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#Post#: 1160--------------------------------------------------
Triple threat
By: Inkglitched Date: February 10, 2026, 6:48 am
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The three were now united, all thanks to Jalal. They would train
for several years, growing stronger until they reached the age
of 18. Though the scars of the past still lingered beneath their
skin, they managed to reclaim what they had once lost.
Ezra regained a sense of independence and choice. Enon
discovered the strength to protect his own life and that of his
siblings. And Eden finally accepted that she and End belonged
together, working toward a deeper understanding of each other.
Eden’s muscles burned as she pushed herself through another
grueling set of drills, sweat plastering her hair to her
forehead. Jalal’s sharp voice cut across the training grounds,
thick with disapproval.
“Enough, Eden! You’re past your limit. You’ll break before you
bend.”
A second voice—her own, yet not hers—spat out,sharp and
insistent. “Keep going. They can’t tell you when to stop.”
“I can handle it,” Eden snapped aloud, panting, the tremor in
her arms betraying her defiance.
Enon, who had been silently observing, finally stepped forward.
His tone was firm, but softer than Jalal’s. “Eden, rest. You’ve
given enough for today. Push more, and tomorrow you won’t even
be able to stand.”
End would turn her head and said.”I said no.” Simple curt.
It was then Enon realized, “End… if you do, I’ll make those
salty potatoes again today.” He said it with the certainty of
someone who knew her well.
End pressed a finger to her chin, making a small, thoughtful
noise. After a few moments, she finally replied, “Fine… make it
two.” With that, she sheathed her blade.
Jalal cast a grateful glance toward Enon as they made their way
to the oasis, where Ezra was busy scrubbing potatoes. The warm
aroma of cornbread drifted through the air, drawing Eden out
with a spark of excitement.
“Tell me we’ve got the gold stuff!” she exclaimed.
Enon sighed. “You mean honey.”
“Whatever—I want that too,” Eden said eagerly, right before
Jalal gently took her hand and slipped off her glove.
“Blisters again,” he murmured, already tending to the raw skin.
The scent of cornbread grew stronger as they settled near the
small fire, the sizzling of potatoes making Eden’s stomach
growl. Ezra brushed the sand from his palms, his gaze sliding
toward the small pile of ingredients at his side.
“Something’s missing,” he muttered, moving aside a jar of salt
and a sprig of herbs. “Could use some fruit.” Said Enon as he
settled by his brother to give a hand with prepping.
Eden’s eyes went distant as she murmured“The apple, how are we
going to get it back..”
Ezra sucked in a sharp breath, his jaw tightening. “I have no
idea- I know whoever has it is going to go mad- it wasn’t meant
for them.”
Jalal turned his gaze to the horizon, where the shimmer of their
abandoned home wavered in the heat. “First things first- once
Ezra is back where he belongs- then we can go for the artifact.”
He said thoughtfully.
Eden leaned back against the sand-worn stone, her eyes
half-lidded, as if listening to some secret carried on the wind.
“Let it fall,” she said, her voice a low hum, measured and sly.
The behavior that let them know that end had came through.”Let
the fae believe that the apple is the core of the place maybe-
Let them lower their guard. Then…” She tilted her head and
smirked, the firelight flashing against the curve of her cheek.
“Then we take it back when they least expect it.”
Eden’s energy returned as she leaned forward. A spark of
excitement rising in her chest. “I like that plan. They can keep
our Heart for now. We’ll finish this meal and make them regret
ever laying a hand on it.” Her grabbing some corn bread and
honey to eat it and lick her fingers after.
The warm scent of sizzling potatoes and sweet cornbread wrapped
around them like a promise. The wind carried the faint, mocking
laughter of distant fae across the dunes—but for the first time
since they were scattered, as their journey home began, Eden
felt certain they would return with the Heart of the oasis and
the Apple of knowledge, and their world would rise again.
Jalal realized what End was suggesting, and he understood that
it meant the rest of them would need to be strong. It revealed
why End was who she was. While Eden was intelligent, End was
strategic—a quality that proved invaluable in times of need.
“We need to give word to the oasis so they don’t do something
reckless,” murmured Jalal.
His nine-tailed fox, Neo, padded to his side, a silent reminder
of the companion he could always rely on.
“Mind delivering it, old friend?” he asked.
Neo responded with a soft, familiar chuff, the gentle sound
carrying a note of reassurance before the fox trotted off to do
his bidding.
Enon’s thoughts drifted to Aziz, the boy he had started to
develop feelings for. He had once planned to confess his
emotions upon returning. Least until after he made sure Aziz was
still safe. After six years of wandering and being apart, he did
wonder if Aziz would still welcome his feelings.
He knew realistically Aziz might not even feel the same. That or
may even change in the last six years. But now it meant they’d
be gone longer. His mouth twitched slightly in frustration
before taking a bite of food.
“Fine—let’s do it that way. If it works, then we can get the
artifact back,” Enon said reluctantly. Then he hesitated, his
brow furrowing. “But… how are we going to get close?”
End slowly turned her head toward Ezra.
“No!” Enon snapped, his voice sharp with anger. “He’s been
through enough!”
End’s lips pressed into a thin line, and she sighed. “It’ll be
convincing if he pops up—maybe even grovels. They won’t hurt
him, not really. They’ll make false promises, keep their focus
on him long enough for us to get the artifact back. Then I can
go get Ezra.”
Enon scoffed, his glare burning. “So you just want to dangle him
like bait? He’s our brother, End! We swore we wouldn’t use him
like that!.”
“It’s the only way, Enon,” End said quietly but firmly. “If we
don’t take the chance, we lose everything.”
Enon shook his head, fists clenched. “And if we take it, we
might lose him. I can’t—no, I won’t gamble Ezra like he’s
expendable.”
For a moment, the siblings stared at each other, the weight of
the plan hanging between them, neither willing to back down.
Ezra cut in sharply, his voice carrying over the last of Enon’s
words. “Enough—I agree with you, but only to a point,” he said,
leaning forward, his expression tightening. Enon immediately
began to protest again, hands raised in frustration, but Ezra’s
gaze was unwavering. “Tell me, Enon,” he muttered, his brow
furrowing into a grumpy frown, “do you think I’m weak?”
"I—I don’t… I don’t think I am," Enon stammered, his voice
catching as though the words were rocks he had to climb over. He
swallowed hard, eyes flicking away, then back. "But you are too
important. You are an oasis binder. We can’t risk… we can’t risk
losing you." He said as he affirmed back.
Jalal watched the discussion unfold and released a slow sigh.
“This… this feels like a last-ditch effort,” he said carefully.
“I’ll try to resolve this diplomatically myself—”
“Diplomatically?!” Enon cut in, his voice sharp. “You want to
talk to the very ones who invaded us?”
Jalal met his gaze, unflinching. “If we maintain the appearance
of civility, it gives us leverage. We might pressure them into
acting like they had a troop defecting and going against their
national interests.”
Eden tilted her head to the left her mouth carrying the faintest
twitch of curiosity. “And if it fails… what then?” Her voice was
soft, almost casual, yet it carried the sharp edge of challenge.
Jalal’s grin flickered, cold and thin. “Then we handle it,” he
said, his tone like oil on water. “By any means necessary.”
Eden leaned back, arms crossing as silence settled between them
her body language shifting. Her gaze lingered on him, weighing,
measuring. Slowly, deliberately, a smirk curved her lips—silent,
but unmistakably clear.
“Then I’ll handle it.” Said end in a chilling way.
“No we will.” Said Enon with heat in his own tone.
They spent the next hour gathering what little they needed for
the long journey ahead. Eden slung a weathered satchel over her
shoulder, while Enon checked the straps of his belt with anxious
precision. Jalal moved with deliberate calm, his hands steady as
he packed the scrolls and sigils he might need for negotiation.
The air was heavy with unspoken tension, but their movements
were methodical, purposeful.
Before they departed, Jalal addressed them both, his voice firm
but measured. “We will handle this diplomatically. They won’t
risk touching us in public—not with four of us together and the
weight of what we represent. We maintain control by making them
play by their own politics.”
Enon grunted, clearly unconvinced, but said nothing more. Eden’s
smirk returned, faint and fleeting, as she adjusted the blades
at her belts.
The journey was long and quiet, the landscape shifting from
sun-bleached dunes to the shadowed edges of the fae lands. When
the first hints of silver mist curled across the path, Jalal
slowed, raising a hand. Beyond the twilight haze, spires of
crystalline trees and shimmering flora marked the border of the
fae domain.
A guard emerged from the jungle edge, his colorful armor in
stark contrast of the green of the forest. He regarded them with
a mix of caution and curiosity. Jalal stepped forward, bowing
just enough to convey respect without submission.
“We request an audience with Queen Nile,” he said, his voice
carrying the cool authority of someone who expected to be heard.
The guard’s eyes lingered on each of them in turn, as if
measuring the weight of their presence. After a pause, he gave a
curt nod and gestured for them to follow, deeper into the heart
of the fae lands.
As the group approached, the massive tree loomed over them, its
bark and branches shaped carefully into turrets and balconies,
resembling a living castle. The entrance was flanked by luminous
vines that pulsed faintly with energy, a testament to the
technologically advanced society that called this arboreal
fortress home. Sleek earpieces glimmered on their ears, quietly
feeding them streams of communication and data as they ascended
the natural steps into the palace.
Inside, the air was hushed, filled with the scent of moss and
polished wood. Adan, Nile’s grandson, stood near his
grandmother, his voice low as they shared words meant only for
family. She nodded, and after a brief moment, he was sent on his
way.
Eden’s eyes caught on a raven-haired man making his way out, his
eyes curiously taking them in.
Every instinct in her spine straightened, and she shifted into a
stance that mirrored Enon’s protective nature. Her gaze flicked
toward Ezra, the ‘prince,’ and she silently reaffirmed her role
as his shield. Jalal, ever the negotiator, hung back a pace,
ready to speak if tensions rose. Between them, the living palace
hummed quietly, waiting to see what this meeting would bring.
"Welcome, honored Terranian guests! I am delighted to greet you
in my realm. Have you managed to slip past those who dared to
defect from my kingdom? I trust your journey was unimpeded…” she
murmured softly.
Ezra exhaled slowly and said, “Indeed. They attempted to
separate me from my kin and stole a very important relic—the
Apple of Knowledge.”
Nile shifted in her throne, deep in thought, before finally
speaking. “We may have the apple,” she said slowly, “but
confirmation must come from Ezra himself. However, I advise that
he come alone—without his guards or negotiator.”
Eden’s voice cut in, calm but firm. “You know that separating
Ezra from his retinue would be considered an act of war.” She
remained stoic, her gaze unwavering.
Nile scoffed, her lips curling into a faint sneer. “A guard
speaking out of turn?” she said, her tone dripping with disdain.
Before the silence could grow heavy, her grandson leaned
forward. “Grandmother,” he said, voice steady, “that is no mere
guard. She’s the Oasis Champion—the very one I read of in the
chronicles.”
Nile’s expression flickered for just a heartbeat before she met
Eden’s gaze again. “Even so—she is merely acting in accordance
with their prince. In this manner, she should be respectful,”
she said, just as Jalal interjected.
“As she should,” Jalal agreed, “but she does make a point. If we
were to ask you and him to go alone, with no guards, would you
agree?”
At last, Nile yielded to Jalal’s common-sense reasoning,”fine-
just one of you.. but not *her*” she said as Eden set her jaw in
a manner of someone not pleased.
Adan, wanting to diffuse a situation that could easily escalate,
offered, “I could… show Eden around? Just so she’s not lingering
idly.”
The woman turned her head toward him, tilting it first to the
left, then to the right, as if weighing his intentions.
Nile’s lips parted, ready to object, but before she could speak,
the woman said smoothly, “I will accept if Jalal and Enon go
with Ezra.”
Eden felt her chest tighten with a curious flutter. She glanced
at Adan, catching the faintest spark of something in his
eyes—kindness, or maybe mischief. Why did that make her pulse
quicken? She didn’t know him, not truly, and yet the idea of
walking beside him stirred a quiet thrill. Maybe, she thought,
this day wasn’t going to be so dull after all.
Adan made a subtle gesture to his guards, signaling for them to
follow but keep a respectful distance. With that, he turned
toward Eden, his posture impeccable as he offered a courteous
bow.
“If you are ready, Champion Eden,” he said smoothly, his voice
carrying the quiet warmth of genuine welcome, “what would you
like to see first? There is much to choose from. Perhaps the
great library, where ancient tomes are kept safe from the
passing of time. Or the waterfalls—our oldest and most sacred
natural landmark. Or…” A hint of a smile curved his lips, “you
may prefer to visit our stables and animal sanctuary grounds. We
house many exotic and rare creatures there, some found nowhere
else in the realm.”
As they began to walk side by side, their steps echoing softly
against the marble floor, Adan kept his pace measured. The
eastern doors loomed ahead, sunlight spilling through tall
stained-glass windows that painted the hallway with vibrant
colors.
From what he’d learned of her through reports and the accounts
of others, Eden was not someone easily impressed by ornate rooms
or finely painted murals. His grandmother might have filled the
castle with glittering displays of wealth and artistry, but such
things would not hold Eden’s interest for long. She was a wild,
restless spirit—curious, bold, and deeply connected to the
natural world. She had a strong kinship with animals, a bond
that went beyond mere affection.
The heavy doors swung open as they stepped outside, a rush of
warm, fragrant air greeting them. The sounds of the courtyard
drifted over: distant voices, the flutter of birds, the rhythmic
thud of hooves—or paws.
Adan’s gaze flicked to the side just in time to see a sleek
shadow dart across the sunlit path. A great black leopard
emerged from between the trees, its coat gleaming like polished
obsidian. The powerful creature moved with a predator’s grace,
its muscles rippling under its smooth fur as it loped past at an
easy run. Upon its back sat a striking rider—a dark-skinned
woman with short, braided hair and piercing gold eyes. She wore
light armor patterned with green and bronze, designed for speed
and agility in the dense jungle.
As she passed, the woman gave Adan a respectful bow of her head,
her eyes briefly meeting his before turning to Eden and doing
the same. Her leopard mount rumbled a deep, guttural sound that
seemed almost like a greeting. Without breaking stride, they
vanished down the path toward the stables.
Adan couldn’t help but glance at Eden, curious to see her
reaction. A faint note of pride colored his voice as he
explained, “That was one of our elite jungle guards, a warrior
sworn to protect the sanctuary and its borders. The leopard is
her soul-bonded mount, Syon. They share a link so deep they can
speak telepathically. Rider and companion move as one, each
anticipating the other’s thoughts and needs.”
