, and those scissors aren’t Relics, but they cut through the undead just the same.”

Gwen: “Ah, I suppose I should reintroduce myself properly this time. I am Gwen, the Hallowed Seamstress, at your service! A pleasure to make your acquaintances!”

“A pleasure to meet you, too!”

“What’s with that weird mist you can summon?”

Gwen response 1: *Giggle* “I’ve heard a great deal about the Sentinels, and how you devote yourself to fighting the Black Mist! I’ve come to offer you all my aid.”

Gwen response 2: “Ah, you mean the Hallowed Mist? Truthfully, I’m not entirely sure myself. I suppose you can say I was born with it.”

Lucian: “Hmph… Well, right now I’d say we could use all the Sentinels we can get. It ain’t exactly standard procedure, but you weren’t half-bad out there, Scissors.”

Gwen seems delight to receive the praise, but before anything else can be said, the map in the middle of the room starts glowing again.

???: “Hello, is anyone there? This is Sentinel Fetu of Buhru! Please, respond!”

Prologue Part V

You and the other Sentinels gather around the table as the image of a strange man flickers above it.

Fetu: “Ah, good, it seems we weren’t mistaken. That’s odd, though… I thought the old headquarters had been abandoned.”

“What’s going on?”

“Is that another ghost? How did it get in?”

Fetu: “Not the brightest relic in the vault, are you? Hard to believe that you would be chosen to use the Wayfinder.”

Lucian: “Wayfinder? You mean the Relic Rookie’s got there?”

Fetu: “Bah, don’t they teach anything at the other outposts these days? Alright, listen closely: that Relic you have there? It is the Wayfinder, a very special and ancient Sentinel tool. It has the power to link itself directly with the Nexus crystal in the heart of Sentinel bases. Nexus crystals, as I’m sure you are aware, are conduits for magical power.”

Senna: “So that explosion of light earlier, that was from Rookie using the Wayfinder to link with the base?”

Fetu: “Aye, but that’s not all it can do. The Wayfinder also has the power to connect to the Nexus crystals of other bases, allowing instant transport between them and communication across vast distances. That is how we are speaking now.”

Gwen: “My, what a versatile little took you have there!”

Lucian: “I’ll say. Definitely not something that should be in the hands of a greenhorn.”

Fetu: “Unfortunately, that is not your call to make. It is said that the Wayfinder chooses its wielder, and can only be used by the one to whom it is bound.”

“So… I’m its chosen wielder?”

“The Wayfinder chose me… What an honor!”

“So it’s less of a weapon, and more of a multitool?”

Lucian: “Ah hells… You mean to tell me that no one but this kid can make use of it?”

Fetu: “Hmph. The Wayfinder is strange with its choices, but perhaps this is a blessing in disguise. No one has been able to wield that Relic in ages; that it awakens now may be our one hope of overturning this nightmare.”

On the map before you, you see much of the land being overtaken by darkness.

Senna: “Damn it… He’s growing stronger.”

“Who’s growing stronger?”

“I… Assume that’s bad?”

Lucian response 1: “The Ruined King. The guy responsible for the Black Mist and the Harrowings. Right now, he’s spreading his damn mist all across Runeterra, and if we don’t stop him, it’ll be the end of life as we know it.”

Lucian response 2: “You don’t know the half of it, Rookie. A Harrowing this big can only be the work of the Ruined King. If he’s not stopped, that darkness is gonna take over the entire world.”

Fetu: “Then it’s as we feared… Listen closely: the Black Mist is at our doorstep, and we cannot hold out for much longer. Soon, this Sentinel outpost will be abandoned, meaning that it is up to you all to stop this calamity. Use the Wayfinder, travel to the other Sentinel outposts and recruit as many of our comrades as you can. If Runeterra is to survive this Harrowing, we must stand united! We must-”

The image vanishes and Fetu’s voice goes silent. You and the others all stand around and stare at the map for a moment before Gwen speaks up.

Gwen: “Oh dear. I hope he’s alright.”

Senna: “If he is, maybe we’ll meet him again one day. Right now, we know what we have to do.”

Senna turns and stares at you.

Senna: “Looks like we have a job to do, Rookie. Fire up that Wayfinder.”

“Yes, ma’am! Where to first?”

“Geez, I wasn’t expecting all of this so suddenly, but I guess I can’t back down now. Where do you guys wanna go?”

Lucian: “Demacia. Looks like the Mist is all going there, which means there’s a good chance the Ruined Creep’s there too. If we take him out, this whole nightmare’ll be over.”

Senna: “It won’t be easy, but with more Sentinels on our side, we might just stand a chance. You ready, Rookie?”

You nod solemnly, clutching the Wayfinder closely. Though not what you expected, it seems the time has come for you to partake in your first proper mission as a Sentinel of Light.

#Rise of the Sentinels #Prologue #League of Legends

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abstract-kat · 3 years

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Samurai Jordan, the Mianite AU This is an AU, and a prologue of sorts that I wrote in a one in a blue moon burst of inspiration. :D

Prologue: A Man, a Myth, and a Legend.

Jordan blinked, his eyes bleary and his vision swaying. He had trouble focusing, the world around him was far too bright for him to make out anything. His limbs felt prickly, a sign of numbness. He wants nothing more than to go back to sleep, but the Gods seem to disagree. A brisk, freezing cold wave crashes onto his back, making him jump. Cold sea water flies in the air as he scrambles away from the edge of the water, further onto the cold beach.

Waking up, alone on a beach after falling through a seemingly endless void, his muscles aching from probably months of sleep. An unfortunately familiar feeling to him.

Jordan presses his back against something in the sand, wiping at his stinging eyes and shivering as saltwater drips down his chin. But then he stops. And reaches back behind himself, towards the object he’s leaned up against.

“Isn’t this…?”

He brings the item- the sword, in front of him, studying it. This was the same sword. He was sure of it.

The Sword of Light.

“Now, how’d you end up here with me?”

Items normally never came with him whenever he crossed dimensions.

Jordan ran his fingers down the metal of the sword, feeling a faint warmth emanating from the metal itself. A weapon that embodied the Light that stood against the Dark, a weapon of purity.

...So why did this one?

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

Jordan screams.

He unsheathes the blade, spinning around, coming face to face with… nobody? Jordan looks to his left, and then to his right, still finding nobody else. He was sure he was alone.

So why does it feel like somebody was breathing down his neck?

“You’re quite the jumpy one aren’t you?”

He swerves on his heels again, trying to pinpoint where the woman’s voice is coming from, when he stops. He recognizes that voice… he thinks.

There’s hesitance to Jordan’s voice, as he calls out, “M’Lady?”

“Do I LOOK like- Wait. No, that joke doesn’t work. Damn it.”

...That isn’t his Lady.

“Real genius aren’t you? For your information, I’m down here sweetie.”

Jordan looks down, past the sword, and into the sand under his shoes. He’s not sure what he should be seeing. His eyes wander up from the sand, to the silver blade in his hands, squinting as the metal catches the light in the golden embellishments in the metal.

“Oh sorry dear, is my dazzling beauty blinding you?”

Jordan’s thoughts halt, and he tilts his sword slightly, studying it, “You’re… the sword?”

“You’re learning!”

He was beginning to grow tired of this sword’s...lip.

“And I’M tired of getting passed around from asshole to asshole, but what can I do?”

Jordan stabs the sword back into the sand, intending to let go, and be on his merry way without a possessed and probably cursed sword that refused to leave his hand.

Why couldn’t he let go?

“Sorry pal, afraid I’m not letting you walk away so easily.”

Jordan’s blood runs cold as he suddenly feels the warmth of the blade against his neck, warmer than it had been before. He can’t make himself let go, nor can he bring the blade away from his own throat. He’s trapped.

“Now who do you work for? Answer quickly boy.”

He can’t form words properly, too many thoughts running through his head all at the same time, most of them unhelpful “W-What?”

“What did I just say?”

“...”

“...Fine. All those who have come into possession of me in the past, have all been thieves and schemers. Men after fame and glory. So what are you after?”

Jordan doesn’t know what to tell this woman….Spirit? Sword?? He doesn’t really remember specific details from what happened before he jumped into the void.

...Except he didn’t jump. Not this time.

Images flash through Jordan’s mind. Memories returning, rapid, harsh, and hurting his head.

Fighting Gandus. The Gods are there. Defeating the Wizard. The Darkness abandoning her. Winning the war. Ianite’s proud smile. ...There’s a sword through Karl’s chest. Watching the life leave his eyes. He drops dead. The culprit is swinging at him now. FIghting another battle. Getting the upper hand. Almost winning. Ianite’s screaming for him. Pushed back into an opening portal. ...Tom’s grin.

“...Did I seriously just sit through you having a flashback?”

Jordan takes a breath, the sword no longer at his throat, and his hand reaches up to rub at the skin. He’s still holding the sword in his other hand.

“Well… At least you’re not trying to pawn me off for a few gold pieces.” “What’s your name?”

“J-Jordan. Jordan Maron.”

“Jordan.” The spirit’s voice addresses him, “I saw three Gods in those memories of yours. Whom do you follow?”

“I am a follower of Balance and Justice. ...Champion of Lady Ianite.”

The spirit is quiet for a moment. Jordan wonders why, until he hears a quiet statement, almost a whisper.

“Champion of Lady Ianite. Goddess of Balance...and Justice.”

The whisper in his ear is a voice he finds so familiar, yet so foreign at the same time.

“Uh…”

He wants to address the spirit, but calling this spirit the Sword of Light feels...wrong. He doesn’t like it.

He finds himself studying the blade once again, tracing the symbols in the metal.

“You are a follower of the Goddess. I suppose I can give you my name.”

Jordan briefly wonders what that means, until he catches sight of the symbols on the blade under his fingers. The golden marks seem to shift and distort, forming something else, something Jordan can comprehend, and he speaks her name aloud.

“...Aianite?”

The name rolls off his tongue before he can realize he’s said it aloud. It sounds like the name of a Goddess. So alike the names of the three Gods he’s grown so familiar with.

But placing that same title to this name feels as right to him as it did when he held Ianite’s gift to him for the first time. The heaviness of the wood, the way his fingers curled around the grip so perfectly. A weapon crafted for him, a bow made for him, perfectly balanced. Like his lady is. Like he is meant to be.

Jordan’s deafened to the softest sound of shifting sands, disturbed by slow, precise footfalls.

“The one and only, dear Champion.” The Goddess tells him.

“...Excuse me?”

Jordan’s head snaps towards the interrupting voice. A deep, hoarse voice. He recognized it. Even if it feels like it’s been a long time since he last heard it.

“Declan?”

-------------------------

Jordan recognized this place. How could he not? He had many fond memories of this place. His introduction to it. Building his own little pieces of it. Finding pride in it. Defending it. He knew this was the same place.

Even if it didn’t look like how he remembered it.

“This is… all wrong.” is the only thing Jordan can bring himself to say.

“...I will admit, when you told me stories of this place, it sounded like a fantasy to me.” Declan tells him. “But we both know this isn’t the same future you once described to me.”

Though Declan had not aged, as the vassal of the triumvirate is never meant to, Jordan can tell, the Declan that stands with him is much older than Jordan can possibly imagine.

Jordan sees it in the strands of gray in his unkempt orange hair, in the way his eyes look into the distance, so full of sorrow and exhaustion. The man beside him may not age physically, but the passage of time has still changed him. The man he stands with has seen so much, and he’s so… so tired.

“When you had vanished, Jordan,” Declan began again, “The Gods spoke to me. Told me to hide myself away. To hide from him. The one who had destroyed their trust.”

Jordan hisses, the name, quietly. Anger bubbling in his blood, his grip on the Sword of Light tightening. He feels her concern for him, but he can’t bring himself to calm down. Not knowing what he knows now.

“I was alone. I could not search for help. ...Not yet at least.” Declan continues, undeterred.

“I had to watch everything you all built, everything any of us ever cared for-- And I had to stand by, and watch it all burn. And I had to watch his empire rise.”

The priest walks, guiding Jordan, through a beautiful scene. Pitch black gnarled trees surround the two of them, stretching upward, much taller than Jordan remembered they were when he first walked this path. The golden leaves gently fall, flowing with the breeze, casting faint light from where they come to rest in the grass and the dirt, illuminating the world around the two.

Declan casts his weary gaze on Jordan, “She tried to find you, you should know. You were her champion, and she couldn’t accept you were gone too. She searched as far as she could, but she couldn’t leave the rest of us. Not while he was still around.”

“There was no resistance, once you were gone. While the three of them were scrambled and disorientated, He set his sights on somebody more powerful. The one individual left who truly posed a threat to him and his new patron.”

“...Angrec?” Jordan took a shot in the dark.

“Oh Mother....”

Declan nodded, “Angrec was attacked, and slain by him. The trio had been too slow to react, and it cost them dearly.”