He let the moment linger, allowing Eden time to absorb the
sight, before continuing with a small, knowing smile. “The
sanctuary is full of such bonds. If that is the path you choose
first, I think you will find it… illuminating.”
Nile sighed softly before ultimately accepting the presence of
the other men, taking her own guards with her as she walked
away. Enon lingered for a moment, exchanging a glance with Eden.
Though their eyes were hidden, their body language alone
conveyed a clear message: “Be careful.”
Her legs swung with purpose and grace as she walked toward Adan,
each step carrying the subtle sway of her feminine allure, a
rhythm of confidence wrapped in quiet sensuality. The way the
words rolled off his lips, he was captivating. “You can just
call me Eden- champion is just a formality.” She said with a
chuckle.
She made a noise of thought her body language shifting to that
of thinking. Her hand playing with the drape of her mask. It
would pause at the sound of natural things- her head slowly
turning at the sound of animals and beasts.”That sounds like
something I’d be highly interested in.” Said Eden with a half
formed smirk.
The feeling of being outdoors felt more free, and less stifling.
Even with as large as it was- walls were restricting and Eden
never liked that. Her face turned to witness the world, tilting
in ways that aroused the guards’ curiosity. No one realized that
the champion embodied duality. End always lingered in Eden’s
shadow, a quiet presence. Yet it revealed itself in her own
subtle ways.
Her head jerked toward the darting shadow, her body coiling
instinctively near Adan, poised to spring if attacked. She would
slowly relax as the leopard would emerge, her lips parting a
little. While the woman was impressive- the overwhelming urge
to pet the cat was lingering inside.
She murmured in amazement, “Impressive—especially the cat. Who
would have known such a creature could be the one to greet? And
so jealous! I’d love to have that sort of connection to an
animal.” She said softly.
Her head shifted subtly toward Adan, tilting first to the left
and then to the right.
“I think we should go that path then..,” Eden said.
“Lead the way, your majesty,” she replied softly.
“As you wish, Eden. And please,” Adan said, his smile warm and
sincere, “call me Adan.”
It was a rarity to hear his name spoken without titles, and
something about it felt oddly refreshing—liberating, even. Most
addressed him as Your Majesty or Prince, wrapping every word in
layers of formality and expectation. Eden, however, seemed
unbound by such constraints, and he found he rather liked that.
He took a moment to observe her as they began walking side by
side. Her movements were unlike the demure and calculated grace
of the ladies of court, who seemed trained to float rather than
walk. Eden’s stride was purposeful, confident, with a natural
rhythm that spoke of freedom rather than restriction. Even
though she was on the shorter side, he didn’t need to slow his
steps much, and that in itself was a pleasant surprise.
Adan’s smile brightened at the subtle shift in her demeanor as
they stepped outdoors. He could practically see the tension
leaving her frame, like a bird slipping free of its cage. Her
reaction to the sudden appearance of the great black leopard had
been instinctive and fierce—her body coiling, ready to defend.
It had nearly sent his guards into action, but he had quickly
motioned for them to stand down.
The guards exchanged uneasy looks but obeyed instantly, melting
back into position like well-trained shadows.
“Don’t be fooled by that greeting,” Adan said softly, his tone
laced with both respect and warning. “Syon is still wild, as
untamed as the jungles he roams. He comes and goes as he
pleases. The bond he shares with his rider is not one of
control, but of trust. In many ways, they are two halves of the
same spirit.”
The pathway curved gently beneath a canopy of flowering vines.
Sunlight dappled the ground, filtering through broad emerald
leaves. Before long, the sweet, heady fragrance of blossoms
surrounded them, mingling with the earthy scent of moss and damp
soil.
A cluster of flowering bushes came into view, their petals a
riot of colors ranging from deep violet to fiery orange. The air
above them shimmered with motion. At first glance, it looked as
though countless butterflies flitted about, their wings catching
the light like fragments of living jewels.
But then Eden would notice the truth—some of those delicate
shapes weren’t butterflies at all. Tiny pixies, no larger than
her hand, zipped and twirled among the blooms, their gossamer
wings gleaming faintly with magic. They giggled in bell-like
voices as they played, weaving in and out of the petals.
Two bold pixies suddenly darted forward, hovering before Eden
with wide, curious eyes. They exchanged a series of high-pitched
chimes that sounded like laughter, then held out a small, shiny
object—a smooth bauble of glass and crystal, clearly something
they had found and decided to gift.
Adan’s smile softened as he watched. “They’ve taken a liking to
you,” he explained, his tone amused. “Pixies are collectors of
beautiful things. If they gift you something, it’s a sign of
deep respect.”
From there, the sanctuary grew livelier. The distant rustle of
movement turned into the raucous calls of brightly colored
birds. Flocks of parrots swooped overhead, their feathers
flashing red, blue, and gold in the sunlight. Smaller songbirds
darted between branches, filling the air with trilling melodies.
A trio of curious monkeys swung down from nearby trees, watching
the pair with bright, mischievous eyes. One hung upside down,
chattering noisily as though sharing some private joke.
Eden’s laughter—or perhaps her smile—seemed to encourage them,
and soon the little creatures were bounding from branch to
branch, showing off with exaggerated flips and dramatic leaps.
Adan chuckled, shaking his head. “They’re harmless,” he assured
her, though his voice carried an affectionate note. “Mostly.”
As if on cue, a faint rustling came from Adan’s pocket. A small,
scaled head peeked out—its skin patterned in shades of emerald
and gold. A tiny lizard climbed up onto his shoulder with slow,
deliberate movements, curling its tail comfortably around the
fabric of his collar.
“Ah, and here is Snips,” Adan said, his voice warm with genuine
fondness. “I was wondering when you’d wake up.”
The little creature blinked at Eden with intelligent, unblinking
eyes before letting out a soft trill, as if greeting her.
“He doesn’t speak telepathically,” Adan admitted with a laugh,
“but I assure you, he understands far more than he lets on.”
Snips flicked his tongue and made a low chirring sound, clearly
pleased to be included.
Adan glanced at Eden, his expression bright with quiet pride.
“Welcome to the sanctuary, Eden. This is only the beginning.”
Eden’s lips curved into a smile as she accepted the sparkling
bauble from the bold little pixies.
“Thank you,” she said softly, her voice laced with wonder. The
pixies’ laughter chimed like tiny bells in response, and she
couldn’t help but laugh with them, the sound unrestrained and
light.
She lifted her face to Adan, her smile bright her body language
showing awe. “I’ve never seen anything like this, least not in
the desert to this magnitude.”she admitted, her words
half-whispered as though afraid to disturb the enchantment of
the moment. “It’s… breathtaking. The sanctuary, the creatures…
all of it feels alive - like the beasts near the watering
hole..”
Her attention flicked to the little lizard perched proudly on
his shoulder, and she tilted her head, delight sparking in her
expression. “And Snips,” she murmured with a grin, “I think he
likes me.” She extended a tentative hand, letting the tiny
creature sniff her fingers if he so wished.
The air was thick with the perfume of blossoms and the trill of
birdsong, and Eden tilted her head forward briefly, letting it
all wash over her—the warmth of the sun, the hum of magic, and
the peaceful rhythm of life around her. It was as though the
weight she hadn’t realized she carried had been lifted, replaced
by a sense of belonging she hadn’t expected to find.
“Thank you for bringing me here, Adan,” she said at last, her
face turning to meet his gaze with quiet sincerity. “Just too
bad I can’t stay here forever..” she murmured softly.
Her lips seemed to purse a little as her head moved some.”so
you’ve read about me?.. you read a lot?” She asked as she moved
to a spot where a money had come down. Her arm going out to let
the monkey hang on for a while for her to chuckle.
Adan watched with quiet fascination as Eden accepted the
sparkling bauble from the bold little pixies, her lips curving
into a radiant smile. The tiny creatures twirled and spun in
midair, their laughter like chiming bells that harmonized with
the whispering leaves around them. One pixie performed an
exuberant backflip, wings shimmering in the sunlight.
“That,” Adan said, his own smile deepening, “is their way of
saying you’re welcome—and that they find your laugh beautiful.”
He savored the sight before him: Eden’s laughter unrestrained
and wild, perfectly at home amidst the magic of the sanctuary.
It wasn’t often someone moved so naturally among the wonders of
this place.
When Eden lifted her face toward him, her expression bright with
wonder, Adan felt a stirring of warmth in his chest.
Adan inclined his head, his eyes softening with understanding.
“I’ve never been to the desert,” he confessed. “But I imagine it
holds its own wonders, things I couldn’t even picture. Perhaps
one day you’ll show me those lands in return.”
There was a wistfulness to his tone, a quiet longing to
experience a freedom he seldom knew.
Adan chuckled, watching Snips lean closer, his golden-green
scales catching the light.
“I think you’re right. He’s usually very shy. Most people are
too loud for him, so he hides under my collar or in my hair. But
he seems to have decided you’re safe.”
Adan’s heart warmed at the sight.
“Yes,” he admitted, cheeks tinting faintly as he gave a small
nod. “Reading is my window to the world. I’m… not allowed to
stray far, so books give me a kind of freedom I wouldn’t
otherwise have. I probably read more than most.”
His gaze flicked away, almost bashful, before returning to her.
“That’s how I learned about you. I wanted to understand the
Champion I would be meeting.”
Before Eden could respond, a shift in the light caught her
attention. A broad shadow swept across the path, dimming the
vibrant colors of the jungle for a heartbeat.
Adan’s guards stiffened immediately, hands going to weapons as
their eyes scanned the sky. A ripple of tension surged through
the group, the easy calm of moments before shattered.
Adan’s hand lifted in a calming gesture, his voice smooth but
authoritative.
“No need for alarm,” he said, glancing skyward.
High above the treetops, an immense shape glided gracefully
through the air. Sunlight glinted off metallic wings and sleek
hull plating, its form casting a long silhouette over the
sanctuary. The vessel was like a floating city, intricate runes
glowing faintly along its sides.
“It’s one of the flying ships,” Adan explained, a faint smile
tugging at his lips as he saw Eden’s wonder. “They often pass
over the sanctuary, though the captains know better than to land
on the sacred trees.”
The ship banked slightly, catching the sunlight in dazzling
patterns before soaring onward, its engines emitting a low,
resonant hum like a distant heartbeat.
Turning back to Eden, Adan’s eyes gleamed with quiet excitement.
“Would you like to see one up close?” he asked, his voice low
and inviting. “If you wish it, I can take you aboard. There’s
nothing quite like standing on the deck, looking down at the
jungle below.”
Snips made a pleased little trill as though adding his
agreement, curling tighter around Adan’s collar as if ready for
adventure.
Eden’s gaze lingered on the sparkling bauble in her hands, the
gift from the pixies still warm with their cheerful energy. She
let her fingers trace its smooth surface, then lifted her eyes
to Adan, her expression brimming with gratitude and delight.
“They’re… incredible,” she said softly, her voice carrying a
sense of awe. “I’ve never seen anything like them. It feels like
they understand me, somehow.”
She laughed, the sound light and unrestrained, mingling with the
music of the forest. “If they think my laugh is beautiful, I
suppose I should thank them properly.” Eden tilted her head
toward the pixies and gave them a playful, melodic trill of her
own. The tiny creatures responded with a flurry of acrobatics,
and she clapped her hands in delight.
Turning to Adan once more, mouth twitched with curiosity. “I
would love to see one up close,” she said, her voice steady but
tinged with wonder. “I’ve never even imagined what it might feel
like to stand on a ship soaring above the jungle. Mean- I got my
wind tuning and I can keep airborn- but a ship is another
thing.” She said softly. “Flight is such.. a free thing.” She
murmured some as she let the monkey back on the branches.
Her fingers tightened gently around the bauble, as if anchoring
herself in the moment. “If things go well with my brother and
jalal.. maybe sometime, I can show you the desert,” she added
with a warm smile. “It’s quieter than this place, but it has a
magic of its own. I think you’d understand.”
Snips’ trill drew her gaze, and Eden reached out a tentative
hand, her smile softening.
“So how do we see one up close?… “ she asked as she watched the
ship continue its course.
Adan’s gaze softened as he watched Eden cradle the tiny bauble
in her palm with reverence, her expression almost childlike in
its wonder.
“If you’d like,” he offered gently, his voice carrying the
warmth of sincerity, “I can have it fashioned into a necklace or
perhaps a ring for you to wear.” His lips curved into a small,
knowing smile. “Gifts like these often carry luck and magical
blessings with them. It would keep that charm close to you—and
serve as a reminder of this moment.”
Eden’s fingers closed protectively around the bauble, and Adan
could see how much it meant to her. It made his chest tighten in
an unfamiliar way.
When she mentioned how the pixies seemed to understand her,
Adan’s expression turned thoughtful.
“They probably understand you more than you realize,” he
murmured. “Pixies… they don’t just see the surface the way
mortals do. They don’t care about masks or appearances.”
His golden-brown eyes flicked briefly to Eden’s face, lingering
a heartbeat too long.
“They see the inner side of a person—the true self that most
people hide. And they react to that.”
Eden trilled a soft, melodic note of sound, almost like an
instinctive hum of joy. The effect was immediate.
The hairs on the back of Adan’s neck rose, a shiver racing down
his spine. His breath caught, heart hammering wildly in his
chest. From the corner of his eye, he saw his guards stiffen
slightly, their faces subtly shifting, as if they too had felt
the same inexplicable thrill.
When Eden turned to look at him again, Adan forced himself to
inhale slowly, grounding himself in the familiar scent of jungle
flowers and warm earth.
“Ah… well,” he said, his voice slightly strained but warm, “it
is quite… an experience.”
But then her casual mention of wind tuning struck him like a
lightning bolt. Adan’s head tilted sharply, eyes widening, his
lips parting in open astonishment.
“You’re a tuner?” he breathed, excitement breaking through his
usual calm. “That’s… that’s incredible.”
He laughed softly, almost in disbelief. “I’ve read about tuners
my whole life, but I’ve never actually met one.” His expression
was alive with curiosity, though he tempered it with care.
“There are so many questions I’d love to ask you,” he admitted,
“but I don’t want to overwhelm you.”
His tone softened, warm and protective. “We have time.”
Eden gave him a small, enigmatic smile, and Adan felt an almost
magnetic pull toward her. He quickly looked ahead, clearing his
throat as he gathered his composure.
“If need be, I can work on softening my grandmother’s stance,”
he added, his voice dropping to a quieter, more serious note.
“She… is not the most open person in the world. But she respects
strength and resolve. I’d like her to see what I see.”
He offered Eden a tentative, hopeful smile. “And one day, I’d
like to see the desert with my own eyes.”
A sudden trill from Snips broke the moment. The tiny lizard
crawled closer along Adan’s collar and boldly brushed his
smooth-scaled face against Eden’s fingers, as though claiming
her.
Adan laughed, genuine and warm. “He’s definitely a big fan of
yours,” he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
Before Eden could reply, one of the guards stepped forward,
giving a respectful bow.
“Your Majesty, if you’ll allow me,” the guard said, voice
steady, “I’ll go fetch some horses. It will make the trip to the
docks far quicker.”
Adan nodded approvingly. “That would be appreciated, Aeon.”
With another bow, Aeon and two others broke away, heading toward
the stables at a brisk pace.
As the group resumed walking, Adan shifted closer to Eden’s
side, his voice lowering just for her.
“Since we’re passing the stables anyway… would you like to see
something special? There’s a new litter of kittens. They’ve just
opened their eyes.”
A boyish grin tugged at his lips. “They’re small enough to fit
in your hands, and their mother is quite proud. She actually
seems to enjoy showing them off.”
Eden’s eyes brightened, and Adan chuckled softly at her unspoken
excitement.
The earthy, comforting scent of hay and warm animal musk filled
the air as they approached the stables. Birds fluttered in the
rafters, and somewhere deeper inside came the low, steady
breathing of horses at rest. The stablehands straightened at
Adan’s approach, bowing deeply before retreating to give him and
Eden privacy.
The sound of tiny, squeaky mews drifted from a cozy corner of
the stable. A sleek, silvery-furred cat reclined on a pile of
clean straw, her green eyes bright with pride. Three tiny
kittens tumbled around her paws, their fur so soft and downy
they seemed more like living clouds than animals.
She smiled warmly at Adan, her eyes soft with affection. “A
bracelet would be best,” she said, her voice light. “Rings are
so easily lost, and necklaces… well, to me they’re just another
way for the enemy to choke me.” She gave a small, knowing shrug.
“That’s why I prefer bracelets.”
She blushed softly at his words, her thoughts lingering on the
importance of the inner self. “Well, that’s good,” she said with
a mild smirk, “maybe with the pixies showing I have a good
heart—maybe Queen Nile will be more willing to accept me?” She
said before chuckling.
Eden’s eyes lit up at the guards mention of the horses, a spark
of curiosity and wonder threading through her expression.
Eden spoke with a quiet confidence, her voice carrying the
resonance of someone deeply in tune with the world around her.
“I am a tuner by nature,” she began, face turning to Adan, her
eyes faintly glowing just enough beneath the mask she wore. “It
comes naturally to me because of my Terranian origins. Where I
come from, harmony is more than just a concept—it’s a way of
life. We feel the pulse of the land, the rhythm in every stone
and stream, and we learn to align ourselves with it. Tuning is
not a skill I acquired; it’s who I am.” Said Eden honestly.
“Wind is my most natural element- guess that’s why I tend to be
seen as wild sometimes.” She admitted.”in time I should be able
to be on my own journey to master all the elements.. mean- I’m
not a champion for nothing.” She said as she walked.
“I would love to ride,” she said warmly, her voice carrying an
airy excitement. “I know the paths that lead to the desert… some
of the horses there can fly when the wind favors them, I know
there are some without wings, but their beautiful all the same.”
A soft laugh escaped her lips, light and musical. “It would be a
welcome as much walking as we’ve done over the years.” She said
as she fell into step.
But when there was a mention the kittens, Eden’s entire
demeanor brightened, and she clasped her hands together in
excitement. “Oh, yes, please! I’d love to see them,” she said,
her tone bubbling with genuine enthusiasm.
She followed eagerly toward the stables, every step brimming
with anticipation, her gaze darting as though she could already
hear the soft mews calling her name.
She would look them over with her hands gently picking one
up.”hello.” She said softly, before promptly sitting down. The
woman cared not if she got dirty, she was use to living a
certain way for the past six years since they were separated
from the oasis. “You must be a proud mama.” She murmured to
stroke the mother cat if she allowed.
The faces of the guards and their glances she ignored. Her head
slowly shifting.”I know what you’re thinking- but remember our
differences between you and us desert folk- is not being shy
about certain things.” she said with a chuckle.
“If I could have one I’d take one- but given circumstances-
can’t have pets.” She said with a sigh.
Adan nodded at Eden’s preference for a bracelet, understanding
immediately.
“I don’t see much action myself,” he admitted with a small,
self-deprecating laugh, “but I should have known better. A
necklace could be used against you in a fight.”
Her pragmatic response impressed him, another reminder of how
different she was from the sheltered women of the court.
When she spoke of the pixies, a realization struck him. His
grandmother might be rigid in her views, but the fae revered
signs from magical creatures. If the pixies had shown Eden such
open favor… it could change everything.
“I’ll make sure to mention that they’ve taken a shine to you,”
Adan said thoughtfully. “It might help soften her judgment. My
grandmother has her…” he hesitated, searching for a diplomatic
word, “…opinions on how women should act in society. That
doesn’t mean those views are universal—or right.” His voice
warmed, his tone earnest. “It would be good for her to see
another way.”
Eden’s explanation of her nature and lineage held him
spellbound. The way she spoke of being attuned to the land, of
balancing herself with the natural world, struck a chord deep
within him.
“I’d love to hear more about it, if you feel up to sharing
later,” he said sincerely.
When she mentioned her dream of becoming a master of all the
elements, his eyes lit up like twin suns.
“That would be an extraordinary feat. From what I’ve read, there
are very few who’ve ever accomplished such a thing.” His lips
curved with a sheepish grin. “I can get… well, obsessed with
certain topics. Master tuners are one of those fascinations of
mine.” He chuckled softly, almost boyishly. “I still have far
too many unanswered questions.”
Their conversation drifted toward animals again, and Adan smiled
at her description of both regular and winged horses.
“They are all majestic in their own ways,” he agreed. “I’ve
never seen a flying horse up close. They don’t roam wild here in
the jungles anymore.
But I’ve read that they were once plentiful in Audora—the
floating kingdom. Imagine what it must have been like to look up
and see them soaring among the clouds.”
As Eden cradled one of the tiny kittens, Adan found himself
unable to look away. There was something almost magical about
the way her entire demeanor softened, her wild spirit quieting
into a warm, protective calm.
“She likes you,” he murmured, voice hushed with reverence.
“Animals tend to recognize kindred spirits—even ones this
small.”
The mother cat purred, low and approving, while the other two
kittens tumbled and squeaked at her side. Adan knelt beside
Eden, careful not to intrude on the tender moment.
“They were born three days ago,” he explained softly. “Two
females and a male. We’ll care for them until they’re old enough
to be bonded—or until they choose to live free in the
sanctuary.”
Snips, who had been perched quietly on Adan’s shoulder, peeked
down and let out a curious chirp. One of the kittens turned its
tiny head toward the sound, then sneezed adorably, making Eden
laugh.
Adan’s rich chuckle joined hers. “It seems Snips has some
competition,” he teased, reaching up to scratch the little
lizard’s chin.
His gaze lingered on Eden, and his voice softened, becoming
almost tender.
“You seem… lighter here, as if the weight you carry is lifted
when you’re surrounded by them.”
Eden’s eyes met his, and for a heartbeat, the stable seemed to
fall silent except for the rhythmic purr of the mother cat.
Adan’s smile deepened, warm and genuine. “I don’t mind your
differences at all. In truth, I rather like them—especially your
heart for animals.” His tone took on a playful note. “I suspect
one day you’ll have your own menagerie of companions.”
For a moment, he simply watched her, committing the sight to
memory: Eden, wild and radiant, surrounded by the creatures of
his home. Then he straightened and offered his hand.
“Come,” he said gently. “The horses should be ready soon. Let’s
see where the next part of our journey takes us.”
Outside the stables, the earthy scent of hay mingled with the
fresh tang of open air. Two majestic horses awaited them in the
corral, their coats gleaming in the afternoon sun.
The first was a striking black stallion with a bold white blaze
streaking down its forehead. It stamped the ground impatiently,
muscles rippling beneath its sleek hide, nostrils flaring as it
tossed its head.
The second horse was more subdued—a rare bluish-black beauty
with soft dapples of white across its flank, standing calmly
with regal stillness.
Adan’s eyes immediately went to the black stallion, and a
knowing smile curved his lips.
“I think…” he began, glancing at Eden with quiet certainty,
“…Triton is better matched to your spirit.”
He approached the stallion with slow, confident steps, speaking
to him in a soothing tone as he extended a hand. Triton let out
a sharp snort but stilled as Adan’s palm brushed his forehead.
The bond between them was visible in the way the stallion’s
restless energy calmed under Adan’s touch.
“Come, say hello,” Adan said warmly, turning to beckon Eden
closer. “He’s spirited, but I think he’ll like you.”
The stallion turned its head slightly, as though already curious
about the woman approaching, and gave a deep, rumbling whicker.
Adan’s smile brightened as he looked between them, a spark of
anticipation in his eyes.
“If he accepts you, he’ll carry you as though you were part of
him,” he said softly. “Triton doesn’t give his trust easily, but
when he does… it’s unbreakable.”
#Post#: 1163--------------------------------------------------
Re: Triple threat
By: Inkglitched Date: February 10, 2026, 7:30 am
---------------------------------------------------------
Adan’s words struck her deeply as he commented on her behavior,
leaving her momentarily silent, her cheeks flushing a deeper
shade. The thought of having a menagerie of her own danced
through her mind—a dream she could only imagine.
She accepted his hand as he helped her up, her gaze sweeping
over the horses with awe. Her fingers reached out instinctively
when Adan mentioned that Triton seemed more fitting for her. For
once, she began to open up, allowing a small glimpse of her own
thoughts to surface.
“As for your comment in the barn—I… enjoy the small things,” she
said, brushing her fingers gently along Triton’s coat. “Moments
like this. A purr, a soft breeze, the warmth of the sun. They
remind me to live while I can. Even someone like me… even with a
long life I have can easily be cut short on the battlefield..”
Her words lingered between them, tinged with bittersweet calm.
She lifted her chin, meeting Adan’s eyes with a faint, wistful
smile. “So I hold onto these little joys. They make the days
feel… lighter.”
Before a saddle could be brought out, she swung herself onto
Triton’s back. “Nah, don’t need that,” she said with a grin.
Leaning forward slightly, she added in a soft voice, “It’s
impressive, how you approach horses with such care. I find that…
attractive.” Her eyes gleamed as she teased, “They say wild
things are easily drawn to the calm.”
Adan’s breath caught at Eden’s words, his chest tightening with
a feeling he couldn’t quite name.
The soft, unguarded way she spoke of cherishing life’s fleeting
joys stirred something deep within him.
For someone so fierce, so untamed, to reveal this side of
herself—it was a gift he hadn’t expected.
He wanted to say something profound in return, but all he could
do was offer her a warm, gentle smile.
“You honor me by sharing that,” he murmured. His voice was quiet
but filled with sincerity.
“Those small joys… they are what keep us whole in the midst of
chaos.”
His gaze lingered as she moved to Triton, watching as the
spirited stallion shifted beneath her touch. The horse’s ears
flicked forward, and then, to Adan’s amazement, Triton lowered
his proud head ever so slightly—a sign of acceptance he rarely
gave anyone.
And then Eden, with all her boldness, swung herself onto
Triton’s back before the stablehands could even bring out a
saddle. Adan couldn’t suppress a laugh, shaking his head in
disbelief and admiration.
“I should have guessed you’d prefer to ride bareback,” he said,
amusement and fondness mingling in his tone.
Her teasing words caught him completely off guard. Attractive.
The way she said it, so direct and unflinching, sent heat rising
to his cheeks. He managed to keep his composure, though his ears
burned faintly red.
“I… suppose that makes me fortunate then,” he replied smoothly,
though his voice was just a shade deeper than usual. His smile
warmed, bright and genuine. “For it seems you’ve been drawn to
me.”
Adan turned to the second horse, a regal bluish-black creature
named Galaxy.
“No bridle today,” he told the stablehands. “Just a blanket. She
likes her freedom.”
He swung easily onto Galaxy’s back, settling into place with the
natural grace of someone who had grown up on horseback. The mare
shifted her weight beneath him, muscles coiling with restrained
energy. He gave her a soft pat along the neck, whispering a few
calming words before turning to Eden.
Two guards rode ahead of them, while three more fell into
formation behind, keeping a watchful distance as they departed
the sanctuary grounds. The jungle path wound upward toward the
cliffs where the docks were built, the air growing cooler as
they climbed.
The sound of rushing water faded, replaced by the distant hum of
engines and the cries of seabirds. As they crested a final rise,
the docks came into view—a sprawling network of platforms
extending out over a vast expanse of misty clouds.
Adan slowed Galaxy to a smooth trot, giving Eden a moment to
take in the sight before them.
Towering flying ships were moored to the platforms, their
gleaming hulls covered in intricate runes that glimmered faintly
with magic. Massive sails of woven aether-fabric shifted gently
in the breeze, their patterns shimmering like liquid starlight.
Workers bustled along the docks, securing lines and preparing
for departures, while officials wearing jungle insignias moved
with practiced efficiency among them.
Adan opened his mouth to point out one of the official jungle
ships, a proud vessel with emerald-and-gold banners fluttering
from its masts.
But before he could speak, the sharp whistle of air being
displaced cut through the noise.
A smaller, sleeker craft descended nearby, its hull a burnished
silver-white that caught the sunlight in dazzling flashes. The
ship hovered with an almost arrogant ease before settling
lightly onto one of the side platforms.
The gangplank dropped with a smooth clank, and down it came a
man who immediately drew every eye.
He was striking—white-haired and baby-faced, his features soft,
yet his pale blue eyes were sharp and intense, like a fox
wearing a mischievous grin. His clothing was practical but
stylish, a mix of fitted leather and flowing fabrics that marked
him as someone who valued both speed and flair. His confident
swagger was unmistakable, as if the very dock itself were his
stage.
“Well, well,” the newcomer drawled, his voice rich and teasing
as he sauntered toward them. His pale eyes gleamed with interest
as they flicked between Eden and Adan.
“Now this is a sight worth docking for. Two fine riders, both
far too pretty to be traveling with such a boring escort.”
Adan’s guards stiffened instantly, shifting into ready stances.
Adan himself remained calm but watchful, one hand resting
lightly on Galaxy’s reins.
The white-haired man stopped just shy of their horses and gave
them a roguish bow that was somehow both mocking and charming.
“How fortunate for you both,” he said, lips curving into a
wicked smile, “that I happen to have room aboard my ship. What
do you say? A private tour, just the three of us? I promise, I’m
a far more entertaining guide than these stiff-necked
officials.”
His gaze lingered on Eden for a beat too long before sliding to
Adan, mischief dancing in his expression.