“But before Angrec perished, she passed on some final wisdom to her three children” Declan added on, directly meeting Jordan’s eyes, “She spoke that you were not dead, but that you could not help them. Not yet.

“Declan… I’m one man. I can’t-”

“You will not be alone Jordan.” The Priest interrupts Jordan’s thought.

“...The Gods needed to grow stronger in your absence, and when you would return, all four of their powers would be needed to take down this threat. For good.”

“...All four of their powers?”

“Ianite’s powers, Mianite’s powers, Dianite’s powers…” Declan casts a glance down at the sword at Jordan’s side, “And Aianite’s powers.”

“....You know about Aianite?”

The Priest nods, “Aianite was born the same time Ianite was, the two were twins, inseparable in life.” Declan begins to explain.

“Ianite had domain over Balance, deciding what was fair. My job was to enforce Justice, and right the injustices of the world.”

“Aianite’s strengths lied in physical enforcement while Ianite’s strengths lied in diplomacy. Ianite decided what was balanced and what was fair. Aianite enforced those beliefs” Declan pauses, thinking, “The story of Aianite’s fall, is not one of true victory. She was a casualty when the Darkness was first sealed away. Their enemy could not reign in terror, but Angrec had lost her dear daughter. Angrec didn’t want to lose her, and tried to resurrect her, using her sword as a conduit. It worked, in some way, but not the way she intended.”

“My soul and very quintessence was imbued into my sword. Without me physically there for my siblings, Ianite took over my domain, spreading herself thinner to take up both the mantle of Balance and Justice. Meanwhile, I was gifted to the Champions of Light, meant to be used in times of dire need. I.E. The Darkness’ return. But one of those Champions had lost me along the way, and I had faded from stories, becoming nothing more than a myth to most...”

“History is repeating itself,” Declan says suddenly, snapping Jordan back to attention, “The Darkness once again is threatening the Light, and a Goddess’ blood has been spilt. And now you’ve arrived. A new Champion of the Light.”

He looks up, into the trees, the light of the leaves dancing on his beard, “...A legend was created, during your absence. A man bearing a sword made of pure light would find the three, bring them back into the light, and eradicate the darkness that plagued the home he once knew for good, in his own time, a time too far back for anyone else to follow.”

Declan chuckles, “It’s more straightforward than most legends, but that doesn’t really matter.”

“What does the legend mean? That- The one part. ‘Find the three, bring them back into the light’ ?”

Declan takes a moment to respond to Jordan’s questions, looking back down, towards the ground.

“While you were gone, the three of them banded together, driving off the forces of the Darkness once again. Ianite led their armies, the devoted followers that you all had originally guided to the three of them. Dianite turned to the shadows, spying on the enemy to see what intel he and his followers could gather to give to his sister, creating disarray within the enemy’s forces. He always thrived in Chaos.”

“And Mianite?”

“...Mianite renounced his domain over Order. There was none anymore. Not when they’re at war. He had to take up the mantle of Light, in order to prevent the world from falling entirely. It made the most sense for him, of the three siblings, he was the one who most closely aligned with their dear mother. But the three of them weren’t enough by themselves. ”

“Mianite always was a mama’s boy. ...I can’t imagine how he felt when she died.”

Declan brings his hands together, tapping one outstretched finger, “Dianite has vanished completely, and nobody knows where he’s gone, not even his siblings. They believe that he is fine, and possibly went off the grid to better gather intel. ...He’s always been a little bit unpredictable, but they always worry he’ll get caught by the Darkness.”

He sticks out another finger, “The domain of Light is still new to young Mianite, and he’s inexperienced with it. Angrec could create tools and weapons that did incredible damage to the forces of the Dark. Mianite is still young, and he cannot create weapons of that same caliber of his late mother. He’s trying too hard to be what his mother was, and he can’t. He can never replace Angrec.”

Declan stops, turning to stand in Jordan’s path, forcing him to stop walking as well. He taps his third finger, speaking, “Your Goddess, Lady Ianite is spearheading the efforts to hold the Darkness back. Even as we speak, but… She is not her sister.”

“The Gods are divided, each of them too caught up in their own way of holding back the Darkness.”

Declan breathes a deep sigh, placing a hand on Jordan’s shoulder, “They all need help Jordan, and that is the role you serve in all of this.”

#Mianite AU #Mianite #Captainsparklez #My writing #Samurai Jordan AU #God I am so tired #This is almost 2.5k words #Where is this motivation when I need it to finish my DEGREE

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coreymichaelsmithson · 3 years

Text

The Lights of Treasure Island

For the past few years, I've been living on a barrier island named Anastasia. A sandy, sleepy, slow place, just off the coast of our nation's oldest city, Anastasia Island features tall palm trees and gorgeous beaches, along with excellent sushi and a surprisingly active arts scene. Its most splendid attraction, though, is an old lighthouse, one striped with a black and white spiral and crowned by a bright red lamphouse. It towers commandingly over the dunes, casting a long beam that can be seen from nearly anywhere in town.

I've always liked lighthouses. In days of old we set these magnificent lanterns on the edge of the sea, to guide sailors through dark and treacherous waters, to show them the way home. Lighthouses represent so many things we need: safety, comfort, reliability, navigation. But in my mind, these structures hold the magic of candles, the magic of illumination itself. When we speak of enlightenment, we may be speaking specifically of rationality and discovery, but we are also conjuring images of light prevailing over darkness. And in this way the lighthouse emerges as a powerful symbol of the spirit.

This February, for my 47th birthday, I explored the Outer Banks of North Carolina, where I saw several amazing lighthouses. Impressive as they were, I did not think they quite compared with the singular majesty of the structure that stands on Anastasia Island. After a harrowing return journey, one in which I drove with no working alternator (and sometimes without headlights or windshield wipers) through nearly 700 miles of tornadic thunderstorms, I felt the most profound relief when I finally crested the peak of the SR-312 bridge, which connects my island to the mainland, and I saw those familiar black and white stripes in the distance, signaling that I had made it home. Less than half a year later, my feelings about this special lighthouse of mine would be forever changed by a chance encounter.

Just under two months ago, I received a brief and rather unremarkable message from a stranger on Scruff, a queer dating platform that I use. One might charitably call Scruff "a social club for discerning gentlemen" ... it appeals to men who are hirsute, meaty, perpetually horny, and even a few of us freaks who defiantly straddle the line between "butch" and "nancy". Since this man's profile didn't really offer all that much information, and his one available picture wasn't particularly compelling, I promptly tucked his message away and forgot about it, and went for my customary sunset walk on the beach.

I live exactly one mile from the southern boundary of a state park, which offers a four-mile stretch of pristine dune habitat, completely undeveloped and sparsely occupied. The only man-made objects in sight are a few empty lifeguard stands, the city's sightseeing pier, a radio antennae, and our lighthouse. Dolphins gather here, their dorsal fins rising and falling between the breakers. Squadrons of pelicans fly in tight formations, gliding only a few feet above the water's surface. Terns and sea turtles nest in its sands, and I've found many shark teeth among the sea shells and ghost crab burrows. This is a special place, a holy place, and I've made a daily ritual of enjoying its cloudscapes and crepuscular glow as I explore the edge between land and sea.

After a pleasant stroll, maybe an hour or so of blissful meditation, I turned around and started heading back towards my car when I caught sight of a man who had just walked out of the water and was now drying himself off. We locked eyes.

He was the most beautiful man I had ever seen. Arrestingly beautiful, the kind of handsome that stops you dead in your tracks. I just kind of gulped for a second, and then walked right up to him, with an audacity that I didn't even know I possessed, turned on every damn bulb in my Christmas tree, and murmured, "Hi!", making the word shimmer like tinsel. In a short amount of time, I learned that he was a Russian artist, born in St. Petersburg but living in Moscow. I had met him during a brief pause on his long drive from Jacksonville to Key West; he had only intended on stopping in St. Augustine long enough to explore our old Spanish fort and take a swim on our nicest beach. He possessed a keen intellect, a quick wit, and a laudable command of English. As we spoke, he kept giving me flashes of the most mischievous smile, and so when I finally asked him what he was grinning about, he revealed that he was the same man who had messaged me earlier. This came as a surprise, for I hadn't recognized him at all ... I had only been drawn in now by his gorgeous movie-star looks, the undeniable sex appeal of his dripping wet body, and some weird sense of destiny.

We talked. We talked some more. We went to dinner. And then he stayed for the better part of three days.

In my bed, we enjoyed the most astonishing kind of communion. Our nights and mornings were filled with such tenderness ... soft eyes, soft caresses, fearlessly sustained gazes, the kind of kisses that tell a hundred little stories. One by one, various secrets were brought to light. We shared toe-curling carnality, thunderous climaxes, an unalloyed and unembarrassed intimacy. We shared joy.

On our second day together, I took him to the top of Anastasia Island's lighthouse. We lingered on each landing to kiss and giggle, and our embraces grew more intense. We felt a stronger and stronger pull towards one another. I knew that this was more than just a simple infatuation. By the time we reached the lantern's round balcony, and stepped out together onto the most spectacular view of St. Augustine, I knew that I was falling in love.

I don't blame you for rolling your eyes at this. You may, in your justifiable cynicism, think it ridiculous for a man to utter such a powerful phrase within such a short time. But if you've ever known me, you've come to recognize by now my considerable capacity for love. My passions and appetites may rise to the surface with little interference, and will I admit some recklessness in how I've invested my energies, but I am no fool. I am neither naïve nor desperate. And I can say in all sincerity that what we felt then was, at least for a short while, genuine love.

From the top of the lighthouse we could see everything. The old downtown, with its mixture of colonial and Spanish Renaissance buildings. The Matanzas River, named for the 1565 massacre of shipwrecked Huguenots, separating my island from the mainland. The harbor of St. Augustine, crowded with sailboats and pleasure craft, a forest of masts. And then the sea, blue and inviting, the sea that would soon separate us. We held each other tightly and looked upon the Atlantic together, casting our dreams towards the horizon, into this vista of seemingly endless possibility and hope.

On our last night together, we took a naked midnight swim in my pool, which is lit from above by a row of blue lights. A light and warm rain fell on our heads as we twined our legs underwater, and our ardor cast a web of rippling refractive patterns on the pool's concrete bottom. He looked me in the eyes, kissed me with the utmost gentleness, and formally invited me to come stay with him in Moscow. I accepted with my new magic word, "Да."

The following morning, our parting was so sweet, and so warm. We solidified our promise to be reunited. He drove down to Key West, enjoying a music playlist I assembled for him, and then he flew up to New York for a week's visit with old friends. After he returned to Moscow, we embarked on a passionate long-distance affair via telephone and social media apps.

I plunged right away into the Russian language, practicing for hours a day, rediscovering my knack for linguistics. I bought books on the cities of Moscow and St. Petersburg, books on Russian verbs, flashcards, a portable dictionary. I subscribed to online learning programs, put apps on my phone, read up on the country's history. I was all in, bringing every available bit of my enthusiasm, work ethic, and inventiveness to the challenge. Every day, I would send him sweet little videos or text messages ... sharing good news, conveying small but significant events of my daily life, showing off my rapidly accelerating grasp of Russian. I sent him notes of encouragement, pictures of me looking my cutest, small but enjoyable details of my life on Anastasia Island. I sent him a short clip of the black skimmers that sliced back and forth across the thin swash of the surf, their beaks dipping into half an inch of water. I sent him pelicans, beach crabs, waves, paintings, difficult words, idioms, cute terms of venery, sunsets, clouds, kisses, evidence of my changing body. I sent him love, every day. "каждый день," I promised him, placing my hand on my heart, "каждый день." Every day.

My love deepened by the hour. I know this is going to sound so gushy and gross, but I really pushed the lighthouse metaphor pretty hard, calling myself "твой смотритель маяка" or "your lighthouse keeper". I meant this in all sincerity, without a drop of bathos or schmaltz. Our time atop the lighthouse was sacred to me. I promised him that I would keep its light burning bright.

Over time, however, things shifted. As my interest grew, his began to dwindle. He sent less and less of himself, slowly removing from our conversation his humor, his sexuality, his warmth, his trust. It was like seeing a fully assembled jigsaw puzzle get lifted into the air, and watching all the pieces falling out ... at first only a few at a time, then more and more, until there was only a jagged perimeter where there had once been a lovely picture.

The nadir came when he lost his temper with me over my visa. I was confused about the process, as the Russian consulate and other sources were providing patchy and often conflicting information, and his own explanations changed from day to day. During our last video chat, I asked one too many questions, and he snapped. He rolled his eyes, effectively called me stupid and childish, and hung up on me three times. My many attempts at reconciliation were completely rebuffed. It was both baffling and extraordinarily painful.