“Of course, I wouldn’t dare to play favorites. There’s more than
enough of me to go around.”
Adan arched a brow, his voice cool but polite. “And you are…?”
The man’s grin widened.
“Call me Snow,” he said smoothly. “C0-Captain of the Silver
Ghost—fastest ship this side of the skies.”
He winked at Eden, clearly enjoying himself.
“So… shall we see just how high we can fly?”
Eden chuckled. “It’s common—saddles do make things much more
comfortable—but I don’t like restraining beasts or making them
feel uncomfortable. For them, it’s not natural,” she said, her
hand resting lightly on Triton.
A satisfied smile curved her lips when she caught the faint
blush on his cheeks. So, he was easy to fluster. “Indeed...” she
murmured, her expression softening into a pleased smile at his
decision to ride his beast nearly bareback.
Even with the guards present, Eden stayed alert. Whether it was
a habit born of the desert or the result of past experiences,
she could never fully relax in new surroundings or among
unfamiliar faces.
Her gaze shifted to the ship that had docked at a near reckless
pace. She could already picture her cautious twin ready to scold
such behavior. Then he appeared—the man stepping off the vessel.
Silver hair curled in the wind, and piercing blue eyes seemed to
draw her in effortlessly. He moved like he knew he was a magnet
for every gaze. Against her will, Eden felt a pull toward him, a
spark of intrigue and attraction flaring deep in her chest.
Adan carried the air of a prince, just as she expected.
“Entertaining, hm? While I don’t mind, you’d best speak to Adan
with a little more respect—he’s royalty,” Eden said, unguarded
but firm. Moments like this demanded at least a show of respect,
and this was his country after all. Snow needed to understand
exactly what he was in for.
“As for how high—I don’t mind,” she added, “just remember we
need the guard with us. I need proof I’m not simply whisking him
away.” With that, Eden slid off the horse. When her boots hit
the deck, she realized just how tall he was.
“And keep in mind- I’m a rose that has thorns- try anything
funny you’ll find out real quick I’m not one to mess with.” She
said with a chuckle.
Her head moved a little- be it out of habit or instinct. She
couldn’t help but feel eyes. They were everywhere yes, but the
ones she felt was predatory.
”Keep on guard.” A low rough mumble before a soft.”right.” Would
leave Eden.
“So Adan, want to give it a go? It’s smaller and- we’ll be
easier on your guards if we were on a smaller vessel.” She said
in thought.
Snow paused at the warning, his eyes flicking from the
red-haired, veiled beauty to the striking dark-haired man whose
expression hovered between shock and disbelief.
“A royal, is he?” Snow mused, taking in Adan’s attire with a
more discerning eye. His lips curved as amusement sparked in his
pale gaze. “My apologies—he wasn’t wearing his crown. As fate
would have it, my scarlet beauty, I’ve only just recently
learned I’m a prince myself.”
He dipped into a graceful bow, first to Adan, then to Eden.
“Though unlike His Majesty Adan, I wasn’t raised to royal
standards. I’m still finding my footing in all these courtly
arts and graces.”
Before Adan could respond, his guard Aeon let out a sharp,
derisive scoff.
“You? A prince? Of what—the skies?”
“Aeon!” Adan snapped, his voice edged with mortification. “You
speak out of turn.”
Snow, however, didn’t bristle at the insult. Instead, he
chuckled low in his throat, the sound rolling like velvet. “No
offense taken,” he said with an easy smirk. “But I’ll warn you
now—any man who disrespects his prince aboard my ship risks
going overboard. Consider that a lesson in manners, if nothing
else.”
Aeon flushed, but wisely kept his tongue behind his teeth this
time.
Snow’s attention drifted back to Eden when she murmured
something under her breath before giving her agreement. His gaze
lingered with interest, though he didn’t pry. Instead, he turned
back to Adan, patient and still smiling faintly.
“I apologize for my guard’s words,” Adan said firmly, though his
voice softened at the end. “He will be disciplined. As for you,
Prince Snow… I am curious about your homeland. But I’ll not
press until you’re ready to speak of it. If you would have us as
your guests, then I accept.”
Snow inclined his head. “Please, no need for ceremony. Titles
have never meant much to me—I lived without one for most of my
life. As long as your man holds his tongue, we’ll have no
quarrel.”
With that, he strode toward the horses. Galaxy stepped forward,
ears pricked and eyes bright. She nickered softly and pressed
her head to Snow’s chest as if greeting an old friend.
Snow’s expression softened in an instant. He lifted a hand,
stroking her forehead and muzzle with unexpected tenderness.
“Hello, gorgeous girl. Are they spoiling you as much as you
deserve?”
Adan, watching from her back, felt his lips curve into a
reluctant smile. He slid down from Galaxy’s back, smoothing his
hand once along her flank before giving quiet instructions to
two of his guards. The pair led Triton and Galaxy back toward
the stables. Aeon’s displeasure was evident in the taut set of
his shoulders, but he swallowed his protest and went without a
word.
Turning back toward the gangplank, Adan exhaled slowly. “I
should admit something,” he confessed, voice pitched low for
Snow’s ear. “I’ve never set foot on a small ship before.
Heights… are not my strongest comfort.”
Snow’s grin widened, though there was no mockery in his eyes. He
placed a firm hand on Adan’s shoulder, the warmth of his palm
steadying. “Then you’ve nothing to fear. I won’t take us too
high—just enough to give you the thrill without the terror.”
With that promise, he strode off, barking crisp orders to his
crew.
The Silver Ghost came alive with motion. Ropes were loosened
from their moorings, pulleys creaked as canvas sails unfurled,
and the hum of magic thrummed through the hull. Four crewmen in
simple but sturdy garb moved swiftly across the deck, their
sun-darkened faces focused on their tasks. One clambered up the
rigging with the ease of long practice, adjusting a glowing
rune-etched sail, while another swung the boom into place with
practiced precision.
The smell of pitch and sea-salted wood mingled with the faint
metallic tang of aether crystals powering the vessel. The deck
vibrated beneath their feet as the ship began to lift, the wind
catching in the newly opened sails, carrying them smoothly above
the dock.
They had only just risen a few feet when the stateroom doors
banged open.
A tall man emerged, his broad frame filling the doorway. He was
golden-tanned and muscular, with shoulders that seemed made for
the rigging lines he once must have hauled himself. His blonde
hair was wind-tossed but clean, catching the sunlight like
threads of gold. Bright green eyes swept the deck with sharp
intelligence, and a few pale scars cut across his chest where
his loose, half-open shirt revealed tanned skin. He was nearly
as tall as Snow—perhaps an inch or two shorter—but no less
striking in presence.
Zan’s sharp gaze lingered on the royal guards, then flicked
toward Adan and Eden before pinning Snow with a look that
mingled irritation with fond exasperation.
“Playing sightseer casanova again, Snow?” Zan called out, his
deep voice carrying easily over the deck. He leaned one broad
hand against the doorframe, shaking his head with a sigh. “Next
time, warn me before you mutiny and hijack the ship.”
Snow only grinned wider, spreading his arms as if to welcome the
accusation.
“Don’t play judge with me, Zan. You do the same thing whenever
you spot a hot man or a beautiful woman. Don’t think I haven’t
noticed.” His smirk widened into a wolfish grin. “And mutiny?
Hardly. How can it be mutiny when I own more than half the
ship?”
Zan’s lips twitched, the faintest shadow of a smile betraying
him before he covered it with another shake of his head.
#Post#: 1167--------------------------------------------------
Re: Triple threat
By: Inkglitched Date: February 10, 2026, 8:54 am
---------------------------------------------------------
Eden stood a little apart, her gaze flicking between Snow and
the unfolding scene with quiet interest. She watched him move
with an easy grace, chatting with his crew, and felt the faint
stir of wariness—something about his confidence was too
practiced, too fluid. Yet, she couldn't help but be drawn in by
his charm, even if she stayed guarded.
As Snow's attention drifted toward the rigging and his crew’s
work, Eden leaned in slightly closer to Adan, her voice low,
almost teasing. "Not all princes and kings wear crowns," she
murmured, her lips curling into a small, knowing smile. "Some of
them find themselves without one for a time, or never have one
to begin with. Or perhaps... the crowns they wear aren’t always
made of gold.” She leaned back. "But the manner you hold
yourself is observant enough," said the redhead with a slight,
challenging edge.
Her gaze flicked up at Snow, her eyes sharp and calculating. "It
seems to me, for someone still learning the ways of the court,
you either had a very free upbringing—which normally isn’t a
thing—or you were lost for a while. Either way, I wonder what
else you might be finding your way back to, Prince Snow."
She let the comment linger, a subtle challenge hanging in the
air. But before Adan could respond, Eden had already begun to
move toward the edge of the ship, her steps light and confident.
As the ship began to rise, the deck hummed with the low
vibration of its magic-powered engines. Eden’s gaze wandered
from the sails to the vast drop below, her eyes glinting with
something close to exhilaration. Without so much as a second
thought, she balanced herself on the narrow lip of the ship's
deck, walking along its edge with the barest hint of reckless
abandon.
She laughed softly to herself as she walked, the wind tangling
in her hair. Her tone was light, carefree. “Always feels good to
be up high—least not by myself this time,” she commented
offhandedly, as if walking along the edge of a flying ship was
the most natural thing in the world.
She glanced over her shoulder at Adan, her voice lowering
slightly, though the teasing lilt remained. “And honestly, Adan…
is it wise to send off a few of your guards? The ship could use
a few more watching over it, especially people you don’t know.”
She gestured toward Snow, a sly smile tugging at her lips. “Who
knows what mischief he might get up to next?”
Her words were playful, but there was an edge of concern beneath
the surface. She was used to danger, perhaps too comfortable
with it, but that didn’t mean she didn’t have a sharp sense of
self-preservation. Still, her focus remained on her precarious
perch, the dizzying heights barely registering in her mind. The
wind whispered against her skin, and for a moment, Eden was
almost too caught up in the feeling of freedom.
“Careful…” A voice called out from behind her—youthful, full of
concern, and laced with a warning.
It was Solis, one of the ship’s crew, standing near the rigging.
His red eyes were sharp, assessing the situation as he saw Eden
walking along the edge of the ship like it was a stroll in the
park.
“Get off the edge. It’s dangerous,” he called again, his voice
carrying over the sound of the ship’s lift.
Eden glanced back at him with a teasing, almost bored smile, not
slowing her steps. “Dangerous? I’m just *walking,* not jumping.”
Solis’ jaw tightened, his brow furrowing with concern. “This
isn’t a game. You could fall.”
With a soft laugh, Eden took another deliberate step forward,
her balance effortless. "I won’t fall," she shot back with a
smirk, clearly unbothered by his worry. "If I get tossed
overboard, I’ll just spread my arms. I’m sure the wind’ll carry
me."
Solis frowned, his hand instinctively gripping the rigging line
as he watched her with a growing sense of exasperation. "You’re
going to get yourself hurt, like that."
Her laughter danced in the wind as she kept walking along the
edge, her tone light and defiant. "I’m fine… I mean it, if I
slip, I’ll be fine." She paused, glancing at Snow. "If I fall,
it’s on me," she said with a shrug before taking another
confident step forward.
She shot him a grin and, without breaking her stride, continued
on her dangerously narrow path. Solis muttered under his breath,
but he remained where he was, clearly torn between stepping in
and letting her be.
As Eden neared the far side of the ship, a wicked thought
crossed her mind. She glanced around, catching the attention of
the crew. Taking a breath, she *pretended* to slip, her balance
seeming to falter just for a split second.
Her foot slipped off the edge, and for a brief moment, the world
below her seemed to rush up. But instead of falling, she twisted
her body around as her arms moved, and with a sharp breath, the
air around her shimmered as she *tuned* the currents. She
*walked* on the wind, her body bouncing as if she was jumping a
little, then like a dancer moving across an invisible stage
suspended in mid air.
She hovered for a moment just out of their reach, twisting back
to grin at the group. “Told you,” she called, her voice playful
but unmistakably smug. "I’m not falling."
Solis’ eyes widened in a mixture of disbelief and relief,“gods
your a air tuner.” He said to chuckle remembering how he use to
be. Eden floated just a few feet above the ship’s edge, her
movements effortless and fluid as she spun in mid-air, catching
the breeze. She wasn’t flying—at least, not in the traditional
sense—but her tuning of the air currents allowed her to move as
if the wind itself were her ally.
She tilted her head toward the ground, giving them a mischievous
smirk. “I guess I’ll join the *flying* club after all.” She
descended back toward the deck, landing lightly on the edge once
more, her feet hitting the deck as if she'd never left.
Eden, now clearly pleased with herself, flashed him a cheeky
grin. “So Relax-. It’s just a bit of fun. Can’t live life *too*
carefully, now, can we?”
Her head turned softly, her instincts told her something was up-
but for now would keep quiet.
Adan’s breath caught when Eden slipped toward the edge—but he
forced himself to remain still, recalling her earlier words,
recalling who she was. His guards stiffened, one even
half-reaching forward, but Adan lifted a hand to still them.
She’s a wind tuner, he reminded himself. The display that
followed confirmed it beyond doubt. Watching her dance across
the invisible currents of air left him stunned, his eyes wide
with awe. She was wild, radiant, untouchable—and utterly
unafraid.
His chest tightened with a strange mix of admiration and worry.
He couldn’t look away.
Beside him, Snow whistled low under his breath. His usual smirk
softened into something fonder, more thoughtful. “She’s
something else,” he murmured, his pale eyes glinting with
curiosity. “A rare kind of soul.”
He paused, watching her glide on the wind like it was a second
skin before adding, almost offhandedly, “I can recognize that
spirit well enough. I lived it myself, for years. I was… lost.”
Adan’s head turned sharply toward him, brows furrowing. “Lost?”
Snow’s smile shifted, less playful now, more reflective. “Aye.
Stranded in the desert for a time. Then wandering, drifting
wherever the wind and luck carried me. Surviving, not living.
Until fate decided to put a crown on my head.” He chuckled,
shaking his head. “Turns out I’m the lost prince of Audora. The
floating kingdom.”
Adan stared, shock rippling through him. “Audora?” His voice
dropped, reverent. “The kingdom of the skies… We thought it only
a tale. Then you really are a prince of the skies,”
Snow’s grin widened at the awe in Adan’s voice. “Not a tale.
Just misplaced. Like me.”
Their conversation stalled as Eden laughed, balancing along the
rail with impossible confidence, the wind whipping through her
hair as if it belonged to her. Snow folded his arms, watching
her with keen interest. “She’s no ordinary champion,” he said
softly, almost to himself. “There’s more to her than she lets
on.”
Adan’s lips curved into a quiet smile, his gaze never leaving
her. “Yes,” he agreed, voice warm. “so there is.”
Adan felt his stomach twist as the winds buffeted the ship, the
deck swaying beneath his boots in a way that made his balance
feel uncertain. He braced himself against the railing, drawing
in a slow breath to steady his nerves.
Snow was beside him in an instant, reaching out without
hesitation to steady him. His touch was firm but not forceful,
grounding rather than confining. He chuckled at Eden’s cheeky
reply, his voice smooth and amused.
“There’s nothing wrong with adventure, scarlet beauty. Taking
chances makes life worth living. But recklessness…” His pale
eyes glinted as he glanced toward her balancing form, “…that’s a
path best walked sparingly.”
Adan glanced down at the hand resting against him. His guards
immediately stiffened, several reaching for their blades in
instinctive alarm. He raised his free hand quickly, motioning
for them to hold.
“He doesn’t mean harm,” he murmured firmly, though he could feel
the betraying warmth creeping up his neck and ears.
Snow gave him a sidelong smirk but said nothing of it, simply
guiding Adan toward a steadier place near the center of the deck
where the sway of the ship was less pronounced. His gaze,
however, lifted skyward, as if expecting something.
A moment later, a piercing cry split the air. Adan started, his
head snapping up just as a dark streak broke through the clouds.
Snow’s expression transformed into something bright and
unguarded—his grin stretching wide, his posture loose with
familiarity.
The streak of feathers resolved into a magnificent red hawk, its
wings outstretched in a flash of burnished copper and
flame-tipped feathers. The bird dove with breathtaking speed,
then slowed at the last moment to land gracefully upon Snow’s
shoulder.
The hawk let out another sharp cry before tugging playfully at a
lock of Snow’s white hair, earning a low laugh from him. The
great bird pressed its curved beak against his cheek, rubbing
affectionately before snapping its wings shut.
“Hey, Pry,” Snow murmured, his voice dropping into something
softer, more intimate. He reached up, stroking a single finger
along the hawk’s feathered chest, his grin lingering. “I was
wondering if you’d join me this time.”
The hawk ruffled its feathers proudly, its keen crimson eyes
sweeping the deck with sharp intelligence.
Adan found himself staring, astonished. “He’s your bonded spirit
animal,” he realized aloud, his voice hushed with awe.
Snow nodded, pride flickering in his eyes as he turned back to
them. “Aye. Pry found me when I was younger—when I was still
wandering. I like to think we chose each other.” His lips curved
faintly, less smirk and more genuine smile. “He’s been at my
side ever since. Where I go, he follows.”
The hawk gave a low, throaty cry as if to affirm the words, then
fixed its gaze on Eden, tilting its head curiously.
Adan’s breath caught at the sight. The bond between them was
undeniable—raw and unrefined, perhaps, but no less powerful than
the revered fae bonds he had read about. For just a moment, he
forgot the sway of the ship and the height below them, lost
instead in the marvel before his eyes.
Eden’s laughter floated through the air, carefree and
unrestrained, her voice blending with the howling wind. She
spun, arms wide, as if daring the world to catch her. Her body
swayed with the rhythm of the ship, the wind a perfect partner
in her dance.
When Snow spoke, though, her movements slowed, curiosity pulling
her gaze downward. She caught his words with a wry smile, the
challenge of the moment never leaving her eyes.
"Recklessness, huh?" Eden called back, voice teasing. "Maybe,
but risks are abundant, aren’t they?" She threw him a glance
over her shoulder, her lips curling. "What better way to learn
than by taking them? Besides, life’s too short to spend it
playing safe."
She gave the wind another defiant toss of her hair before
shifting her attention fully. It was then that her gaze fell on
Pyre, perched proudly on Snow’s arm. For a moment, Eden didn’t
move, but her eyes locked onto the hawk with quiet fascination.
The bird seemed to study her back, its sharp gaze unblinking.
Eden took a few casual steps closer, tilting her head to match
Pyre’s. Her lips quirked into a smile, soft and sincere, as she
spoke in a gentle voice, almost as if the hawk could understand
her.
“Isn’t he beautiful?” Eden murmured, her gaze flicking between
Snow and Pyre. “He’s got that regal look. Like he knows he’s
something special.” Her voice softened further as she reached
out with one hand, palm open as if to test the air. “You’re a
lucky one, Snow. You two are something else.”
Her eyes never left Pyre’s proud stance, her earlier
carelessness replaced with a moment of genuine admiration. There
was something mesmerizing about the bond between the hawk and
its master, something Eden didn’t often allow herself to notice
in the midst of her own wild, untamed ways.
"He seems... untamed.. yet loyal.. free but tethered," Eden
continued, almost to herself, her voice quieter now. "So lucky
to have such a close friend.” She murmured.
Eden paused from loving on the hawk, her head tilting forward as
she felt the faint shift of the wind against her cheek. The
gentle rustle of leaves changed pitch, carrying with it a subtle
unease that made her spine stiffen.
She inhaled slowly, tasting the air, her movements seemingly
more cautious as though the wind itself had warned her to tread
lightly. Every sound now seemed sharper, every shadow more
alive, and an instinct she couldn’t name urged her to stay alert
for whatever might come next.
“Uhm.. just a warning- we might get company if we land- well..
if they can’t come up here.” She said softly. “I get there a lot
of eyes, but been having a weird feeling since before we got on
the ship.” She admitted.
Adan had been watching Eden with quiet intensity, his unease at
her balancing act gradually shifting into awe at the way she
seemed to move with the wind itself. When she drew closer to
Pyre, his chest tightened—not out of fear, but wonder. He had
read of such bonds in old tomes, but to see Eden’s wild spirit
pause to admire another’s was something rare.
Her warning, though, cut through his reverie. His eyes flicked
toward the horizon, his hand resting lightly on the railing as
if to steady himself against more than just the ship’s sway. “If
your instincts are uneasy, we’ll heed them,” he said with quiet
conviction. “Your senses are sharper than most. I trust them.”
His gaze lingered on her, a note of concern softening his
features. “And I’d rather be ready than blind.”
Snow tilted his head, a sly smile tugging at the corner of his
mouth, though there was something thoughtful in his eyes as he
studied her. “Company, hm? Well, you’re not wrong about eyes
following us. A flying ship tends to draw attention.” His hand
lifted to stroke Pyre’s chest feathers, the hawk letting out a
sharp cry in answer. “Still—better to know who’s watching than
pretend no one is.”
From near the rigging, Zan’s voice carried across the deck, firm
and deep.
“Don't let him fool you, Snow is the King of taking risks. The
only time he shows restraint is when he's being protective of
those he likes,”
Snow's eyes narrowed slightly at his co-captain.
"Well I’m not stupid. There’s a difference between reckless
behavior and knowing when to take a risk. You need to know how
to read a room—or a situation—before you blaze in headfirst.
Sometimes a little fire gets you through. Sometimes it burns
everything down. It took me awhile to figure that out," Snow
explained, thinking of the scars he'd gotten from his more
reckless acts.
Adan folded his arms loosely, considering Snow’s words, then
glanced at Eden again. “Which is why,” he added softly, “it’s
good we have you with us, Eden. You hear the storm before the
rest of us feel the rain.”
Eden's steps were slow but deliberate as she approached the
guard, her short red hair catching the wind and brushing against
her neck. The teal mask covered the upper half of her face, but
even behind it, her presence was unmistakable. There was
something sharp in her posture, a tension coiling beneath the
surface that had nothing to do with the present and everything
to do with the past.
The guard locked eyes with her or rather his to her mask. For a
moment, there was hesitation—he clearly recognized her, but
wasn’t ready to admit it. Then, it registered for him, the red
hair, a small child... The memories came flooding back.
Her voice, when she spoke, was soft—almost too soft—like a blade
drawn too quickly.
“I was smaller then,” Eden said, the words cool and even, but
there was a note of something darker hiding behind the calm.
“Twelve years old, running through the desert, clutching
something no one told me I was supposed to protect. But I
knew…it wasn’t never meant to fall in the wrong hands.”
She let that hang in the air, then continued, voice smooth, like
she was telling a story she had lived too many times.
“You caught me. Out in the desert. When I was trying to escape.
I didn’t belong there. You found me.” Her eyes flicked over him,
but her gaze was too steady, too cold for him to see any fear.
“I was carrying something that was meant to be kept safe, but I
didn’t know why or what it meant. I just knew.” She said to
pause and move briefly. “Or rather I thought—maybe, for once—I
could save something for our home.”
She took a step closer, her boots making soft thuds on the deck,
but the space between them still felt miles apart.
“You took it from me. You beat me until I dropped it. The
Apple.” She said the name with deliberate care, as though it
meant nothing—just a trinket, a token of the past. She didn’t
let on that it was so much more. Not now. Not in front of him.
She could see the guard's face shift. Confusion, uncertainty. He
was piecing it together, but there were too many gaps. Too much
she had left out.
Then, with a sharp breath, Eden continued, a faint smirk tugging
at the corner of her mouth as she caught his eye.
”Left me in the middle of nowhere..,” she said, her voice
chilling. “Left me for dead out there, in the desert, in the
cold, with no food, no water, no hope. The Apple? You thought it
would lead you to infinite knowledge- but it can’t be opened-
least not in your hands.”
Eden’s steps were deliberate as she closed the distance between
herself and the guard. Her short red hair caught the sunlight, a
stark contrast to the darkness of her teal mask.It was
impossible to mistake the weight in her presence, the way she
moved—so calm, so controlled—but something more dangerous
simmered underneath.
The guard met her gaze, his eyes flicking from her teal mask to
her face, his brow furrowing. Confusion flooded his features,
but beneath it, there was something else—something more
calculated.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the guard said, his
voice uneven. He glanced toward the others, as if trying to find
something—*someone*—to back him up, but all eyes were on him.
“I’ve never seen you before. I don’t know who you are, but I
haven’t done anything to you.”
Eden’s eyes narrowed, the weight of her gaze sharpening like the
edge of a blade.
“You’re lying,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, but
it held the kind of truth that could cut through stone. “You
*remember* me. I know you do. And I know you remember what you
did to me.”
The guard’s face twisted with discomfort, his hand twitching at
his side, looking for an escape that wasn’t there. “I don’t know
you!” he repeated, more forcefully now, trying to cover up the
flicker of guilt that passed over his face. “You must have me
confused with someone else. There’s no way—”
But Eden wasn’t listening. The flicker of something darker began
to spark in her eyes, and for a moment, her body seemed to
stiffen, as if the world had grown quieter and colder.
“No,” she said, her voice suddenly a low growl, full of venom.
“You’re not going to lie your way out of this. I remember you.
You remember me.”
Her hands clenched, the tension building in her shoulders, the
power in her voice slipping into something primal.
”You think you can *forget* what you did to me? What you took
from me? What you *left me to die* in the desert for? You think
I’m going to let you walk away with that? You think I’m just
going to let you *deny* me?”
Her body language changed, it seemed more stoic and different.
Not aloof- almost like a soldier grilling someone under them. It
was then that End fully surfaced—the fury, the bitterness, the
unstoppable force that had been buried deep within her for so
long. And with it came the force of her presence, the shift in
the air that left no room for argument, no room for confusion.
The guard, already on edge, took a step back, his breath growing
shallow as he realized his words weren’t working. He tried to
justify himself again, his voice cracking under the weight of
her intensity. “I—I’m not the same person anymore. I didn’t—”
“You’re lying!” End snapped, her tone rising like a whip crack,
the force of her words landing like a physical blow. “You *were*
the same person. You *did* those things, and you *will* remember
them. You think you can hide behind this mask of confusion, but
I see through it. You’re not fooling anyone, not anymore.”
Eden’s voice cracked like thunder, the power of her words
shattering the illusion he’d tried to maintain.
With one final, furious movement, she lunged forward, her
stopping short. Her feet planting as if another force wasn’t
allowing her to move.
“I *survived* despite what you did,” she hissed, her words
dripping with rage, each one a dagger aimed at his heart. “You
*beat* me,, and you *left* me in the desert to die. You thought
I was weak, but you had no idea what you were dealing with. You
started something that woke me up, and now I want to finish it.”
Her hand reached for her blade—
But then Eden’s body froze. Her fingers curled into her palm,
stopping the motion. Her head tilted slightly, as if listening
to something only she could hear.
And then her voice—Eden’s voice—broke through, firm, steady, and
grounded:
“That’s enough… end.”
Her feet planted solidly on the wooden deck. She took a breath,
a long and deliberate inhale, and spoke again—this time to
herself. To End.
“Stand down.”
The fury in her limbs trembled, almost buckling her, but she
held. Rooted. Controlled. The fire still flickered behind the
teal mask, but now it was caged. Focused.
“We are in Nile’s kingdom now,” she said aloud, though her voice
was more to End than anyone else. “This is not our ground. We
lash out here, and we invite consequences far bigger than one
coward and his lies.”
Her eyes didn’t leave the guard, but something inside her had
changed — a battle won, for now. Her hands fell slowly to her
sides.
“He’s not worth it. Not yet.”
Her body took a moment to relax.”sorry Adan- seems I was a
little off- he was here.. “ she said honestly.”and forgive end..
she is my other half- we been through.. a lot.” She said as end
slipped out.
“More than alot.”
“Shh … once we get back *hopefully* jalal can get the relic
back.” Said eden as she took the time to calm her other half.
Adan felt the air in his chest go thin as Eden’s words cut
through the deck. For a heartbeat he only registered the small,
furious movements of her mouth and the way the wind tangled in
her hair—then the rest hit him: the guard’s shifting weight, the
way his jaw tightened when Eden named the Apple, the ripples of
embarrassment and guilt that finally creased his face.
All the training in courtly calm didn’t help him now. He stepped
forward before he thought about it, one hand hovering between
Eden and the guard as if his presence might anchor whatever
storm was rising. The other guards fanned out automatically,
blades half-drawn, eyes wide and uncertain. A stunned hush
settled over the Silver Ghost’s deck; even the creak of rigging
seemed to hold its breath.
“You heard her,” Adan said, voice low but steady, the prince’s
authority threading through it. He didn’t shout. He didn’t
command; he simply placed himself so the guard couldn’t reach
the rails. “You will answer for this. But not like this—not in
the open where violence becomes spectacle.”
He kept his tone measured because he had to. Eden’s fury
frightened him—because he felt it as if it were his own—but it
also filled him with a fierce protectiveness he hadn’t expected
to feel for a woman who, a short while ago, had been a stranger
to him. He watched her carefully as she wrenched herself back
from the edge of End’s abyss and, with an effort of will,
quieted the thing inside. Relief washed through him when she
told End to stand down; he could see the battle she’d just won.