Two days after our fight he was in a terrible car accident, one from which he miraculously escaped unharmed. He posted on social media an impassioned paragraph about the event, and how it drew into sharp focus all the love he had in his life, how he felt that he wasn't deserving of such love, how grateful he was for his friends. Yet instead of contacting me, inviting me into this experience, or trying to repair our frayed connection, he spent his evenings logging back into Scruff, the aforementioned dating app. He continued to ignore me, choosing instead to pursue (or perhaps refresh) other opportunities. I tried in vain to reach him, to restore our bond, but was met with only the most chilling silence.

How had I been so wrong? Had my desire devolved into mere obsession, albeit one artfully disguised as love? Had my zeal somehow suffocated him? The irony for me was that this disastrous affair unfolded during a period of rapid and positive transformation. In the space of the last seven months, I'd already changed my diet, fixed my teeth, joined a gym, paid off a chunk of my debt, reorganized my home office, purchased a standing desk, resumed my daily beach walks, started seeing both a psychiatrist and a therapist. My relationship to my body was improving, I was working at a higher level of professional responsibility, gaining new clients, writing my fourth novel, and churning out the finest paintings of my career. A recent experience with ayahuasca had given me valuable insights into my adulthood. It seemed only right that this Russian should be the cherry on my sundae, a prize I had been working so hard to deserve.

And so, after admitting my own disenchantment, I surrendered. Reeling from an overwhelming feeling of loss, I wrote him a heartfelt letter in Russian, one in which I explained the hurt his indifference was causing me. I poured a lot of benevolent energy into this letter. And then I said to him the saddest word I've learned in Russian, "Прощай", which is the type of goodbye you use when you think you are not likely to see someone again. It translates, literally, into "forgive me."

Here is the letter I wrote to him, translated into English:

***

"V_____, beautiful V____:

Okay. I give up.

Your silence gave me a very clear and very painful answer. You have been entrusted with something rare and beautiful, and you have shown that you do not want it. So now it's gone.

I'm sorry my heart bored you so much. I will no longer annoy you with my desires.

The love that I offered you ... pure and strong, given without demands or jealous limitations ... does not come often.

It pains me to realize that you do not appreciate what I have tried to give you. It is even more painful to realize that I may have aggravated the situation with my zeal. But the distance that you put between us is your choice, and I must respect that.

It seems that the epiphany you experienced in the car accident, the moment you thought of all the love in your life, did not include my love for you. Your priorities are yours, and I accept that. But you almost died yesterday, V_____. And instead of choosing to bond with a man who cares about you so much, your focus shifted to Scruff. Your indifference is so obvious now. Please do not say anything ugly or cruel in response. There is already enough sorrow on my island. I feel both grief and embarrassment, but not anger. I've always wanted the best for you, and it's still true.

I sincerely wish you a long and happy journey. I hope you enjoy many successes and find many pleasures. I hope you stay healthy. I hope the man you choose deserves your best gifts. I hope you find a better lighthouse. I must direct my light now to those who are really looking for it. So now I must tell you the saddest word that I have learned in your language.

Goodbye."

***

Please allow me now to rewind a few years, and tell a correlative story.

In the autumn of 2019, during a period of intense sadness and frustration, I fled from Anastasia Island and drove impulsively across the state to the Gulf Coast. I didn't have a clear destination, I didn't pack enough clothes or supplies, and I was so blinded with tears and unexpressed rage that I didn't know where I was, or even care much about where I might land. While getting lost somewhere in the vicinity of St. Petersburg, I glanced at a map, dragged my finger along the squiggly coastline, saw the name Treasure Island, and thought, "That's gotta be the place."

I don't know what I was expecting to find there. Something about the name sounded so exciting, so exotic. And as the evening wore on, my anticipation grew. I thought, in my desperation, that everything would be all right once I got to Treasure Island. Over the next few hours, I convinced myself that I'd finally feel good again in such a place, that my pain and confusion would certainly evaporate once I reached this safe haven. I'd check into a nice hotel room, preferably one with 300 thread-count sheets and a coffee maker, and I'd dream about pirate ships and gold doubloons, and when I opened my eyes and yawned and stretched against the sun-dappled pillows my life would basically feel like a commercial for some bougie brand of almond milk. When I arrived, however, I was deeply disappointed to see another narrow stretch of high-rise hotels, littered beaches, rank seaweed, and greyish-brown water. I found the cheapest hotel room around, one of the few remaining vacancies on the shore, and there I found neither crisp bedsheets nor good coffee. The view from my balcony, however, was utterly amazing: I could see not only a broad curving swath of the beach, but also a glow of distant resort hotels, some of them reflected in the waves. It was strangely romantic, seeing these twinkling lights ... red, gold, green, blue ... and their silent conversation with the stars, a dialogue of jewels above the warm churning waters of the Gulf. But it wasn't the salvation I had been hoping for.

When I got up the next morning, I was still facing the same problems, the same irritations, the same heavy sorrows. Treasure Island would not, could not, rescue me from myself. So I drove back home to my own island, back to my lighthouse, and was relieved to discover that it was in fact even more stirring than I had remembered. During my absence Anastasia Island had become a magical and restorative place, quite different than the one I had left only days before.

What I should have learned back then, but have only come to realize now, was this: I didn't need to travel to a distant island of treasure and twinkling stars, for my own island already had plenty of both. I didn't need to seek the incandescence of a handsome man to light my way, as my own inner flame was at last beginning to shine without the shutters of inhibition or profligacy.

I am now recalling my disappointment with Treasure Island, while concurrently considering my grief over the Russian. At first, I wanted to hate him for his carelessness, for how he squandered my gifts. But I don't hate him. Not really. There's no need to wring my hands any further over his callousness. I don't even mourn his absence anymore. My mood has shifted today, and I no longer choose to see this abortive liaison as being so devastating. For I know, deep down, that the failure here was not really mine. I am not a loser for investing myself unreservedly in someone who could not fully appreciate me, nor I am not the weaker man for feeling injured. I will not be permanently depleted for having offered all that kindness to an undeserving recipient, as my wellspring of love remains inexhaustible.

I tried to share my lighthouse with the Russian. But he did not recognize how special it really was, and he declined to follow its beacon to a rewarding harbor. And thus, our romance was destroyed, and his memory became just another broken boat littering the shallows.

I have seen so many ruins in my years: bad relationships, lousy jobs, soured opportunities. My life story reads like a ledger of dashed hopes. It seems sometimes that both the island I occupy and the more elusive island I am eternally seeking are surrounded by shipwrecks. Yet the lighthouse of my spirit still stands, sturdier and stronger than ever. The waves may batter its bricks, salt may scour its surfaces, it may occasionally groan under its own weight ... but it will not crumble, it will not fail, and even in the darkest of hours this lamp of mine will continue to shine: bright, focused, undiminished.

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almostkoo · 4 years

Text

pairings: jung hoseok x oc

summary: oc notices something strange about hoseok, their friend who’s normally upbeat and cheerful suddenly things start going left quickly in the middle of using a ouija board for fun with friends things get really weird really quick

word count: 2.0k

warnings: language, mentions of wine, a switchblade is mentioned a few times, demon possession

authors note: fifth story!! of spooktober i hope you guys don’t mind i threw in one of my favorite kpop girlies, i love her so much. this is my first time in general really trying to write something “scary”, i hope i did well i didn’t want to overdo it! i hope you guys enjoy !

link to main masterlist

You, Hoseok, Jungkook and Nayeon stood outside the door leading to the basement of you and Hoseok’s shared house. Anxiety washed over your being and clung to you like a wet blanket. You couldn’t shake the fear that something bad was going to happen. Standing in the back of everything gave you a better view of everyone. Jungkook was dressed in all black (with the exception of his pink bunny slippers on his feet), Hoseok dressed in his pajamas and Nayeon dressed comfortably in an oversized shirt and joggers.

The impromptu “seance” that was about to be performed in the basement interrupted everyone. Nayeon and Hoseok who were in the middle of doing sheet masks and you in the kitchen pouring up refills of wine for everyone while Jungkook had disappeared moments before only to return with a ouija board.

Now here you were Jungkook with the ouija board tucked under one arm and his hand on the door knob waiting for everyone’s approval to open the door.

“Jungkook, why are we doing this?” Nayeon asked.

“Why not? Y/n and Hoseok say their house is haunted. What better time to investigate than at a slumber party with their friends? Especially during spooky season? The more the merrier!” He smiled.

“Our house isn’t haunted. Ghosts don’t exist, you clown. It’s probably old water pipes or some shit making all those weird noises.” You grumbled.

“Water pipes? Okay what about all the moaning Hoseok heard? Or the last time Nayeon was here and someone wrote in her lipstick on the bathroom mirror while she was showering?” Jungkook questioned. You sighed loudly to make a point on how exhausted you were with the back and forth discourse between you and Jungkook on whether or not the house was haunted.

“I feel like you want our house to be haunted.” you said.

“No but if it is you both need to get the hell out of dodge before shit starts getting real. The lipstick on the mirror would’ve been enough to send me flying out the house.”

“Same and I normally stay out of this whole ghost discussion but.. that’s really odd Y/n you can’t even lie.” Nayeon stated. You glanced over at Hoseok who was turned away from you, picking at the hem of his shirt. You and Hoseok had been living in your current home for three months and about two weeks into your stay things started getting extremely weird. From you finding him standing out on the balcony in the pouring rain, the weird arts and crafts figurines he would make and that one time you found him ready to take a bite out of a raw steak out the fridge.

But he passed that last one off as him being drunk.

You didn’t believe in ghosts or demons or really too much supernatural stuff. But the strange behaviors that Hoseok had been portraying alarmed you. You weren’t quite sure what exactly was going on. You hadn’t seen him smile in weeks and it was worrying.

“Fuck it. If we’re doing this can we go on and do it because I really wanna get back to my wine.” you whined. Jungkook opened the door, reaching for the light switch. Only to flick it and realize the light in the basement wasn’t working.

“How much weirder could this shit get.” you heard Jungkook mumble under his breath, fumbling in his pocket for his phone. You all slowly stepped down the stairs. Taking a look around the basement it was fairly empty except a pair of skis and other miscellaneous belongings split between you both.

Jungkook cleared a spot in the middle of the floor. The only light was from the small basement windows lining the walls.

“Do you not owe any candles or a lantern?” Jungkook asked.

“Hoseok has some of those boring non scented ones in the kitchen cabinet above the stove.” You glanced over at Nayeon who quickly started shaking her head and waving her hands.

“No. Hell no. Don’t make me go up there.”

“Nayeon please.”

“What if I run up there and then the spooky ghost haunting you gets me ?”

“It won’t.”

“How do you know?”

“I don’t. But like we haven’t been harmed yet.”

She stomped her feet. “If something happens I’m haunting everyone here.” Nayeon dashed up the steps. Hearing a little bit of shuffling before she came back carrying as many candles as she could.

“You’re lucky I remembered the lighter while I was up there because that trip wasn’t happening again.” You lit all of the candles before settling and sitting down. Hoseok, blank faced had already sat down as soon as you all made it down the steps scooted closer to you all.

“Alright let’s get it.” Jungkook took the ouija board out of its box, putting the planchette on the board. You eyes the box.

“A fucking ouija from mattel is supposed to potentially tell us if this house is haunted?” You questioned.

“Where did you get this from? Target?” Nayeon asked.

Jungkook sighed, scratching at the sides of his hair.

“And if I did? Where else would I get it from? Amazon? Jeff Bezos isn’t seeing a dime of my Starbucks checks” He scoffed “look I'm sure you know how this whole ouija thing is supposed to go. Just like in the movies two fingers on the planchette. We say hello and don’t finish until we say goodbye. No moving the planchette for fun. I will have a heart attack and Jeon Jungkook will no longer exist. Alright?” Jungkook stated. You and Nayeon nodded.

Placing your two fingers on the planchette, followed by everyone else. So it began.

“Hello. Hi spirits we have questions.” Jungkook said, looking around the room. Nayeon hit his arm. Jungkook gave a quizzical look.

“Is that really how you’re gonna ask the higher powers?” she asked.

“I don’t know how the fuck else to address them. Hi spirits. Are you there?” he questioned. You looked around the room, watching your friends facial expressions. The mild drunk feeling that was over you quickly made you sober up as the air seemed to get colder around you.

The planchette slowly started moving towards the top left corner, the small glass hovering above the “yes”.

“Before we continue. Is anyone fucking with me right now?” Jungkook mumbled.

“No I swear I’m not.” Nayeon stated.

“No.” You all looked at Hoseok who was staring at the board blank, as if he wasn’t looking at anything in the first place.

“I think he’s drunk. Maybe he had too much wine. You know he’s a lightweight.” Nayeon cracked, attempting to lighten the mood.