Snow’s face hardened in a different way. The boyish smirk
vanished, replaced by the look of a man who’d seen hunger and
cruelty and refused to let it stand unchallenged. The
story—Eden’s story—lit a familiar spark in him. He remembered
nights of being abandoned, the grit of sand in his teeth, the
same kind of merciless decisions made by cold men. It was a
memory he never advertised, but one that made him move.
“Bind him,” Snow said, voice blunt and without flourish. It was
not a theatrical order; it was the law of expediency. Before
anyone could argue, two crewmen—quick, practiced hands—moved in.
They worked with efficient speed, catching the guard’s
protesting arms and securing his wrists with stout rope. The
guard struggled at first, eyes darting to Adan pleadingly,
trying to scrabble for words, for context, for the possibility
of denial. The deck smelled of pitch and the faint metallic tang
of aether, and the ropes made a harsh whisper as they tightened.
Zan appeared at Snow’s shoulder as if he had been waiting on the
edge of the scene. His voice was even, a low rumble that carried
over the deck. “You’ve always had a flair for trouble, Snow. But
you know when to stop.” He shot the guard a contemptuous look,
the scars on his forearm showing when he folded his arms. “No
man gets to rewrite his sins by pretending he’s forgetful.”
Snow crouched to Pry’s level as the hawk regarded the captive
with cold, intelligent eyes. He straightened and then looked at
Adan, his expression suddenly composed and serious. “Such crimes
are punishable in your kingdom as well, Prince Adan, yes?” His
tone asked for confirmation, but the next sentence made his
intent clear. “We’ll turn him in when we return to your docks.
We’ll not allow this to slide.”
Adan’s heart beat fast—something between dread and the rush of
formal responsibility. He nodded once, hard and decisive. “Yes,”
he said. “We will bring him before the magistrate. There are
laws against what he did. He will answer.”
The other guards, who had watched their comrade being tied, felt
the stern weight of consequence descend on them. the junior
guard’s jaw worked; he swallowed, eyes flicking between his
bound fellow and Prince Adan. There was an awkward shiver of
muttered apologies and the sudden, bright reassertion of duty—no
one here wanted to be associated with the kind of cowardice Eden
had labeled.
Eden stood a little apart, chest heaving from the adrenaline but
eyes steady now, the teal of her mask catching the light. She
did not look triumphant. She looked measured—hardened by what
she’d been forced to be, curbed by the pragmatic restraint that
had just taken hold. When Snow tied the last knot and the guard
was lashed to the mast, he spat once, low and ugly, but it drew
only a cold stare from the crew and a steady, unreadable look
from Eden.
Adan stepped closer to her afterward—not to reassert command,
but to offer presence. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, voice laced
with something sincere that had nothing to do with royal
formality. “I’m sorry that happened to you. We will see
justice.” He was careful with the words End had nearly ripped
from the guard; he would not promise vengeance, only the
law—because he himself understood that justice done by the state
was the way to hold a people together.
Snow didn’t soften. He folded his arms and watched the bound man
like a hawk watching prey. “We do right by what we can,” he
said, turning to address the crew and the guards in a firm, loud
voice so there was no mistaking his meaning. “No more hiding. No
more turning. We’re not the kind of people who covet things
someone else died for. We sail by a different reckoning.”
Zan stepped forward then, nodding once at Snow as if to seal the
sentiment. “Keep him secure and tended,” he ordered the crew.
“We’ll take formal custody at the dock. Any attempt at rescue
and you’ll answer to me.”
The deck resumed its hum and motion, but tension held like a
thread through the crew. Whispers rippled—some astonishment at
Eden, some at Snow’s decisive intervention, some at Adan’s
composed handling of a moment that might easily have become
bloodshed. Adan watched Eden’s chest rise and fall, saw the way
she forced a breath into a calm rhythm, and felt something
settle inside him that had not been there an hour ago—an oath
not yet spoken, but forming nonetheless.
Snow gave Eden a brief, almost respectful nod. “You handled that
well,” he said simply, voice rough with approval. “Not many can
hold their storm in place like that.”
Adan added, quieter, “You were brave. Your restraint was
necessary.” He reached out then, not to touch without asking,
only offering the possibility of steadiness.
Below them, as the ship drifted higher, the world seemed both
vaster and smaller for what had transpired. They would return to
the docks and go through whatever formal processes the kingdom
required. For now, ropebound and breathing fast, the guard
stared up at the faces around him—faces that would not forget.
#Post#: 1168--------------------------------------------------
Re: Triple threat
By: Inkglitched Date: February 10, 2026, 9:07 am
---------------------------------------------------------
Eden’s chest rose and fell in sharp rhythm, her breath not yet
catching up to the moment. The adrenaline hadn’t drained—it
still pulsed in her fingers, her jaw, the space behind her ribs
where her thoughts tangled. The deck felt hot under her boots.
The air too thin.
She didn’t move when Adan spoke. Not at first.
“I’m fine,” she said quickly—too quickly. Her voice was flat,
almost brittle. Her hands were clenched at her sides, not from
fear, but from sheer tension. Still holding it in. Still
pressing it down.
“You’re *not* fine,” End growled as her head turned to the left
her voice bitter and edged with heat. *“He should’ve bled.”*
Eden’s head tilted forward as she Inhaled through her nose.
“Not here,” Eden murmured her head turning right.”We said not
here.”Then she turned to Adan and Snow, her voice steadier this
time but marked with a strange, almost exhausted clarity. “I
appreciate what you both did. Thank you...”
She paused, running her tongue across the inside of her teeth
before speaking again.
“You should probably know,” she said, her words careful now,
deliberate. “That wasn’t just anger. Or… not *only* mine.”
Her hand rose slowly, pressing her palm over her chest—like she
was anchoring something deeper.
“We’re not cursed, exactly. Not in the way most think. It’s more
like…” She searched for the word, letting it shape on her tongue
before saying it. “We’re *split*. Two souls, one body. One spark
born from a storm, the other from its still eye. We are...
joined. Like twins. But we don’t take turns.”
”No, because I don’t *wait,* and you don’t either.”End snapped
as her head turned left, her voice low and seething. *“I rise
when I’m needed. I rise when she’s about to break.”*
Eden’s mouth twitched—part exasperation, part resignation.
“She’s not wrong,” she said softly her head turning right and
her face up as if she was looking to Adan. “We don’t agree on
much, but she’s… part of me. Always has been. Even among our
kind, it’s rare. Most are born with one voice. I was born with
two.”
Her hand gently took Adan’s.”just please- accept my apology of
lashing out- just did not expect to see who did that to me face
to face. I won’t lie- I had the feelings of wanting vengeance
For myself.. had he been in the desert- I’d probably let her do
as she pleased.”
“Do you want to know why we are called champion?” she asked
quietly,“I’ll give you a little peak in things you probably
never be able to read - as the books do twist history.”
She took a breath.” Like- Ezra is the de facto prince. Not by
bloodline, but by oasis binding. He was connected to the oasis
in ways none of us truly understood. He was never meant to
leave. He couldn't, not for long. Without him the oasis will
eventually dry out. He was meant to stay behind with the
guardian Enon..even when the world called. His duty wasn’t
adventure—it was nurturing and growing.”
She shifted her stance, her cloak fluttering against her legs as
she stepped forward, her boots making the faintest sound against
the planks.
“Then there was Enon,” she said, her voice darkening slightly.
“The Guardian. The sword and shield of the oasis. If you’d come
to our gates, he would’ve been the first face you saw. For those
invading-Maybe the last. He judged threats the way a blade
judges breath—without hesitation. If you broke our laws, it was
his voice that decided your fate within the oasis.”
She paused beside a support beam, her breath finally calmed.
“And then there was me.”
She smiled, if it was genuine- it couldn’t be read - not with
the mask she wore.
“Champion. That was the title they gave me. I never asked for
it. I didn’t understand it at first—thought it meant being
strong, being brave. Leading warriors in battle. I was young and
learning.. But I learned a champion is only ever what the
people believe they are.”
She relaxed as she moved to straighten.“To some, I was a symbol
of hope. A protector, like the stories in old tomes. But to
others? A threat. A means to an end...”
She tilted her head, her voice thinning to something colder...
end spoke up.
“You can be both hero and villain, depending on who holds the
quill. And I learned early on that the quill rarely ends up in
the right hands.”
Adan stood stunned, his mouth opening slightly at the weight of
what Eden had revealed. Two souls, one body—he had read of such
things in rare scrolls, always dismissed as legend. But to see
it, to feel the truth of it in her presence, shook him.
His hand tightened around hers, not pulling away but holding
steady, his voice low and reverent.
“I have never heard such a thing spoken outside of stories. To
bear that—two voices, two flames—yet still walk with balance…”
He exhaled slowly, shaking his head in awe. “Eden, you owe me no
apology. You showed restraint when others would not. If
anything, it is I who should apologize—for my kingdom’s
failings, for not protecting you then. But I swear, here and
now, you will not face such things alone again.”
There was no pomp in his words, no courtly flourish—only
sincerity that trembled on the edge of vow.
Snow leaned against the mast, his pale eyes fixed on her, his
hawk shifting on his shoulder with a restless ruffle of wings.
The easy smirk he wore so often was gone; in its place was
something quieter, heavier.
“You’ve carried more than most warriors I’ve known,” he said
softly, his voice roughened by old memory. “Split, storm and
stillness—yet still whole enough to stand. I know what it is to
be abandoned, to crawl through the desert with nothing but spite
keeping you alive. To be called less, forgotten… left.”
His jaw tightened, but he gave her a sharp nod of respect, his
usual swagger tempered into something rawer.
“You survived, Eden. That makes you more dangerous than any
title ever could. And don’t you ever let anyone tell you what
quill writes your story. That’s yours to claim.”
From near the rigging, Zan finally spoke, his deep voice like a
stone rolling across the deck. The golden-skinned, scarred first
mate had watched quietly until now, his green eyes sharp as
glass.
“You call yourself Champion, but I’ll tell you something from a
sailor’s tongue,” he rumbled, arms folding across his broad
chest. “A true champion isn’t made by the crowd or by the crown.
It’s made by surviving the storms others can’t. Snow’s reckless,
aye, but even he knows when the sea demands restraint.” His gaze
shifted from Eden to the bound guard, then back again. “You
showed it just now. That’s what marks you as more than a name.”
---
Snow let out a low hum, tilting his head at Eden with the
faintest quirk of a smile returning.
“You don’t blaze into every fight,” he said, echoing Zan’s
words. “You read the room, the moment, the danger. Sometimes you
unleash the storm. Sometimes you hold it back. That’s how you
live long enough to win.”
Pyre gave a piercing cry, wings spreading once before folding
close again, as if agreeing.
Eden chuckled, the sound rough and tinged with a bittersweet
edge.
“Restraint?” she said slowly, almost tasting the word. “I mean…
I held her back. But I wouldn’t call it restraint. It was more
like… keeping her from going over the edge.” Her voice faltered,
and a shadow passed over her expression.
Then she spoke quieter, her face fixed on the figure bound to
the mast. “This isn’t your failing. You couldn’t have stopped
it… you were a child yourself back then. And who knows why…” Her
voice trailed off, heavy with the weight of unspoken memories.
Eden’s eyes stayed on the bound guard for a beat longer before
hearing Zan.
“You make the word *Champion* sound clean,” she responded to
Zan, voice flat. “It’s not.”
She looked at Snow next.
“I didn’t hold back because it was noble. I held back simply
because this isn’t the place- I’m in another territory- not
allowed..”
Then she turned slightly toward the bow.
“It doesn’t mean I spared him- he simply has more time left.”
She seemed to be in her thoughts again, her jaw tightening as
Nile’s words replayed in her mind, stirring a current of
questions that refused to settle. Memories of the stolen
relic—the day everything changed—swirled like ghosts at the
edges of her thoughts.
“Adan..Would you mind,” she murmured, almost to herself, “if I
asked him a question?” Her gaze lingered on the guard, tied and
helpless against the pole, the perfect chance to pry open the
truth. A quiet determination settled in her chest—if he spoke,
she might finally know why he had taken the relic, and perhaps
confirm what jalal already feared: that it now lay deep within
the fae kingdom.
The air thickened with tension as she waited for permission,
every heartbeat echoing like a drumbeat of old, unanswered
questions.
“And if I can apply some force.. I won’t kill him- but he
definitely won’t leave uninjured.” She admitted.
Adan’s jaw tightened, the official muscle of duty working
beneath his skin. He met Eden’s steady gaze and folded his hands
together slowly, as if shaping his reply out of restraint and
law rather than impulse.
“You may ask him questions,” he said at last, voice calm but
carrying the authority of someone who must hold the line between
justice and vengeance. “But not here, and not in a way that
would make this a spectacle. We’ll move him belowdecks to a
secure cabin. Guards will remain present. Anything you learn
will be brought before the magistrate when we land—so the truth
can be sealed by law, not rumor.”
He paused, looking from Eden to Snow, then added softer, more
personally, “And Eden… if you must press him, I will not stand
in the way of your needing answers. But I won’t let this become
a bloodletting. Promise me you’ll not cross that line here.”
Snow watched her with an intensity that had nothing to do with
courtliness. The old hunger in his eyes—memory of deserts and
betrayals—flared for a moment, then was tempered by something
like respect.
“You don’t get to make that call for yourself right now,” he
said, low and direct. “But I’ll help you get what you want.” He
stepped a pace closer to the bound guard, voice dropping to a
dangerous velvet. “I know how to loosen tongues. I know how to
make lying men remember the weight of truth.” He glared, a
promise clear in the hard set of his mouth. “He’ll answer. If he
lies, he’ll regret it.”
Zan’s bulk shifted where he watched from the shadow of the
stairwell. He gave a slow, measured nod—practical, hard as the
rope they’d used to bind the man.
“i know champions aren't clean. Champions bleed and lie and
carry the scars of being forced to choose,” Zan rumbled, voice
level and without softness. “I know they aren’t saints. But I
also know what this crew will answer to if things go too far.
I’ll supervise. One of my men stands ready as witness. No
permanent harm.” He fixed Eden with a look that was part warning
and part agreement. “You get your answers. We keep our hands so
the law can do with them what it must.”
Adan stepped closer, offering a steadying hand—not to touch
without invitation, but to show he was present. “We’ll move him
now,” he said, decisively. “Zan, choose the cabin and a witness.
Snow, if you’ll take point on questioning, do it with me in the
room. Darin—stay at the door with two men. No one else enters
unless called. Eden, when you’re ready, you can speak. But if
this becomes more than interrogation, I will stop it myself.”
Snow’s grin was a hard thing but not unkind. “Fine by me. I’ll
keep the heat where it needs to be. Truth first—then justice.”