Hoseok lacked the permanent blush he seemed to have when he did drink too much. But the glossy look to his eyes still remained. You shrugged it off but the look he had was eerily similar to the one he had on the night you found him on the balcony.

“Ask another question, Jungkook.” you said.

“Okay umh. Let’s just get to it. Are there any spirits lingering in this house?” The temperature dropped, causing a slight shiver to escape Nayeon. The planchette jerked back and circled back around to “yes”.

“I’m gonna be sick.” Nayeon whispered. “Jungkook are you fucking with us?”

“What? No! I swear to the heavens I wouldn’t fuck with you guys on something like this! I’m not moving it.” he said, both sets of eyes laid on you.

“Now y’all both know good and well I don’t even believe in this shit why would I fuck with you with this?” You said, borderline offended at them.

“Because that’s what non believers always do.” Jungkook stated.

“I’m a non believer not an asshole. Keep asking it questions.” you grumbled.

Jungkook rolled his eyes. “Is there anything you want from this house?” The planchette pushed back, before slowly moving back to yes. You started sweating and the basement getting chillier by the second didn’t help as you tried to resist the full body chill that threatened to shake through you.

“What do you want?” The words left your mouth before you could stop them. The planchette moved slow once again, going from letter to letter. You, Nayeon and Jungkook looked on.

H-O-S-E-O-K

You heard Nayeon gasp from the side of you. While your jaw just parted. Jungkook froze in his spot, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple.

“I don’t think I want to play this anymore.” Your eyes shot up to Hoseok, who looked at Jungkook with a wicked grin on his face.

“Uh Hobi. We can wrap up. But can you stop looking at me like that?” Jungkook said, a shake to his words.

Nayeon stared Hoseok down. “Something’s not right here.”

“What’s the matter, Nayeon? Aren’t we all playing a game?” Hoseok turned in her direction.

“Jungkook, wrap this shit up now.” You instructed, keeping your eyes on Hoseok.

Before Jungkook could open his mouth, he suddenly flung backwards into the wall. The candles went out.

“I said I didn’t want to play anymore.” through the soft moonlight filtering through the windows you could see Hoseok stand up. You and Nayeon shuffled back against the wall. A few feet away from where Jungkook laid unconscious. Nayeon shuffled with her phone, the screen light illuminating her features. You could see the tears streaking her cheeks. The flashlight turned on shining on Hoseok; his soft brown eyes were now cold and empty, a black void.

“What the fuck are you?” Nayeon yelled, struggling to keep her cool.

“What do you think I am?” He questioned, stalking towards you.

“Stay the fuck away from us! I mean it!” You shouted. The fear you felt ran through your veins icy and cold. Making you want to curl up and wish the situation away.

Hoseok reached in his pocket, pulling out a small switchblade.

“I think it’s time to slice, I’m sorry I mean spice things up.”

You threw yourself in front of Nayeon, remaining firm despite her protests asking you to move.

“Aw isn’t this cute? You want to protect your friend.” Hoseok’s lips curved into his signature heart shaped smile. One that normally wanted your heart, filled you with even more dread than possible. That smile didn’t belong to him. It. Whatever was in your best friend.

Hoseok rolled his eyes, the smile dropping from his face as quick as it showed up. “I don’t even remember the last time I had friends.” He walked towards you and Nayeon, who’s hands gripped your shoulders. Preparing for the worst you closed your eyes.

Suddenly another voice filled the basement. You opened your eyes, there stood Jungkook your knight in shining armor. Well more like knight in plaid pajamas but attire was besides the point. You watched as Jungkook held his hands up muttering words in foreign language as Hoseok froze rigid, slowly lifting off the ground. The switchblade falling from his grip. A dark purple smoke escaped his mouth before shattering one of the glass windows. Hoseok’s body slumped to the ground and Jungkook dropped to his knees.

You got up running to Hoseok to check him out. Holding a finger up under his nose to feel soft air leave him. You draped yourself over him as he slowly stirred.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Jung Hoseok never in your life get possessed by a demon again. I’ve never been more fucking scared before.”

Hoseok looked at you confused as he sat up, rubbing at his head.

“I don’t even know what’s going on. Last thing I remember was trying to figure out where to hang my jackets in my closet.” He said. That must mean he was possessed for a while. You frowned at the thought.

Jungkook and Nayeon walked over to you. Jungkook wiping his bloody nose on the back of his sleeve.

“You mind sharing where you learned that neat little trick?” You asked.

“My grandfather is a priest. Stuff like that kinda runs in the family.” Jungkook tilted his head back pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Am I going to be fine?” Hoseok asked, fear laced in his words.

“Yeah you might just not remember the past few months. But that demon is gone. Sent back to where the foul bastard came from.” Jungkook said.

“I am literally never spending the night here ever again. Not even for a million dollars.” Nayeon said.

“That’s a lie you’ll be back.” You chuckled.

“Make it two and maybe I will.” She smiled.

#hoseok drabbles #hoseok fics #bts fanfiction #bts imagines #bts drabbles #hoseok x reader #bts fic recs #hoseok fic recs #bts fanfic #bts reader insert

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yourwitchmama · 5 years

Text

The History and True Nature of Witchcraft

This post might piss a lot of people off, but I can’t help but give you an accurate picture of what witchcraft actually is after seeing falsities time and time again... I am kind of nervous to share this, but here is the history of witchcraft:Shamanism.That’s where it started.Without shamanism, there is no witchcraft. The idea of white British witchcraft as many think of it today (Wicca) is a remnant of Celtic spiritual traditions. But the whole Harry Potter “wave a wand and make potions” kind of magic is bordering on fantasy.It’s rooted in shamanic principles which involve animism, (the belief that objects, places, and creatures all possess a distinct spiritual essence.Potentially, animism perceives all things—animals, plants, rocks, rivers, weather systems, human handiwork and perhaps even words—as animated and alive.)spirit working, and an extremely Buddhist concept of “we are all connected and everything is alive, there is no distinction between us and the rest of the universe.” Buddhism and shamanic thought are identical. The only difference is the shamanic concept of spirit working. In traditional cultures a “bad shaman”(someone who used spirit working/magic for selfish and harmful reasons, like cursing people)Was killed or banished because of what was to be thought of pious and impious at the time. The idea of an evil, cursing witch didn’t start with the witch hunts in Europe.“Bad witches” have ALWAYS been thrown out of society because they prove to be irresponsible, disrespectful and dangerous.The idea of a badass aesthetic witch who curses her ex-boyfriend and sacrifices cats to Baphomet is actually a Christian one.It’s witch hunt-era Catholic propaganda.So when people ascribe to that image,they’re ascribing to something that only existed in witch hunter’s pornographic fantasies.It’s not real. The whole “satanic witch” thing is a Christian invention.I get so sick of those kinds of witches because what they’re practicing is a dualistic, Christian-created pseudo-witchcraft that was never actually practiced.People don’t want witchcraft to be shamanism,and they don’t want to have that squishy Buddhist “we are all connected” mentality because it’s not dark and edgy enough, but that’s what real witchcraft is.In fact, the whole idea of “witchcraft” is a misogynistic one. It’s used to describe a woman who isn’t docile or subservient to men.If you’re an independent woman with solitary spiritual beliefs and a LOT of knowledge (about nature, spirits, medicine, women’s bodies, etc) you’re branded as “bad” and “ungodly” That’s where the term “witch” came from. It was actually first used by the Inquisition.The whole idea that intelligent, knowledgeable, autonomous women are bad and scary “witches” is a misogynistic ideology.Witches DO include things like darkness and death and decay and disease in their practice, but it’s with the knowledge that everything is connected, sacred, and has its place. The problem is, with dualistic Catholic doctrine evolving into modern western culture, we’ve fetishized death. Death is now something scary, morbid, and edgy. Same with darkness, nighttime, etc. those are all remnants of Inquisition-era witch hunters. Because those things are associated with women. So likeDeath and darkness and all that ARE witchy things. But in a much nicer, sacred way. Not in an “oooh skulls are so scary uwu I’m gonna drink blood and be a demon lol” kind of way. Do you know how Buddhists and Hindus do things like meditate in graveyards to contemplate impermanence?It’s like that. But no one wants it to be like that because that’s not nearly as thrilling and edgy and morbid. Like, most people want witchcraft to be the Catholic version of witchcraft when in reality it is MUCH more similar to Buddhism.Witchcraft is practiced all over the world too,EVERY culture has their version of a witch/shaman, and so there are lots of different cultural variants with nearly identical philosophies. If you visited a Mongolian wise woman, you wouldn’t be like “ooh she curses her ex-husband and celebrates Samhain by partying in graveyards”Like, no, bitch. The Mongolian wise woman is NOT like that. Why?Because that image is a Catholic one. It’s propaganda. The same would be true if you visited an African Orisha priestess,a South American curandera (I can't spell it omg), a Siberian shaman, or a voodoo priestess. There’s a book called “Grandmothers Counsel the World” and it’s a book about like 13 different wise women and shamans from all over the world who come together because all of their cultures had the same prophecy about world peace.You can see how each of these grandmothers are shamans.And even though they come from all over the world, their beliefs are almost identical.The West has a really skewed view of witchcraft because we WANT it to be fetishized into something edgy and sexy and cool, when in reality that’s all a fantasy made up by the Inquisition. You can still wear black and like dark and edgy things, but when you forget what witchcraft IS and you forget the roots or the spiritual component, you’re not really practicing something real. That’s why when people ask me how to get started with witchcraft, I recommend books on shamanism and cultural differences in witchcraft all over the world. It’s important to know WHY witchcraft works and HOW to do it before you jump in and think that your sage is gonna protect you but you don’t know why or how to treat the sage with respect Like, ok, I swear I’m almost done ranting,But the entire premise of witchcraft is that you’re someone with a lot of knowledge. In most cultures, their word for “witch” translates to “one who knows” or “one with knowledge”. At its core, witchcraft is about being well-informed and knowledgeable—about the wisdom of nature, medicines, science, and spirits. Armed with knowledge, an independent woman is scary to a lot of people. She’s opinionated and can make good, educated decisions. The problem is, when modern witches do things like worship “the Goddess” or smudge with sage and stuff, a lot of them don’t say why. Who is the goddess? Why are you worshipping her? Who is she to you? If you just decide to worship a goddess without knowledge of spirits, you’re just blindly following a religion without questioning it. That’s the opposite of witchcraft. Witchcraft encourages direct revelation, meaning you learn from personal experience. If you don’t listen to your intuition or allow yourself to challenge your perceptions, willing to grow and change as new information comes along, you’re just following a pattern of confirmation bias.Witchcraft is scary because there is no cushy, comfortable assurance that you’re 100% correct about everything. You’re constantly being challenged, broken apart, and changed so that you can grow. It’s no coincidence that all the shamanic gods and spirits are also spirits of death, change, and transformation. When you think about it, the universe is in constant flux. Nothing is static. Everything is always changing. If witchcraft is about attuning yourself to nature, then you’re destroying the idea of permanence and attuning to the constant changes of the universe. That’s a potentially scary path. But it’s the most liberating and potentially enlightening. THAT’S what witchcraft is. Its recognizing that the universe isn’t predictable or always safe, and learning to attune yourself to that with the trust that it’s going to benefit you rather than hurt you. You have to be willing to change whenever change is necessary, to grow into a new person when it’s time. People who identify as witches should not incorporate their personal fashion and art into their actual witchcraft. It is okay to create an aesthetically pleasing altar/blog/bedroom but the whole wearing a witch hat and actually believing that what you are doing is actually witchcraft is not real. Again, what they’re practicing is a dualistic, Christian-created pseudo-witchcraft that was never actually practiced. You can separate your artistic expressive self and your witchcraft. It is not only embarrassing to the witches who want to be a part of this culture because it is plain wrong, but it is also enforcing the Catholic Church's propaganda.Again, I am not saying fashion and aesthetic is bad. I am saying SOME witches think that the creepy edgy thing is real witchcraft, and they spread a false message to baby witches who need to be guided by a witch who knows their stuff. I am not sure what kind of energies that would bring into your craft.

#witchcraft #witch #witchblr #witchy #green witch #baby witch #witch tips #advice #history of witchcraft #crystal healing #esoteric #aesthetic

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lovehotelreservation · 4 years

Text

Emerald with Envy

Summary: You weren't looking at him. You were looking at the crowd, the orchestra, the lead actor of the show. Claude knew it couldn't be helped. You had to shift your gaze elsewhere. He understood why you didn't want to look at him.

Even if he was your husband.

And yet, as he continued to watch you perform on stage, he just couldn't ignore the envy that was beginning to seize hold of his heart.

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Reader/Claude

HELLO BELOVED!!! it's been a while since I've completed writing this piece, but with the holidays here, I thought now would be nice to post the rather l e n g t h y Claude piece I've been working on. CONSIDER THIS AN EXPRESSION OF MY FEELINGS AFTER ACHIEVING HIS S SUPPORT ENDING AFTER THE WAR ; v ;

ANYHOW I HOPE U ENJOY!!!