He looked at Eden with a tilt of head. “Take your time. Make him
remember. I’ll make sure he’s breathing when we’re done.”
Zan barked an order to two crewmen; they moved quickly, carrying
the bound guard down toward the chosen cabin. The deck hummed
again—but under it, a new current had settled: a plan, merciless
to lies but careful of law, and a promise that whatever truths
were pulled from the bound man would be dragged into daylight
and recorded, not buried in the dark.
Adan gave Eden one last look before they followed—solemn,
steady, and unmistakably on her side. “We’ll get you answers,”
he said simply. “And we’ll see that whatever comes next is
handled rightly.”
Eden absorbed the permission in silence, her gaze steady, and
gave a single nod.
“We can follow your ways,” she said at last, her voice smooth
and deliberate. “We don’t really have buildings—most of what we
do happens out in the open. In a strange way, it feels like
what’s best kept secret is sometimes better left exposed to the
sky. Still, there are certain truths I’d rather keep contained…
at least beyond that room for now.”
Her words lingered in the air, a quiet balance between trust and
guardedness.
Snow promising to get what she wanted left a ghost of a smile.
Something about him felt like a kindred spirit.. or least some
sort of draw. She couldn’t pin point it, but he was magnetic-
even in such a serious way.
Her face turned to Zan. No permanent harm.”oh lucky him- no
scars.” Slid out from the colder voice. “Hear that old man? They
care- “ she said in a mocking tone that would still.”enough
end.” Would be the retort.
Once inside she would take her cloak off. It was warm and
preferred to be a little cooler. Her mouth twitched from
refraining what she’d normally do in the desert. That sort of
exposure she knew wouldn’t be welcomed.
She was quiet- she understood what Adan said- so she
contemplated on how to ask. An idea formed. “That apple.. what
is it for?” She asked calmly.
The man’s face went white as he answered with a lie. “I don’t
know what you’re talking about.” He said as Eden felt a soft
rise of anger. She settled and sighed.
The air would shift as end showed herself as her arms crossed.”I
may not be able to do my methods.. but least sexy over here
knows a better way?” Said the woman roughly.
With each lie- she would look to snow. The woman finally having
enough of the man blocking.
He cracked finally- under pressure.”the apple- we meant to be
used for
Yggdrasil.”
Her head cocked.
“Yggdrasil,” Eden muttered. “You think that’s the Tree? You
think that thing was meant to hold knowledge? It’s merely a
mimic- a fake. The true tree- is at the oasis. The Tree of my
homeland wasn’t sacred — it was functional. Rooted in the soul
of the first Terranian. It was made to pass down memory — to
awaken the next when the world was ready.” She said in a soft
tone.
She stared at him, then asked flatly, “Do you even know what the
apple does?”
The guard’s breath caught. “It contains… prophecy. Power. A
weapon.”
“No,” Eden snapped, her lips forming a line. “It contains
memory. The lives, tactics, instincts of a warrior who came
before language. Before nation. A gift waiting to be unlocked by
the one it was made for. “ she said to cross her arms.“Give you
three guesses who is meant to unlock it.” She said as she put
her fingers up.
As the man was about to speak she would match his first guess
easily.
“Ezra,” Eden finished for him. “Yes, I know. Everyone keeps
betting on him. He binds the oasis- he was never meant for the
apple as he is meant to be the fortress or something or other.”
She explained.
The man blinked, and desperation set in. “Then… Enon?”
End would emerge almost cackling — full-bodied, vicious. It rang
through the room like a bell in a crypt.
“Strike two, “she purred, velvet and razored.
“Try again.” She said as her head moved left and then right.
Then, as if something inside him knew, he looked at Eden again.
This time — not with fear. Not fully. But with dawning horror.
“…It’s you.”
“Ding ding, “End sang, the words rolling out in
mockery.
“And the blind man finally sees the sun.”
”Only we can handle the apple cause we are two in one- if I open
it for her- you’d be condemning your queen to madness.” She
finished.
“I was not chosen for it.. I was born for it.” She said thumbing
in her own direction.”fuck this, I’m done- now I know it’s
there. She’s about to be disappointed cause neither of my
brothers will ‘confirm’ the way she wishes.” She said before
chuckling before getting up.
Adan’s face had gone pale as Eden spoke, her words carrying the
weight of revelation and history far older than any book he’d
studied. His fingers curled against his palms, and when the
guard’s terrified admission finally broke the silence—naming her
as the Apple’s chosen bearer—Adan felt his stomach twist.
“...This is larger than we realized,” he murmured, his voice low
but clear, eyes narrowing with grim focus. “Far larger.
Yggdrasil, the mimic tree… the Apple meant to carry memory. And
you—” His gaze softened as he looked at Eden, then flickered
toward the bound guard again with quiet fire. “If what you say
is true, then keeping it from you… it is not only wrong, it
endangers us all.”
He exhaled slowly, drawing himself up with the steadiness of one
who had been raised on duty. “My people have always been taught
from the beginning that our purpose is to protect the earth, to
guard the sacred roots of what is older than nations. If the
Apple’s absence weakens something so ancient as your oasis, then
it must be returned.” His brow furrowed, resolve hardening. “The
queen may be difficult, but she will listen if I present this as
more than a relic. It is survival. Heritage. And if I tell her
that it was stolen—” his eyes slid toward the guard, cold now,
“—she will not forgive that insult.”
Snow gave a low, sharp laugh, though there was little humor in
it. He’d stepped in closer during Eden’s questioning, not
looming, but circling like a wolf until the guard finally
cracked. His hawk shifted uneasily on his shoulder, feathers
rustling as though echoing its master’s tension.
“You hear that?” Snow leaned down toward the guard, his pale
eyes like twin knives. “All that lying. All that blood on your
hands. And for what? A toy you couldn’t even understand. You
thought prophecy, power, weapons…” He spat the word like it was
filth. “But it was never meant for you. Never yours to wield.”
Straightening, Snow cast a look at Eden—something like approval
laced with raw anger. “You handled him. Pressed the truth from
his teeth without even raising a blade. You’ve got my respect
for that, scarlet beauty.” His lips twitched with something
closer to a grin, though it was tempered with seriousness. “But
don’t worry—if he tries another lie, I’ve got ways to make him
remember his tongue’s limits.”
He turned then, gesturing at the ropes binding the man. “We take
him before your queen, Adan. No excuses. No more hiding behind
shadows and whispers. Let him answer for every word, every
theft. And if your grandmother has sense, she’ll see the Apple
returned to where it belongs.”
Zan, arms folded, had been silent for most of the interrogation,
green eyes sharp, jaw tight. Now, though, he finally shook his
head with a grunt.
“Enough.” His voice rumbled like distant thunder. He stepped
forward, his tall frame casting a shadow over the bound man.
“We’ve got all we’re going to get from him. He’s not clever
enough to give us more, and I’m not wasting another breath
listening to him choke on his lies.”
His wrapped hand tapped once against the wood beside the guard’s
head, the sound a harsh warning. “You’ve confessed enough to
damn yourself already. Whatever queen or court sees you next
will do the rest.” His glare could have cut steel. “And pray to
whatever gods you worship that they’re merciful. Because if it
were my judgment—” He didn’t finish, but the silence that
followed spoke for him.
Zan turned back toward Adan and Eden, voice steadier now.
“Sounds like we’re walking into something bigger than a stolen
relic. Conspiracy. Lies buried under kingdoms. You’d better be
ready, both of you. Because once this hits a throne room… none
of us walks out untouched.”
Adan nodded grimly, his hand brushing over the hilt at his side
as if reassuring himself. His gaze locked with Eden’s, steady
and sure.
“We’ll take this to the queen. And I’ll stand with you when we
do.”
End's jaw tightened at the thought but she let it settle into
something colder than surprise—strategy. She folded her arms
again, watching the three of them as if weighing the room in a
single, measured breath.
“If anything,” she said slowly, eyes flicking to Adan, “even if
she’s unaware- even for this ill informed fool. She may take it
as knowledge for the world.. but its memory..”
“She may cling to it as a guise that we were careless” Her mouth
hardened into a line- before softening as Eden slid out.”she
might not.. she may be reasonable.”
She gave a softnod toward Snow and Adan. “I owe you both for
stepping up. I respect that.” The respect was real — measured,
careful — but the distrust for the throne remained smoldering at
the edges.
The name—Scarlett—landed softer than steel. For an instant,
something private crossed her face: a quick, unmistakable flush
that painted the high planes of her cheeks. She cleared her
throat and shoved the moment away with a lopsided smile. “Don’t
get sentimental,” she muttered, more to herself than anyone
else, then refocused. “We move smart. Not loud.”
Eden’s fingers toyed with the edge of her mask, the motion slow
and deliberate. The mention of the Queen taking it as
“knowledge” put a tighter knot in her chest. If the apple could
be framed as wisdom, not weapon, how many hands would think
themselves entitled to it? She drew one measured breath, then
inclined her head toward the two men. “Thank you,” she said
simply, voice quiet but genuine. The gratitude sat like a small,
fragile thing between them.
Her face turned to Adan’s. “Know I only speak in hypothetical
worse cases.. but your grandmother says no—then what?” The
question was a blade wrapped in silk: polite, but impossible to
ignore. Eden’s fingers paused on the mask, waiting for something
steadier than a promise.
“Would you take a stand against your blood?” She asked.
Adan felt the question like a spear, piercing the careful walls
of duty and loyalty he had built around himself since childhood.
His breath caught, his eyes lowering for a moment before he
forced himself to meet Eden’s gaze.
“…If she says no,” he said slowly, each word weighted, “then I
argue. I press. I use every piece of proof we have—the theft,
the damage done, the danger in leaving the Apple outside its
rightful hands. And if she still refuses…” He paused, the
conflict raw in his voice. “…then yes. I would stand against
blood. Because loyalty to a crown means nothing if it rots the
roots we swore to protect. My grandmother may be queen, but even
she is not above the earth itself.”
His words trembled not with hesitation, but with the gravity of
the oath forming on his tongue. His jaw set. “You have my word,
Eden. If she denies you, I will not.”
Snow gave a low whistle, leaning back with his arms crossed. His
hawk shifted uneasily, talons clicking against leather. “There’s
your answer, scarlet beauty,” he said, his grin a flash of sharp
white teeth. “The prince has spine. Stronger than most I’ve met
in gilded halls.”
He tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly. “But if she does
refuse… then it’s not just his fight. You’ll have me in it, too.
I know what it is to be dismissed, to be told I don’t belong. If
it comes down to it, I’d rather take the sky by storm than bow
to someone clutching at something they don’t understand.”
He smirked faintly, but the seriousness in his tone was
undeniable. “And if it gets loud, well… I don’t mind making
noise.”
Zan shifted his stance, scarred arms folding across his chest.
His green eyes moved from Eden to Adan, then to Snow, heavy with
thought.
“You want my truth?” he said bluntly. “Blood, crown,
crew—doesn’t matter. You break trust with the land, with the
people, you’re finished. I’ve sailed with kings and thieves, and
it all comes back to one thing: whether or not you remember who
you’re supposed to serve.”
He jerked his chin toward the guard bound against the mast.
“This fool forgot. Cost him his freedom. If Nile forgets, it’ll
cost her throne. Simple as that.”
From the shadows near the stairwell, a new voice stirred. Low,
rough, but steady.
“I’ll need audience with your queen as well.”
The figure who stepped forward was cloaked and hooded, his face
largely hidden in shadow. His presence carried weight, not loud
but deliberate, as if he had been waiting for the right moment
to speak.
Adan straightened, cautious. “And who are you?”
The man’s lips curved faintly beneath the hood. “Just another
soul with business the crown won’t want to hear. But it must be
said. Secrets buried too long have a way of surfacing.” His head
tilted, the gleam of an eye catching in the dim lantern light.
“Perhaps our paths cross for a reason. Perhaps not. But when the
time comes, I will speak.”
Adan eyed the hooded man.He wasn’t imposing in build, but there
was a weight to him—like someone who had weathered storms that
would have drowned lesser men. His cloak was worn, edges frayed
from years of travel, yet he carried himself with an ease that
suggested strength was still coiled beneath.
His voice was low, carrying the rough grain of salt and smoke,
but there was something else there too—something steady and
deliberate, the cadence of someone used to choosing every word
carefully.
Adan blinked, the sound of it pulling at something in him he
couldn’t place. A strange sensation crawled along his skin, as
if memory brushed past but refused to settle. He studied the
hooded figure’s profile, the shadow of his jaw, the curve of his
shoulders—familiar in ways that made his stomach knot. Why do I
feel like I’ve seen him before? Heard him before?
Before Adan could voice the thought, Snow spoke, arms crossing
loosely. “That’s Atreus. Been part of this crew a while now.”
His grin crooked at the corner, pale eyes flicking toward the
hood. “I’ve heard pieces of his story. Enough to know he’s not
full of wind. But it’s not my tale to tell.” He tilted his head
at Atreus, hawk-like. “When he’s ready, he’ll speak for
himself.”
Zan gave a slow grunt, his green eyes narrowing in thought.
“Aye. I’ve heard enough to know the man’s got a reason for
keeping quiet. He’s no coward. Just waiting for the right ears.”
He shot Atreus a meaningful look. “But the queen? If half of
what you’ve hinted is true, she’ll need to hear it straight.”
Atreus inclined his head slightly, the movement controlled,
almost courtly despite his rough cloak. “In time,” he said
simply. “But not here. Not yet.” His tone held finality, though
not disrespect. “The truth I carry belongs before the queen
herself—and perhaps not even all of it there.”
The tension that followed wasn’t hostile, but charged. Secrets
layered atop secrets, all converging on one throne.
Adan’s eyes lingered on Atreus, unease tugging harder at him. He
didn’t know why, but the man’s voice echoed in him like
half-remembered song. Quietly, he resolved that when the time
came, he’d find out exactly who Atreus was—and why he felt like
the shadow of memory itself.
Eden stood still for a moment, her masked eyes locked on Adan,
her expression unreadable. She could feel the weight of his
words sink in—there was no hesitation, no softness in his voice.
He was speaking from somewhere deep inside, and it was raw,
unguarded.
Slowly, she exhaled, the tightness in her chest loosening as she
realized the truth behind what he'd said.
*He means it. He really means it.*
"I believe you," she said softly, her voice carrying more than
just the words. “I can see what it costs you to say it.”
Her masked gaze drifted to the floor for a moment before
returning to his eyes, the tension in her body slowly unwinding.
“It’s not easy—standing against your own. I know what that
choice feels like. The weight of it.” She paused, her voice low,
almost a whisper. “But sometimes… someone has to. Or everything
rots from the inside out.”
She gave him a small, quiet nod. Not out of formality, but
respect.