..............

For all his tremendous efforts, crafted schemes, and unwavering resolve, there was something just so humorously ironic that Claude von Riegan, the newly annointed king of Almyra, could not even get a general admission ticket to a sold out show by the Mittelfrank Opera Company.

And yet he could not bring himself to chuckle at the absurdity of the situation.

It was not so much as his standing as king that caused the issue--especially with Archbishop Byleth's successes of bridging Fódlan together with other nations.

Rather, he was simply too late to buy a ticket for tonight's performance. The theater house was packed to the brim with nobles and common folk, all eager to witness the last run of a special production directed by none other than Mittelfrank Opera's former songbird, Manuela Casagranda.

And while Claude was curious to see how a show under his former instructor's helm had turned out, his true reason for zooming across the skies on his wyvern from Almyra to Enbarr was the star of the evening's show.

The Golden Deer representative who had won the White Heron Cup of the year 1180.

The one who would soon bear the crown as queen of Almyra.

You, the wife he cherished above anything else in the world.

And while he never doubted your love for him, he understood if there was a wariness in your heart.

He was asking so much of you upon quietly taking your hand in marriage after the war before immediately heading off for Almyra, after all.

But you understood him, as you had all this time. Beyond just his own vision, his actions in Almyra would shape the world for the better--for the kinder. As sad as it was to part so soon after the two of you had exchanged your vows, you eagerly awaited the beginning of a lengthy letter correspondence between you both.

It was by those letters that he learned of the show in the first place.

Your lifelong passion for performance had led up to this debut with the Mittelfrank Opera. However, constant negotiations and intense reformation within Almyra demanded his presence throughout nearly the entirety of the show’s run. With the production ending on this very night, your last letter expressed hope that he would be able to come watch you on the stage that served as the realization of your dreams.

And thus, rather than stand downtrodden outside the theater with a gorgeous bouquet of your favorite flowers in hand and a new Almyran-crafted wedding ring in his pocket to adorn your finger, he still made his way inside.

Backstage to be precise.

With all his efforts in his motherland, sneaking by security was nothing for him.

Surely, while he was going to have to figure out just which spot in the theater he would have to scale along for a good view of the stage, his utmost priority was seeing you.

To say hello, to kiss with love, to embrace so tight, to adorn with gifts.

Though, with the bustle of actors in the midst of powdering their faces and tugging at tights, orchestra members preparing to saunter out to their seats with instruments in hand, and the overall chaos of stage hands preparing scenery pieces and props, finding your dressing room wasn’t going to be easy, especially with the performance so close to starting.

However, he only managed a couple minutes of searching before a familiar robust and pristine voice called out to him.

"Claude? Is that you?"

Truly, Claude thought he was past the point where people could easily get the jump on him. And yet, he couldn’t hold back his surprise as he turned around with raised brows and a somewhat slack jaw.

Sure enough, with the elegant mane of fiery red hair--tied and tamed into a loose low ponytail--that was the first to catch his eye, he remarked with astonishment, "Ferdinand! Good to see you!" A grin quirking onto his lips, he took a step back as he took note of the duke’s overly embellished yet stylish red waistcoat and a matching black pair of tights and pointe shoes. "I'm digging tonight's look. No trusty horse boots though?"

Releasing a rich chuckle, Ferdinand beamed with pride as his hands rested on his waist, "A good eye, Claude! Though, I’ll happily have you know that I am performing tonight."

While not immediate, somehow Claude felt his smile wane ever so slightly. Still, maintaining his exuberance, he let out an astonished, “Really now?! That’s a surprise to me. Surely the news coverage in Enbarr isn’t so slack that a duke performing in a sold out show would go unnoticed.”

”Surely not!” Ferdinand remarked as he shook his head, a knowing smile on his features. “My inclusion was last minute, as the original male lead injured his leg during rehearsal. It was a great honor to be asked by Professor Manuela to step in as his replacement--like I could ever turn her down while she's in need.” Bringing a hand to his heart, he let out a sigh of nostalgic delight. “I happen to know this show by heart from how many times I’ve seen her perform it all those years ago. Plus to reunite in dance with--"

The moment your name was uttered from Ferdinand's lips, Claude’s shoulders tensed slightly as he immediately inquired, “Not meaning to butt in like so, Ferdinand, but where is she?" Lifting up your bouquet, he continued with a sheepish smile, “Gotta make sure these get into her hands asap.”

It was now Ferdinand whose smile turned from cheerful to reserved. His tone calming down, he answered, "As far as I know, she's still getting ready for tonight’s show.” The look in his eyes turned serious, if not narrowing slightly as he gazed towards Claude. “The last I saw her though, she did not look to be in the best of spirits. She even asked Professor Manuela for absolute privacy unless needed otherwise."

Claude felt hollow. “Did she now...?”

The words of your last letter flashed in his mind, as did memories of days from Garreg Mach. Those nights when the two of you would toe the line of curfew to instead take a stroll by the greenhouse and pond, you expressing your dreams of captivating audiences on a prestigious stage, to spread joy through the art of performance.

His response to your letter was expressing an apology, an honest admittance that he was unsure of how he would be able to take the time to come see your performance.

For someone who always managed to pull off the most inane but effective schemes, how could he have not realized that his absence during such an incredible milestone would leave you upset?

The fine wrapping paper around your bouquet crinkled slightly as he squeezed around the stems.

Noticing the change in Claude’s mood, Ferdinand let out a sigh. “All I will say is that she was hoping that you would show up to watch her. And having heard nothing from you since your last letter, she came to terms that you wouldn’t get to see her at all. This time at least.”

Claude’s lips quirked into a smile, albeit a bittersweet one as he let out a humorless laugh. “I can’t blame her for feeling that way. Though…” Resting your bouquet against his shoulder, he shook his head. “I’m not just gonna sit around and feel sorry for myself. Not when this night is--and should--be about her.”

His gaze shifted towards a nearby hallway, wondering if your dressing room was somewhere down along those walls. “I’m gonna make things right by her, whether I even have a seat or not.” Determination in his voice, he smiled as he raised his hand in a departing wave. “I appreciate the heads up, Duke von Aegir. Be careful when you break a leg out there, alright?” Amused at the thought, he chuckled, “From whatever seat I manage to whip out, I’ll be sure to give you your deserved applause as well.”

"Before you try to bring a wyvern into this sacred space to give yourself a seat, I'd rather you take this, Claude…!” Ferdinand exclaimed, his complexion paling at the idea of any sort of shenanigans occurring with Manuela around. Reaching in his pocket, he quickly withdrew and held out a theater ticket. “This was given to me for any guest of my choosing just moments ago, but it was originally set aside for this single hope that you would be in the audience."

His eyes lighting up, Claude grinned from ear to ear as he cheered, “Ferdinand, if there was ever a reason for me to take up religion, it’d be now!”

With a good-natured chuckle, Ferdinand seemed hardly affronted at his less-than-suave rush to pluck the ticket from his fingers, "It was already rightfully yours, my friend! However, if I may overstep, I would advise you go now to claim your seat, lest someone try to argue it is theirs."

Casting another glance down the hallway, his grip on the bouquet shifted. Though his gut churned at the thought of not getting to seek you out until after the show, the noble had a fair point. Yet, despite his inner conflict, his smile remained charming and untouched as he tucked the ticket into his pocket, fingers brushing against cool metal while doing so, "Right you are. I'd hate to cause a scene--tonight at least."

As the activity backstage picked up and with the ticket now in his possession, he bid his goodbyes before quickly taking off for his seat. There was much on his mind as he thought over what was revealed to him just moments ago, namely how he was going to make it up to you.

While he was already mentally cataloguing all the gifts and experiences he intended on showering and spoiling you with, he knew there was one thing that you wanted most of all.

And him being here at the theater, now seated at the balcony closest to the stage with a full view of the production below as it began, was the first step.

The title of tonight’s show brought back faint memories of Garreg Mach, having been a required read for all students as a means to have them become more cultured in the fine arts of literature. A story of a triumphant hero who sought to protect his motherland from an enemy nation that wanted to scrounge every bit of precious resources from a sacred forest, which was protected by an angelic deity.

Ferdinand eventually dragged himself onto the stage as the hero, looking distressed and weary as he was forced to retreat from battle. His character wandered about as stage hands deftly moved a set of glittering trees and flowers around in tune to the orchestra’s lamenting score.

All up until the composition fell silent before a dreamy melody filled the theater space.

Claude found himself grasping onto the railing, peering forward as a spotlight shone upon the furthest side of the stage.

In but a few moments, you soon stepped forward for your first appearance of the show.

His breath turned still, jaw slacking, eyes widening, heart fluttering.

You looked so radiant and beautiful.

While surely he would always be enchanted by your beauty, you looked so ethereal--absolutely perfect for your role. Your hair lusciously glistening under the lights of the stage, your face painted with make-up that accentuated your features, your body adorned with frills and drapes that would make for a delight to see as you danced.

Even by merely walking, you left him feeling captivated by the grace you exuded with each step.

And all the more guilty that he was not there to support you more than he did in the months leading up to the debut of the show and beyond.

Regardless, as he was already determined to amend anything and everything with you in light of his absence, Claude kept a steady eye on you throughout the performance.

As the plot progressed--with a newfound alliance between your and Ferdinand’s characters--it didn’t take long for him to remember the fact that a romance was woven into the story.

So dedicated to your role, you were able to convey a deep sense of yearning with every shy glance and each flustered sputter made towards Ferdinand, who carried himself with just as much earnest emotion.

Truly, the both of you looked as though you were lost within your own world together, even with asides to the audience, whether by a passionate decree, or a lamentful thought voiced out loud.

At no point did you look to Claude’s direction from where he sat above.

It was to be expected.

He gave you no reason to be hopeful.

Though he marveled at the sight of you carrying yourself so splendidly on stage, his elbows resting on the edge of the balcony while his chin rested upon his steepled hands, the vibrant glint of his emerald irises was more subdued.

For his eyes reflected the sight of you being embraced so affectionately by Ferdinand.

Again, you both were playing your respective roles. The war hero who was destined to fall helplessly in love with the enchanted forest’s deity.

Together, you waltzed amidst sweet, airy chords from the orchestra, Ferdinand’s arm curled around your waist, fingers laced with yours.

Together, you confessed and declared your love towards one another as he embarked for the final confrontation that would either save his country--and thereby the forest you swore to protect--or damn everything to ruin.

Together, as he staggered back from the final standoff only for his battleworn form to be caught within your comforting embrace, you shared a kiss.

And together, you both were ushered on stage for curtain call, boisterous applause welcoming the two of you for your performance.

Without fail, the theater was lively with praise from every patron for tonight’s performance.

Yet somehow, as you stood upon the stage, gazing out towards the audience with an appreciative smile on your face and a look in your eye that conveyed muted joy, one cheer caught your attention.

“That’s my girl!”

A whistle that soared through the air with such distinction, carrying a tone that was as striking as arrows that pierced the skies.

Amidst astonished gasps--was that a horrified “Claude?!” uttered from Lorenz down below?--and curious looks, at long last, you looked towards the balcony.

To him.

From the very moment he saw your head shift towards his direction, he beamed from ear to ear, bringing his fingers to his lips as he whistled once more.

The look on your face wounded Claude’s heart from how preciously surprised it was.

This only made him want to swoop you right into his arms and barrage you with kisses, to make up for lost time, for all the affection he could not physically convey.

And so he quickly took off to do exactly that.

As the audience proceeded to make their leave, Claude used the opportunity to sneak his way backstage once more.

Undeterred by any security who would come to stand in his way nor the near endless wave of cast members and orchestra musicians alike, he hurriedly sought out to find you--as he was certain that you were probably scrambling to seek him out as well.

However, the moment he was able to reach the main lounge area, he soon faced the sight of you, still looking so radiant in your costume.

All while surrounded by a multitude of adoring admirers, namely those of nobility, all of whom were instantaneously recognizable.

As he anticipated, there was Lorenz, singing high praises of your performance while near bathing you with roses. From how much he prattled out his passion for the show and the opportunity to watch the esteemed Mittelfrank Opera, it was more likely than not that he would refrain from bringing up Claude’s outburst.

By his side was a grinning Sylvain, who crooned on your graceful movements and expressed his appreciation for the fit of your dress. He gifted you with a bouquet of red orchids, but not before plucking a short-stemmed one to tuck behind your ear.

And as this occurred, Ferdinand stayed near you. While surely it was to catch up with Lorenz and Sylvain, he hovered by your side protectively as to ward off any bold, intense advancements towards you.

There was a look of overwhelmed but touched awe on your face as you were bestowed by a multitude of sweet words and gifts.

The eagerness in Claude’s smile waned.

And the wrapping paper of his bouquet crinkled slightly further in his hands.

”--with this, it would be best for us both to prepare for the cast dinner celebrating the final show,” Ferdinand hummed with a satisfied smile. “I do hope to see the two of you there. Professor Manuela would be thrilled for a reunion.”

”But of course!” Lorenz declared haughtily with a flick of his silken purple locks. “To miss out on this opportunity would be a disgrace on my nobility.”

Memories from the Officers’ Academy resurging into his mind, Sylvain’s expression became rather tense. “Professor Manuela huh…” Still, his expression soon brightened as he continued, “So long as all those pretty ballerinas are around, I’m game.” His eyes shifting towards you, one closed in a wink. “Especially if you’ll be there, angel.”

”Me?” You repeated curiously right as Ferdinand proceeded to lead you towards the dressing rooms with his arm raised in a polite wave, all while eyeing Sylvain sternly.

”We’ll see the two of you later then!” He remarked, all the while he swore that he saw a familiar flash of golden fabric from the corner of his eyes right as he guided you away.

With the fervor of everyone beginning their celebrations early with champagne and hors d'oeuvres or preparing to leave for the celebratory banquet, you and Ferdinand didn’t get to speak much once he brought you to your dressing room. Before he left to change in his own reserved room, he confirmed the details of the evening’s dinner with you.

Upon his leave, you soon let out a sigh as you took in the emptiness of your dressing room.

For just a moment, Claude was here in this theater, cheering for you at the top of his lungs.

And now he was not.

It almost felt like this was the twist in your dream that would cause for you to jolt up in bed.

There was so much swirling about in your mind and heart, all much too vast for you to even attempt to sort through, especially right before a celebration that called for merriment and bliss.

Not wanting to possibly damper the atmosphere of dinner, you resolved to sort this out upon returning home.

As you prepared to set down your gifted flowers and the like, you noticed that at the very center of your vanity was a bouquet of your favorites.

Astonished, you froze in place as a hushed “Claude?” tumbled from your lips.

“Heheh, now that’s the sound I’ve been wanting to hear.”

And then you heard the door lock.

You were swift to turn around.

There, proceeding to lean right against your dressing room door with a playful twinkle in his eye and a cheeky grin on his lips was none other than your husband.

Though his attire was more Almyran in style, his matured, yet still boyish features now more devilishly rogue by his decision to grow out his beard--one still kept neatly trimmed along his jaw--the man before you was the one to whom you had sworn an eternity with.

Claude.

Just as when you were too stunned to do anything but gawk in awe when he called out to you on stage, you were frozen from the rush of feelings that came surging from within at the sight of him. The indescribable joy of seeing him in front of you after so long, the immense relief that he was able to see you perform at least once, the lingering bittersweetness of his absence.

You didn’t know what to do or say.

He could tell with just a single look.

Still, his tone was light, now especially gentle as he spoke to you while his expression softened. “Something wrong?” He stepped closer, his usual proud stature loosening as he neared you. “I understand if I’m probably the last person you want to see--”

You held up both of your hands.

He felt something prick at his heart.

While you braved a smile on your face, you reassured with a shake of your head. “No it’s fine. I just…” You quickly turned around, your back facing him once more. “Just give me a moment to get out of this, okay?”

The sight of your back only weighed heavier on his heart. While he still played everything off coolly, he craved nothing more than to absolve the tension that was keeping the two of you apart. Though you could hear the grin in his voice, you couldn’t hear the ache in his soul. “A moment to wait for you is nothing. Take your time.”

While he went to mind himself with all there was to see in the room--scripts, costumes, small portraits of Mittelfrank alumni--you proceeded to change out of your dress.

Or at least, attempted to.

Being married, undressing in front of your husband wasn’t what was causing your fingers to tense.

It was this overall situation, this feeling of guilt for being upset over a noble cause, of feeling selfish for a man who just wanted to change the world for the better.

Your love for Claude was undoubtedly there.

But there was a lonely sadness that had lingered for so long nonetheless.,/p>

Which only made it more and more difficult to reach for the hooks and silk ties that held the back of your dress’s corset.

As your focus sunk deeper into the twisted nature of your feelings, this endeavor amidst such a tense situation only caused your body temperature to rise for a myriad of reasons.

But it only took the feeling of warm, calloused hands taking hold of your struggling ones for you to feel a welcome, shivering chill.

Furthered by the heat of breath that fanned over your ear and neck.

“Need some help?”

Standing before your vanity, you gazed at the reflection shown on the mirror, of you and your husband together.

Once again.

You had a feeling of where this moment would soon lead to. While one side was elated for what you foresaw, a part of you was adamant to not allow for your emotions to be swayed and cast aside so easily.

Steadying your voice as best as you could, you reassured, “I-It’s fine. You don’t have to worry about it--”

“I may not have to worry about it, but what kind of husband would I be if I left my pretty wife to struggle?”

His eyes peered at you as he stared at your reflection off the mirror before you, his words murmured just centimeters away from your ear. Though his tone carried some mirth and his lips were quirked in a smile, the usual playful light in his eyes was muted, his emerald irises dark and shadowed.

It was a look of passion.

And of love.

Just for you.

The tension in your fingers weakened within his grasp.

”...I’d appreciate your help then.”

And help he did.

Seeing your costume for the first time up close, he could be forgiven for any fumbling, especially while trying to assist you. Tugging at the top halter tie of your dress revealed a small hook that had to be undone, the tugs of your corset’s strings revealed clasps that his nimble fingers made quick work of.

As he continued to slowly help you undress, he could tell when the heat of his breath ghosting over your bare shoulders and his fingers brushing along your sides made you stiffen or shiver. While he certainly wouldn’t have minded if you shut your eyes in pleasure, what he came to notice was that you eyes were downcast to the floor, instead of staring right ahead to your respective reflections.

And in turn--

“You’re not looking at me.”

He found himself gripping onto the front bow that crossed right over your decolletage, emotions pushing the words past his lips before rationality could retain them in place.

Your eyes suddenly flashed towards the mirror, wide from surprise. “I’m sorry?”

In any other situation, he would have taken a step back to calm himself so he could approach the situation sensibly. But knowing that there was so much hesitation in your heart that you probably felt too guilty to admit, there was just no way that he could refrain.

His other arm curled around your waist as he drew you against him, holding your body close as he rested his chin on your shoulder with a sigh and a bittersweet smile.

“It’s selfish of me, especially to even bring this up as something bothersome. All night, you’ve had your eyes cast elsewhere.” His eyelids closed for a moment as he recalled your performance. “To the audience, to Ferdinand, Lorenz, Sylvain--and now your eyes are looking everywhere besides me, even when I’m right here, holding you in my arms like this.”

While his emerald stare revealed itself once more, he proceeded to bury his face into your neck, lips barely tracing over the delicate skin as he murmured, “But you have good reason to do so. I won’t deny that.”

Lifting his head, he gazed up at you with reverence as your eyes shifted over to look into his. "Actions say so much more than words ever could, and all I want to do is show--rather, to reaffirm the undeniable fact that you are the most important person in my life."

His fingers lingered at the front bow of your dress. From what he could assess, one tug at the fabric would free and expose your chest. As much as he craved to see your skin after so long, he waited for what you had to say.

You were quiet in response, an understandable hesitation given everything that had happened.

Though, he didn’t have to wait for an answer for long, by the way your hand rested comfortably over his and squeezed, all while you stared at him earnestly with the soft but yearning response of, ”Then show me.”

Claude had nothing else to say, but an answer to give.

The kiss he then hungrily planted on your lips was just the beginning.

Upon the dressing room sofa where you would sit upon to read over the script or letters from your husband while steadying your racing heart prior to a performance, there was a flutter within your chest as you were laid upon it with an urgency that was as needy as it was tender.

With all the intricacies of your dress, usually Claude would have loved to take his time tugging and undoing every ribbon and button, a pride in the dexterity of his nimble fingers as he undressed you like he would unwrap a present.

However, at this moment, after so long, he was in no mood for such indulgence. If something had to be torn or ruined, so be it. As king, he could easily offer monetary compensation to the seamstress of your costume --perhaps even commission for more lovely outfits for you to wear.

The orchid that Sylvain tucked behind your ear joined your pile of discarded clothes, with his Almyran garb soon following suit.

For every inch of skin revealed to his eyes, his mouth watered to kiss while his fingers ached to touch. He almost forgot to strip you completely from the moment his lips encircled around your nipples, all while his palms kneaded your breasts. How could he have ever forgotten the sweet warmth of your skin against his nuzzling face?

Your mewls from his attention to your chest reminded him to continue onward. For as much as he wanted to near worship your chest, there was still so much more of you he wished to revere once again. His lips continued their journey downwards, mouth ghosting over your stomach, trailing over your hips. His teeth just barely caught hold of the band of your panties before he tugged them down to your thighs, his hand dragging them off before he spread your legs wide apart.

Beneath the flickering flames of your dressing room chandelier, your naked body was bathed in soft golden light. Even now, fully stripped of your costume of a forest enchantress, you still looked so gorgeously ethereal.

As he thought during his days spent at the Officers Academy to now, you were lovelier than any divine deity.

His gaze shifted down to between your thighs, love and lust clouding his emerald eyes in a haze. Catching sight of the glistening shine of your dribbling core, he let out a groan before hurriedly planting his face down, his lips eagerly parted. Long, skillful strokes of his tongue had you mewling and arching against his head.

He grinned happily to himself. Even after so long, he still knew how to make you squirm by his self-proclaimed golden tongue, whether by its teasing flicks or the utter filth he would murmur to you. The focused pressure of quick circles over your clit to tender suckles had his name pouring out from your lips.

And truly, he did not want to cease. After countless months from having your addictive taste linger on his lips, he was ready to spend the night with his face right between your thighs.

However, it was for that same reason he could not indulge for too long, if by the increasingly aching throb of his cock.

For too long he had been away from you.

It was time at last that the two of you were joined together once again in the absolute most intimate way possible.

Looming above you upon the couch, chest broad and fine with hair, eyes gleaming with need and affection, Claude was settled between your legs. “Fuck,” was the word hissed so sinfully from your husband’s lips as he nudged the leaking tip of his cock against the slickness of your center.

Right as he slowly slid every heavy inch of his dick inside you, his lips sought out yours for yet another kiss. Somehow, for as much as he has kissed you up until now during this evening, he felt like he was still far from having his fill. He just wanted to make up for lost time, to satisfy his present urges, to express all the love he should have been putting more effort with doing so.

His hands cradled your waist as he worked his thrusts into a rhythm. Moderate at first, but hearing your moans and feeling your fingers thread through his hair while your legs curled around his hips encouraged him to start pounding into you. He wanted his name the only thing on your lips, to have his hair pulled and his shoulders near clawed, to have your body cling to him with absolute need.

In-between kisses that become messier, amidst the noisiness of his cock stuffing into your sopping center while his balls slapped against your ass, he still had a coherency as he spoke to you, his words husky but the look in his eyes sincere, "I've had my eyes cast to the future--our future--so much that I forgot how important it was to be with you now--"

A knock at the door.

The call of your name.

”We will be taking off soon. Are you ready to disembark?”

Ferdinand.

You were astonished, your eyes breaking contact with Claude’s to turn to the door. Your lips were about to speak when your husband spoke up, his voice cheeky yet firm.

”She’s not ready yet, but I’ll be the one to take her to dinner, Ferdinand. We’ll see you in a bit.”

Ferdinand’s flustered squawk went unnoticed by Claude, who only continued to hammer his cock into you.

Your gasped “Claude-!” was smothered by his lips with yet another kiss. When the two of you parted for breath, his gaze seized contact with yours as he gruffed out, “Don’t think of Ferdinand. Him, Lorenz, Sylvain--anyone. Just keep your eyes on me, okay?”

You were utterly surprised, breathless as you questioned, “Claude, you-- Are you jealous?”

”I’m your husband,” he clarified with absolute resolution, his grip on your waist slacking to instead give way for his arms caging around you. As his lips readied to claim another kiss from your mouth, he purred, “And I’m going to make that clear.”

He was certain that you would admonish him, whether immediately now or when the two of you were finished. However, seeing as how you were the one to initiate the kiss before he could, followed by your hands releasing his hair to cup his bearded cheeks instead, what he heard you say next was all that he could ever want to hear.

Dazed with pleasure as you were, the love in your voice and on the look of your face was absolute. “As your wife, you better.”

A wide grin soon spread over his lips. “Leave it to me.”

And so the two of you remained joined together. By lips, by skin, by words of affection. Your hips rutted back against his thrusts, his teeth made their presence known on your neck, making sure to leave at least one that would be hard to hide during dinner. It wasn’t long until you were both teetering on the edge of orgasm, you and Claude clinging and holding onto each other amidst it all.

“I’m gonna cum,” he gasped out, shuddering as he readied to draw out. “And unless you wanna get to bearing heirs already then--”

Your legs hugged his hips tighter, a mewled “That’s fine” escaping you.

Claude’s jaw went slack for a moment, just before tightening as a fiery resolve took over him as he proceeded to fuck you even harder, his voice in a low and satisfied growl, “That’s my girl. My sweet girl. Mine…!”

With the cries of each other’s names soon released into the air along with the heavy, hot rush of his seed pouring into you, your bodies soon collapsed back onto the sofa together in a satisfied heap, at last the two of you fully reunited--in body and in soul.

Though you both would have to soon get ready as to not miss dinner, for now, Claude was insistent on hugging you close so he could leave an endless trail of kisses along wherever he saw fit, all while your fingers gently stroked through his messy brown curls. The air was tender and light, any bit of tension and guilt from before completely washed away.

When his mouth met yours yet again, Claude stared at you adoringly, his tone tender as he remarked, “And to think, you’ve just captured the hearts of Fódlan with your talents on stage.” One eye closing in a wink, he grinned. “And you get to do it all over again to your adoring people in Almyra.”

Your head tilted slightly to the side, your expression curious if not confused. “My what?”

Claude froze. “Oh...right. About that--”

How he so very looked forward to spending forever with you.

#claude von riegan #fire emblem three houses #fe3h #reader insert #Fic #super freaknasty writing #management will return in a queue minutes

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jackdawyt · 4 years

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Today I am breakdown down the entirety of 'The Dread Wolf Take You' short story from Tevinter Nights. I'll be plunging into EVERYTHING spoiler-related revolving this tale, so if you haven't already picked up Tevinter Nights, and you'd like to experience this story for yourself, go buy this book and revisit this later.

As I said in my review for Tevinter Nights, to any Dragon Age fan remotely interested in the future of Dragon Age's narrative. This book is a necessity, and a worthy read, trust me on that, it's all worth it simply for this tale.

However, if you'd rather pass up the book for whatever reason, you're in luck because I am analyzing everything in this short story. Enough of that, we've got a lot to talk about, so let's uncover 'The Dread Wolf Take You!'

This tale began in Hunter Fell, just west of Nevarra City, where a dimly lit and conspicuously quiet building laid, called: The Teahouse. An old, hornless Qunari was stood outside, greeting an elf; that would be known as Charter, who entered the establishment.

She wore travelling clothes with a simple cloak and a few daggers sheathed by her sides. She made her way to the bar and told the Nevarran serving her that she came to meet her friends, a party of five. The bar keep said that the room upstairs was reserved for her guests, and that each of them had already arrived.

Charter ordered an Anderfels, Mint Loose Leaf Tea, and the barman oddly recalled if she'd like two sugars, just like last time, which will have been 10 years ago, and many different aliases. She obliged and made her way upstairs, she entered a very large, dim room with a fireplace surrounding four figures in very over-stuffed chairs.

The first figure was an early-middle aged dwarf with a huge black beard. The Carta Assassin. The second figure was a slender man wearing bright silks and a full faced mask with long blonde locks. The Orlesian Bard. The third figure was a pale woman in dark mage robes with staff resting by her chair. The Mortalitasi. And the final figure was covered head-to-toe in dark Vryantium robes with a thin mesh hood, covered with a stench of the ocean. The Executor.

Each of the figures turned to Charter as she entered the room. The Dwarf Assassin noted that she was late, however, the Mortalitasi chimed in and said that, actually, she's arrived just on time. The Executor, who by the sounds of their voice could be either gender, silenced the room, stating that they are each here because they posses a shared interest in the Wolf.

"The Inquisition's Wolf" - The Dwarf Assassin remarked, as he looked at Charter. The Dwarf continued with is doubt that this Wolf is a God, but merely a very old, very powerful elven mage. The Bard jumped in saying, perhaps he's a very young mage. While the Mortalitasi said that he's a demon impersonating an elf.

Once more, The Executor silenced the room. Whatever he is does not concern them, however, his plan and means of accomplishing it, is something that those beyond the ocean do care for.

This was to be a meeting of the best spies of Thedas in one room to share all information on the Wolf, however, The Tevinter Siccari and The Qunari Ben-Hassrath were missing from this gathering. Charter noted that both groups had declined the invitation. The latter is especially disappointing because they had more knowledge of Solas’s movements than anyone else.

Charter opened the floor by sharing her knowledge on the Wolf. The Inquisition knows little about what Solas intends. Much of his research involves the Veil that separates our world from the world of the spirits. He claimed to have created it, and he asked the Inquisition for help activating artifacts to strengthen the Veil. That seemed a possible place to start.

The Dwarf Assassin spoke up, stating that he's only here because Viscount Tethras called in a few favors, however, he didn’t expect to be the best-informed person in the room. The Assassin began sharing his tale on what he knew about the Wolf.

After Meredith went mad with Red Lyrium in her attempts to destroy all of Kirkwall, and Bianca discovered that the thing had the taint. All operations were shut down, after all, Blight is bad for business. Viscount Tethras kept the quarantine in Kirkwall, where Meredith caused so much damage with her lyrium sword, and turned into a blasted statue. If anyone were to attempt to snag a piece of red lyrium from Meredith's corpse, you'd get quite the beating.

The same beating would happen when a Dalish Elf came around asking if someone can get the lyrium idol out of what’s left of the statue. The Elf believed an old legend of his people which spoke of the idol being in Meredith's statue, and if he gets it out, he can free his gods or something like that.

Before the Carta decided to beat the Elf to death, he pulled up a potion and said it would soften the raw lyrium and weaken its magic for a bit, so they could get to the idol inside safely. The Carta tried the technique on regular lyrium, and it actually worked.

The Elf promised to give the Carta the potion, as it could become quite prosperous, and their own weight in gold if they could recover the idol from Meredith's body. And so the Carta decided to.

They sneaked into the quarantined square where Merry the Mad kept watch forever, A couple of the Carta fell over, shaking and whispering, but most of them kept their heads on straight, as they reached the statue. The song in their heads was getting louder, and one of Carta brothers ran off screaming.

They used the potion on Meredith as she opened up, in the middle of her chest revealed the red lyrium idol. It was not much to look at other than two couples hugging, too thin to be dwarves. As they escaped the area, they made it back to their safe house where rogue Templar guards waited and asked for the idol. The Dalish Elf attacked the guards, but was sent to the floor.

The leader of the former templars said that he wanted the potion that changes lyrium, the Carta said they couldn't give it away because the man who knew how to make the potion was on the floor knocked out. The Templar didn't like that, so he tied up the elf, took the chest, and not long after, another man came by. Tevinter, by his clothes, and something about “House Qintara,” he gave the guards a big bag of gold and took the idol.

The rest of the Templars waited for the downed elf to wake up, so they could learn how to create the potion. They slept for a while, still waiting, until they twitched and mysteriously died. Arrows came through the windows and pinned the remaining guards and Carta, one of the arrows hit the Dalish Elf. He died.

The Dwarf Assassin who was telling the story, hid behind the dead elf's body as figures walked towards him. Elves like he'd never seen before investigated the area, no crap on their faces, fancy armour with one of them having a Ferelden accent. They walked towards the dead Dalish Elf's body as they wished his soul away guided by the Dread Wolf.

The Dwarf Assassin ended his story on the note that The Dread Wolf wants that idol, and he’s not afraid to get his hands bloody to get it. He pitied House Qintara, if Solas finds them, well, he hoped that none of them are deep sleepers.

After the group ordered more beverages, the Executor spoke, saying that House Qintara fell with the city of Ventus. The Qunari may posses the Wolf's idol. Charter chimed in, and said that the Inquisition had agents who were there when Ventus fell, the idol was sold or traded to House Danarius.

The Bard spoke up and said that Solas has his own agents, not to mention, the power to kill those who oppose him as they sleep.

The group argued about the validity of the Dwarf's story, the Mortalitasi believed the Dwarf, and had information that supported where the idol went after it left House Qintara. She began her tale on what she knew about the Wolf.

To her understanding, the Mortalitasi allowed a Tevinter mage to visit and perform a ritual. He came from House Danarius, and spoke of his master who had met some misfortune. He asked for their help, that he might change this world for the better. The Antaam, a splinter faction of the Qunari had enraged across Tevinter, seizing their land for the Qun.

The mage who came had a way to drive back the Antaam: he would perform a ritual with the Mortalitasi, directing the course of the Fade against the Antaam, so that every dream, every demon, every half-interested spirit would urge them back to the north, away from humanity. Their resolve would weaken, their invasion would crumble, and all would go back to the way it should be.

They brought the Vint' mage to one of the ritual chambers, deep in the Grand Necropolis. He had brought slaves with him, and an ancient elven artifact, taken from House Danarius before it fell. When he opened the thick chest marked with the Carta’s protective runes - he revealed an idol crafted from red lyrium, which seemed to show two lovers, or a god mourning her sacrifice, depending upon how it caught your fancy.

Twelve Mortalitasi mages brought forth magic, enhanced it with arcane possessions, and focused it upon the idol the Tevinter mage had placed upon the ground before him. He killed the slaves, withdrawing their blood from the sacrifice.

The Tevinter mage raised the idol before him, and a spike of lyrium sprang from the base of the idol, it was not merely an idol, but a ritual blade. He slashed his own hand, and in a flash, their minds were pulled into the raw chaos of the Fade by the power of his ritual.

The Black City shadowed the sky, and all at once a great booming roar was heard. Before the Tevinter mage could complete his ritual, the Dread Wolf arrived.

It was no elf, no mortal mage. It was a beast unlike any ever seen. Lupine in appearance, but the size of a high dragon, with shaggy spiked hide and six burning eyes like a pride demon, and it came on wings of fire that resolved themselves into a horde of lesser demons as the Dread Wolf landed before them. It spoke:

“YOU MEDDLE PAST YOUR UNDERSTANDING, FOOLISH MORTAL MAGES, AND IN DOING SO, YOU THREATEN ALL CREATION.”

The Wolf snapped open its jaws and took the Tevinter mage in an instant as he screamed in terror. It spoke again:

“YOU USE MY IDOL CARELESSLY TO VANDALIZE THE SEA OF DREAMS. NOW FEEL THE PAIN OF WHAT YOU HAVE CREATED.

At once, the mages were back in the Grand Necropolis caverns, its walls shook and cracked, and then a rift of green light rent the ceiling open above, and the demons that had accompanied the Dread Wolf burst into the world in righteous fury, shining warriors with blades forged from the raw Fade itself, and behind them, dimly visible through the crackling light, the shadow of the beast itself, from whose slavering jaws came the final words, roared not in anger, but with quiet contempt. It spoke one more time:

“FROM THIS MOMENT, SHOULD YOU EVER BIND A SPIRIT, THEN YOUR LIFE IS MINE.”

The mages fought off the demons with their lives, one of the fellow Mortalitasi, a noble’s son, sprinted to the body. He seized the idol— its lyrium blade was gone, retracted or shattered, he flung it into the thick Carta chest that had bound its power before. He ran with it, leaving the rest of the mages to die.

The rift closed and the remaining survivors decided to run too, as they sealed the caravan. They searched for the noble’s son and the stolen idol, but he had fled into Tevinter, and with so much of the Imperium in chaos from the war, it was not safe to give chase.

The Mortalistisi mage ends the story on the note that whether he is truly the Dread Wolf of elven myth, she cannot say—it is not uncommon for powerful spirits to be worshipped as gods, as the Avvar do. But what ever fear the name of the Dread Wolf carries, he has earned.

And as clear as the Dread Wolf’s anger at what we had done— the Mortalitasi binding spirits he considered his own, the Tevinter mage using forbidden blood magic— was the feeling that we had disrupted his own work. He intends something for the Fade, and if he wants the idol, then what ever he intends will be terrible.

The Orlesian Bard continued to stir his tea, the Assassin looks over at the Executor saying that he's been very happy to listen, but hasn't offered anything to this meeting. Before the Executor could answer, the Bard raised his hands saying I believe I know where the mage carrying the lyrium idol went next. The Bard began his tale on what he knew about the Wolf.

During Orlais's civil war a lot of coin was lost, in the Bard's profession, he often spent time searching for Orlesian treasures sold or bartered. He was recently asked to recover such a treasure, a ring that once belonged to Empress Celene herself. He traced this ring across Thedas to the neutral city of Llomerryn where an auction occurred.

As he walked through the crowds, plenty of Thedas's influential were gathered here. An Avvar augur laughed loudly at a Rivaini pirate captain’s dirty joke. A soberly clad noble from Starkhaven glared at an auburn- haired elf whose dagger- knot gave her away as an agent of the Qunari spies, the Ben- Hassrath. A Warden- Commander spoke with a woman who was robed and masked, but as he passed her, he recognized the voice of Divine Victoria herself.

The Bard learned that the auburn-haired elf was not the only Ben-Hassrath agent present. She was giving information to others, and out of curiosity at what the Qunari, so averse to magic, might want at an auction such as this, he listened.

The words were in the Qunari language, which the Bard knew only triflingly, but he heard her mention the Siccari. Curious, he followed the servant, a forgettable human man, as he left the elf. The Bard followed.

Finally, he found the other Ben-Hassrath, deep beneath the castle, in tunnels that the auctioneer himself probably did not know existed. They waited for the musicians upstairs to begin playing, and when they did - the Qunari threw a small blade at the pouch and a great door collapsed as they entered.

In the middle of the room, sitting on a satin pillow that rested upon a stone pedestal wrought with protective runework, was the red lyrium idol. Just as the Qunari entered the room, so did another group.

Tevinter Magisters and a Gollum seized the Qunari, they faced each other, the Qunari shouted that the idol is being searched for by a dangerous mage who styles himself the Dread Wolf. He threatens both our people. Leave, and we will have no quarrel with you to night.

One of the Magisters replied saying he is a mage named Solas, and his ritual has already started to affect the Fade. We cannot risk him acquiring this idol and finishing what he has begun.

As they went to attack, the eluvian sprang to life, and as both sides turned, a figure stepped out. An elf in golden armor with a wolf pelt across his shoulder. He looked at them, and his face was empty of all expression.

As one, the Siccari and the Ben-Hassrath turned to flee, screaming in panic. The elf’s eyes blazed once with glowing light, and every one stopped, petrified by strange and terrible magic. Even the golem was living stone no more, its crystals dead and gray as it froze where it stood.

The elf lifted the red lyrium idol from the pillow where it rested. He whispered something as he picked it up, tracing his gloved fingers gently along the crowned figure who comforted the other, but the Bard could not make out the words, for they were elven. Then he turned back to his mirror and stepped through its shimmering border.

A moment later, it was dead and dark again. The idol’s journey is now complete, and it has found its master. He will destroy anyone in his way without regret or hesitation, and what ever he intends, I do not believe we can stop it.

As his story came to an end, the Dwarf Assassin said that’s a good story, but I’d rather hear the truth. The Bard shrieked, I beg your pardon! The Dwarf said he believed he could knife a spy, but tailing a Ben-Hassrath team, no way.

The Mortalitasi added that the Tevinter Siccari are anything but cowards, they would not yield, nor run from an elf walking through a mirror, they would certainly attack.

Charter sighed and said that there are many liars at this table, some more talented than others. I ask for my life. They began to question each others stories, how did the Templars get to the safe house if it was supposed to be a secret? How did the Mortalitasi not know that a Tevinter mage was going to use blood magic.

Charter was quiet, she took a slow sip of tea, and then she quietly repeated - I ask for my life. She looked at the Bard, explaining how she regretted not seeing Solas for what he was when he served the Inquisition. She will regret it forever, and will never make the same mistake again. She exclaimed.

The Bard asked how can you be certain?

And Charter said by observing several small tells, and three large ones. First, that few Orlesian bards would learn to speak the Qunari tongue but not elven, and fewer of those who do not speak elven would know the elven word eluvian, for the mirrors that let the ancient elves travel from place to place. Second, that the Executor has not moved since you touched his hand while he and the Assassin argued. And third . . . that you never drank your tea.

The Assassin and the Mortalitasi turned.

“I know you hate the taste of tea” Charter said softly. “It was a joke around Skyhold. Why would you order it?”

"Because it was a joke around Skyhold,” the man in the dragon mask. He sounded tired. “I was uncertain this costume would suffice, so I did every thing that the Dread Wolf would not . . . except, it seems, bring myself to drink the tea.”

His Orlesian accent was gone, replaced by the rolling lilt that was almost Dalish. The man in the mask stood, sighed, and took the staff from the Mortalitasi statue’s hand.

He turned back to Charter and removed the mask, she saw his face again, just as she had seen it for all those months at Haven and Skyhold, never suspecting a thing. An elf, bald—the golden locks had been part of the mask. An oval face with full lips, and a tiny scar on his brow. Pointed ears, previously hidden under the mask and wig.

“Excellent work on the Executor,” Charter said. “You petrified him, but not his robes.”

“I would caution you in dealing with those across the sea,” he said. “They are dangerous.”

“More dangerous than the elf who threatens the world?” Charter asked, and was rewarded with a twitch of his lips that acknowledged the point. “Why did you come? Why you personally?”

“I wished to know what you all knew,” he said, gesturing at the table. “

There are many of you, and you are not fools. As for me coming in person, the Inquisition was involved.”

He returned to his seat. “Why did you come?”

She shook her head helplessly. “Because you told the Inquisitor that you were going to destroy this world,” she said.

“Did you expect us not to try to stop you?”

He sighed. “It was a moment of weakness. I told myself that it was because you all deserved to know, to live a few years in peace before my ritual was complete. Before this world ended.”

“Then perhaps we are not the only ones you lied to,” Charter said. “You do not have to do this.”

His look pinned her. “I have no choice. What I am doing will save this world, and those like you— the elves who still remain— may even find it better, when it is done.”

Charter considered lying, but then she thought of Tessa, with her quick smile and strong hands. "There are those I care for who would not.”

He smiled sadly. “I know that feeling well. I am not a god, Charter. I am prideful, hotheaded, and foolish, and I am doing what I must. When you report back to the Inquisitor . . .” His voice faltered. “Say that I am sorry.”

He walked away, and Charter remained still until the curtain closed behind him. Then she drank the rest of her tea, her fingers shaking a little. She looked at the dragon mask on the table. Prideful, hotheaded, foolish. Doing what he must. Sympathetic to elves. Said that he was sorry.

The red lyrium idol was of a crowned figure comforting another. It was not much, but it was more than she had known before, she thought. Pulling a small notebook from one pocket, she began to write her report. After all, the Dread Wolf wasn’t going to stop himself.

Oh my goodness, that was absolutely amazing, in an attempt to gather some final thoughts. I've picked out my hot takes from this entire book, that I'd like to discuss. Following the Dwarf's tale first, we've got quite a few things to breakdown:

Solas has a network of agents working for him, many Dalish Elves believe in his cause, and even the Ancient Elves have been acquired for his schemes.

“And now we know that the Dread Wolf has agents working for him,”

The Dalish Elves following Solas believe that he will free the Elven Gods once he acquires the red lyrium idol, they've created a potion that weakens lyrium's effects.

"He’s learned it from a dream. Some old legend of his people says the idol is in her body, and if he gets it out, he can free his gods or something like that."

The Ancient Elves appear bare-faced; having no vallaslin, they equip themselves with fine gear. Some of them speak like normal Fereldens, while others have a hint of a Dalish accent.

"No crap on their face like the Dalish, and they don’t have that little hunch a city elf has, hoping you don’t notice them. They’ve got fancy armor and bows out, and they case the room like professionals. One of them says that the idol must have been moved, and his accent is your normal Ferelden, not like the Dalish, who always sound like they’re talking through a mouthful of toffee."

Solas's agents are chasing down every single source until they find the red lyrium idol, the idol is required for Solas's next phase of action in his attempts to destroy the veil.

"The Dread Wolf wants that idol, and he’s not afraid to get his hands bloody to get it."

Solas can, and has the ability to kill his rivals in their sleep. He or his group of agents killed Carta Dwarves as they slept, which is deemed impossible because they have no connection to the Fade. However, somehow Solas made the Dwarves dream in order to kill them.

“And that he has the power to kill those who oppose him as they sleep.”

The red lyrium idol has been on the wildest goose-chase across Thedas. It was carved out of Meredith's thawed body, sold to Tevinter's House Qintara, then resold to House Danarius, then taken to Nevvara's Mortalitasi for an ultimate ritual, then taken back to Tevinter. Its current whereabouts are unknown if we understand that Solas's tale within the novel was a lie, meaning that he's still looking for it. Perhaps the Qunari have acquired the idol.

"In the middle of the room, sitting on a satin pillow that rested upon a stone pedestal wrought with protective runework, was the red lyrium idol."

The red lyrium idol, still enigmatic as heck, apparently belongs to Solas, or more aptly the Dread Wolf.

“YOU USE MY IDOL CARELESSLY TO VANDALIZE THE SEA OF DREAMS. NOW FEEL THE PAIN OF WHAT YOU HAVE CREATED.”

It means something personal to Solas, more than just an object of power, he cares for it, at least understand what it is. Two couples hugging? A sacrificial en-carving? A crowned figure comforting another?

"He whispered something as he picked it up, tracing his gloved fingers gently along the crowned figure who comforted the other, but I could not make out the words, for I fear they were elven."

Whatever it may be. It belongs to Solas, and he wants it back.

Hence The Dread Wolf Rises teaser title for Dragon Age 4 - Solas has already risen in his Dread Wolf form as malicious and evil as he appears. He is truly haunting and is ready to wreak havoc on Thedas.

"The words battered us like storm winds, and the Dread Wolf’s jaws closed upon the Tevinter mage, snapping him up in an instant as he screamed in terror. The lesser demons rushed down upon us, crackling with fire and lightning and our."

The Dread Wolf has taken residence in the Fade where spirits and demons serve him willingly. If anyone dares bind a spirit to their own will, the Dread Wolf will haunt and kill you, for this is the new law he has declared.

"As the Avvar do. But whatever fear the name Dread Wolf carries, he has earned. While we might visit the Fade, it is his natural home, and the spirits there serve him gladly. They whisper in my dreams now, accusing me of crimes I never."

Binding Spirits and Blood Mage is forbidden under the Dread Wolf's watch. This magic disturbs the ritual he has set in motion for the Fade.

"And as clear as the Dread Wolf’s anger at what we had done— the Mortalitasi binding spirits he considered his own, the Tevinter mage using forbidden blood magic— was the feeling that we had disrupted his own work."

Solas tells his fake tale of how the Bard had witnessed the Dread Wolf acquire the red lyrium idol, though this may not be true, this is true in his story. For instance, Solas shares a very useful insight regarding the Qunari invasion, stating that the Antamm will crush and capitalize over everything east of Vryantium, and northern Antiva as well.

"You all know that the Antaam invaded without permission of the other branches of Qunari government? We had assumed this would hobble them, but it appears the priests and workers were a moderating influence. Without them, the Antaam have crushed the Tevinter opposition in the east, and I fear everything east of Vyrantium will be under their control within a year, and northern Antiva as well."

Solas, as the Bard in the story, shares prominent, influential faces throughout all of the Dragon Age games, like Isabella, Amund the Avvar, Sebastian, Tallis, The Divine, and a most intriguing Warden Commander. Solas knows about all of our previous characters, he's made himself aware of potential threats which could mean that not many characters will be returning as companions in the next game.

"An Avvar augur laughed loudly at a Rivaini pirate captain’s dirty joke. A soberly clad noble from Starkhaven glared at an auburn- haired elf whose dagger- knot gave her away as an agent of the Qunari spies, the Ben- Hassrath. A Warden- Commander spoke with a woman who was robed and masked, but as I passed her, I recognized the voice of Divine Victoria herself."

When the Bard is revealed to be the Solas, it's made aware that before the Executor could share their knowledge on the Wolf, Solas spoke first, and killed the Executor.

"Before the Executor could answer, the Bard raised his hands. “I believe I know where the mage carrying the lyrium idol went next. S’il vous plaît, allow me to continue its tale."

He later called the Executors "dangerous", meaning that they pose a threat to Solas, out of everyone in the room, Solas killed the Executor. They must know something or have something that can rival Solas. Therefore they will be a most worthy ally in the future.

“I would caution you in dealing with those across the sea,” he said. “They are dangerous.”

What was mentioned at the start, was that the Qunari Ben-Hassrath know the most about Solas's movements across Thedas, making them a huge rival against the Dread Wolf, and potentially a grand ally for anyone against Solas.

“As did the Ben- Hassrath.” She grimaced. “The latter is especially disappointing. They had more knowledge of Solas’s movements than anyone else.”

And finally, Solas tells Charter to let the Inquisitor know that he's sorry once more, explaining that he is not a God, he's simply a prideful, hotheaded fool who is doing what he must.

"I know that feeling well. I am not a god, Charter. I am prideful, hotheaded, and foolish, and I am doing what I must. When you report back to the Inquisitor . . .” His voice faltered. “Say that I am sorry.”

That's it for this breakdown on 'The Dread Wolf Take You', there's been so much to uncover and this was just one story in Tevinter Nights. I am working on a separate post/video that will look at everything Tevinter Nights tells us about Solas going forward, so don't worry, the Solas speculation has just begun, I've merely just given you all the facts for now. But there's plenty of tinfoil ahead!

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