The moment passed, and her attention shifted to Snow, a new
curiosity creeping into her lips.
“You, though…” She cocked her head a little, her lips twitching
into a faint smile. “Another pair of hands in this fight could
mean a lot. But wouldn’t stepping into this—so openly—be seen as
an international problem? You carry the crest of Audora. If you
make too much noise… your kingdom might not stay quiet about
it.”
Solis —who had been silent, observing—stepped forward. His voice
was smooth and warm, yet carried the weight of experience.
“Sometimes, being a problem is the right decision,” Solis said,
his calm tone sliding out.
Eden turned toward the man who chastised her when she was on the
bridge, “What have you to agree so?”
Solis gave a small bow of his head, his eyes steady and
unwavering.
“Solis , heir of the kingdom of Soltair,” he said, the name
carrying weight. “First of House Apollon. Though not always
treated as such.”
He met her masked gaze, the edge of a wry smile tugging at his
lips.
“I was sent away in safety during the last border dispute—too
many threats on my life, or so they said. But while away, I
earned the mark of a strategist under the Council of Flame. In
Soltair, that grants royal claim.” He paused, his eyes flicking
toward Snow, then back to Eden. “So yes… I have a voice. And I
would lend it to this cause.”
Eden’s brow furrowed slightly, the implications of his words
weighing on her.
“Pressure from other nations can be… persuasive,” Solis
continued, the weight of his statement hanging in the air.
“Especially when the crown thinks itself above reproach.”
She held his gaze, considering his words carefully. The idea of
international pressure wasn’t one she had yet allowed herself to
entertain, but the more she listened, the more it felt like a
door being opened.
“You’re saying… if it comes to it, you’ll back us politically?”
Eden asked, her tone serious.
Solis nodded, his expression calm and sure. “If the truth is
what I suspect it is, and if Adan does what he says he will—then
yes. I will.”
There was a long, quiet moment where Eden studied him, her
thoughts racing behind her expression, her head tilting some.
Eden’s face turned to the mystery man in the cloak,her mouth
twitching with the urge to speak, but she held her tongue.
Though she couldn’t place why, something about him tugged at the
edges of her memory. Her gaze flicked briefly to Atreaus, then
back again, an unspoken question hovering in her mind. Whatever
their business with the queen was, it would have to wait. “Get
in line,” she said, voice steady. “Once I’m finished, you can
have your turn.”
The call of a crewman broke the tense air, announcing that they
were nearing the dock. Eden released a long breath, the weight
of her worries pressing in. “I need to meet with my brothers,”
she murmured, already bracing herself. Master Jalal would be
fine—she was certain of that—but she couldn’t shake the gnawing
unease of not knowing what had happened while she was away.
Adan held Eden’s gaze a heartbeat longer, the steadiness in his
face answering for the oath in his voice. He let a slow breath
out, then spoke with the measured calm that came easier in
council than in courtship.
“Rightly so—this will ripple far beyond our borders,” he
admitted, quiet but frank. “If Audora stirs, or if any other
power smells weakness, they’ll move. I won’t pretend it won’t be
messy. That said, I will not let fear of consequence decide
whether what’s right is done. I will bring this to my
grandmother with every scrap of proof we’ve gathered. I will
ask, implore, bargain—whatever it takes to return the Apple
without causing a war. And if that fails…then we choose the
protection of the oasis over any throne.”
He squeezed Eden’s hand once, meaning every word. “I promised
you I would stand. I meant it.”
Snow laughed—short, sharp, and a little wry—then let the sound
die into something more serious. He tugged at Pry’s feathers,
eyes glinting.
“You're right to be cautious about crowns and crests,” he said.
“Audora has pride; they have reach. I won’t pretend my name buys
me immunity. But I’ve never been one to hide when the moment
calls. If making noise keeps eyes off you while we fix this?
Fine. Make it loud. If they decide to march in anger, I’ll stand
on the decks with you and make them regret thinking they could
take what’s not theirs.” He gave Eden a crooked smile. “Politics
be damned—some things are worth starting a storm over.”
Zan’s voice cut in then—flat, pragmatic, all sail-captain and no
flourish.
“You’ll get no heroics from me,” he said, folding his arms. “But
I’ll give you strategy. First we secure the evidence. Chain of
custody, witnesses, logs—everything to show the theft and the
guard’s confession. Present that to Nile, neat and undeniable.
Second, we plan contingencies: safe routes, loyal escorts, and a
public timeline so no one can swallow this under a rug. If
diplomacy fails, we don’t charge blindly—we move with precision.
That’s how you keep people alive.”
He looked at Adan and Eden in turn. “You want my word? I’ll keep
the ship true. I’ll keep the guard in custody and the crew on
their oath. No bloodletting, no theatre—just the truth,
delivered hard and clean.”
Snow gave a short, approving whistle and added, less formally,
“And if you need a face out front—someone who can rile up the
courts and the clouds—I’ll be your thunder.”
Adan nodded, absorbing each pledge. Then he turned back to Eden,
voice soft but resolute.
“We’ll do this together—carefully, loudly if we must, and with
the law at our backs. Your people’s roots won’t be left to rot
while I have breath in my chest.”
Around them the crew shifted, a current of resolve passing
through the deck. The plan had no final answers yet—only the
promise that they would try, together, to get the Apple home.
As the Silver Ghost began its slow descent toward the capital
docks, the hum of the aether-engines sputtered, then shifted in
pitch. The crew exchanged quick glances—something was wrong.
Zan strode to the rail, scanning the ground below. A crimson
banner shimmered up from the city’s signal tower, the imperial
crest pulsing in pale light. “Orders from the ground!” he
barked. “All ships to hold altitude—no one lands until the
inspection guard clears the docks!”
Snow swore under his breath. “Inspection guard my ass. They’re
stalling us.” He turned toward the crew at the rigging. “Drop
anchors and kill forward drift!”
The deck lurched slightly as the ship steadied. Below, soldiers
in gleaming bronze armor were already assembling, banners
snapping in the wind.
Adan stared over the side, face paling. “They’re not going to
let us dock,” he realized quietly.
Zan gave a tight nod. “Not unless we want to be boarded and
questioned for a week. We’ll need another way down.”
Snow’s grin was immediate and far too pleased. “Bungee lines.
Quickest way to ground without a treaty breach.”
Adan turned to him with a look of sheer disbelief. “You’re
joking. You must be joking.”
Snow clapped him on the shoulder. “Oh, I’m very serious. Unless
you’d rather wait for your grandmother’s patrol to poke through
every inch of the ship.”
The crew moved fast—ropes unspooled, harnesses buckled, hooks
latched to the side rails. The wind howled up from below,
tugging at cloaks and hair. Snow watched with a faint smirk as
the color drained further from Adan’s face.
“I’m not afraid of heights,” he muttered, voice tight. “I just
don’t trust gravity.”
Snow chuckled, looping his own harness beside him. “Lucky for
you, I do. And I don’t intend to let you splatter, your
highness. You’re coming with me.”
Before Adan could argue, Snow clipped their lines together,
wrapped his arms around Adan and leapt, taking the prince with
him. The drop tore a scream from Adan before he could stop
it—loud, startled, and entirely undignified. Wind roared in his
ears, his stomach plummeting, hands gripping Snow’s coat in a
death lock.
Snow laughed, hair whipping in the wind. “Told you—trust me!”
They slowed with a hard jolt, the bungee cords snapping them
upward before settling in a rhythm of diminishing rebounds.
Adan’s eyes were squeezed shut, his face buried in Snow’s
shoulder, muttering a string of prayers in the old fae tongue.
When they finally steadied, Snow’s grin was positively feral.
“See? Still breathing. Didn’t even lose a shoe.”
Adan opened one eye, glaring up at him through the wind-tossed
hair. “Next time,” he hissed, “I’m taking the stairs.”
It was probably going to take weeks to dislodge his heart from
his throat.
#Post#: 1169--------------------------------------------------
Re: Triple threat
By: Inkglitched Date: February 10, 2026, 9:25 am
---------------------------------------------------------
Eden listened intently to Adan’s words, each one heavy with
thought, as if he truly contemplated the ripples and how far
they would travel. Her heart tightened, moved by the rare sense
of being understood—the weight of her hidden memories resting
deep in their jungle. A faint, ghostlike smile touched her lips.
Snow’s laughter steadied her heart. His words—recognizing her
carefulness about the crown and the politics of far-off
realms—affirmed her instincts and drew a faint blush to her
cheeks. Warmth spread slowly through her. Something in him
stirred a quiet thought: he might be a worthy mate, if life ever
led her there. Her mind drifted to Adan as well, yet with his
royal blood and ties to the fae, she could not be certain how
their world truly worked.
Her face turned to Zan. “I’ll make sure to keep the ship out of
my antics then… well, *hers*. End isn’t happy right now, and if
things get worse, she will make herself known,” said Eden.”like
she did with the guard. But she will keep people out given our
nature.” She said softly.
Eden took in what was going on- her masked face scanning the
faces.. then she noticed them.”oh- think I know why…” she
mumbled seeing her brothers.
Her face turned toward the snow and Adan as she watched him
strap himself in, then tether Adan to himself. She started to
laugh as she heard Adan scream on the way down. Her simply
vaulting over the side with no tether, only the cloak she wore
to tug it right as she used wind to parachute down. Her feet
rested on the ground as she let the cloak fall.
“Need help getting down?” she asked with an amused smirk,
stepping toward the upside-down men. “Though… this is
captivating to see,” she teased, leaning closer to their faces.
A soft glow shimmered through her mask, hinting at the position
of her eyes.
She heard Nile yelling out, “What were you thinking? You could
have gotten him killed!”
Eden tilted her head, a sly smirk curving her lips. Her fingers
brushed lightly against her hip, weight settling into one leg as
she let the air thicken with her pause. “Oh, he’s fine. The
Prince of Audora is quite… capable,” she said, the word rolling
off her tongue with deliberate mischief. Her chin angled
forward, a subtle lean that dared anyone to contradict her.
“Prince Adan is alive.” She let the silence stretch, shoulders
loose and relaxed, before a soft, amused laugh escaped her.
“Frightened, but alive.”
Ezra’s voice sliced through the moment as he strode past the
guards, his steps quick, his hands cutting short arcs of
irritation. “And you couldn’t wait to dock?” His tone was sharp,
exasperation coloring every syllable. Eden’s smirk faltered,
chin lifting with defiance, her posture stiffening into the
stubborn line that mirrored her brothers’. “Nope,” she said
flatly, arms crossing with a casual finality. “I discovered
something I couldn’t ignore. Urgent.”
Enon closed the distance with a few measured steps, his frame
casting a shadow over her. His stance radiated protective
instinct, shoulders tight, one hand flexing at his side. “What
were you thinking?! Being with the prince is one thing—but a
stranger in a boat not from here?” His hand sliced the air
toward Snow, who busied himself helping Adan back to his feet.
Eden only shrugged, her chin tipping slightly downward, posture
relaxed in deliberate contrast to their tension. “Didn’t you
hear me? He’s a prince too. Perfectly safe.”
Enon exhaled a long, weary sigh, his head bowing for a beat
before he straightened again.
Meanwhile, Ezra’s smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he
murmured to Jalal, shoulders angling in a conspiratorial lean,
“I’ve got a bad feeling this Snow guy is just gonna enable her…”
Jalal exhaled sharply through his nose, his chest rising in a
controlled motion, shoulders squaring as he addressed Eden. He
didn’t need eyes to command the space; the weight of his
authority pressed like a hand on the back of her neck. “I told
you to follow this land’s rules,” he said, his voice slicing the
air with a tempered edge. His head tilted slightly, the
restrained motion delivering the same reprimand as a raised
brow. “And what was the second one?”
Eden’s head angled to the right, the faintest flinch of her
posture betraying the effort to ignore him. Her arms folded
tighter across her chest, a silent, stubborn shield.
“Eden.” His voice carried the immovable patience of stone.
Her shoulders rose in a fleeting shrug, chin dipping before
lifting just enough to glance his way. “Don’t run off?” she
muttered, the hesitant tilt of her head a quiet admission.
“Don’t blindly trust others.” The words carried enough weight
that she flinched, her neck stiffening before she caught
herself.
“But they’re true,” she protested, her head dipping forward, the
slight cant of her body telegraphing stubbornness. “They said
they’d help with our predicament!” Her arms fell to her sides in
a half-hearted gesture of defiance, while Jalal’s posture
shifted into the silent language of exasperation—shoulders
lowering, head angled, the invisible question in the air clear:
What am I going to do with you?
Atreus’s descent silenced the last of the murmurs. The rope spun
once, twice, and then—gracefully—he uncoiled, dropping the
remaining feet in a smooth arc. His boots kissed the earth
without a sound, cloak settling around him in a soft sweep. The
movement was so fluid it almost looked choreographed.
Snow let out a low whistle, genuinely impressed. “Well now,” he
drawled, grin widening. “That’s not a bad entrance. Reminds me
of the Swārāmī dancers of the eastern cliffs—same
kind of control. Grace and danger all rolled into one.”
Zan huffed behind him, the corners of his mouth twitching
upward. “Just don’t expect the rest of us to try it.”
Adan, still pale from the descent, finally managed a shaky
breath. His grip on Snow’s sleeve loosened, though he didn’t
quite step away yet. He gave one look toward Eden, who was
clearly enjoying herself, then turned as Queen Nile swept
forward.
“Grandmother,” he began, straightening his posture even as his
hair stuck out from the wild drop.
Adan exhaled slowly, pressing a hand to his chest. “I’m fine,
Grandmère,” he said gently in response to her concern, though
his tone carried firm intent beneath it. “If the imperial order
hadn’t grounded every ship within the capital’s airspace, we
would have docked properly. But the matter we carry is too
urgent to delay.”
Snow’s usual humor dimmed to something more measured. He
inclined his head respectfully toward the queen but stood close
enough that it was clear he wouldn’t back down if she pressed
too hard. “Urgent is putting it mildly,” he murmured.
Nile’s gaze flicked between the strangers—the masked woman, the
desert champion; the foreign prince of Audora; the scarred
sailor; and the hooded man whose silence drew the guards’ wary
stares. Adan could imagine what she was thinking of the
entourage he'd brought with him.
“They’re with me,” Adan replied, voice quiet but resolute. “All
of them. Zan. Snow. Atreus.” He turned deliberately, nodding
toward each as he named them. “They’ve uncovered evidence of a
theft that reaches beyond kingdoms. And it concerns something
that was stolen from Eden’s people—something tied to the balance
of the earth itself.”
The murmurs from the guards and attendants grew restless until
Adan lifted his hand for silence. “This isn’t for the
courtyard,” he added softly. “We need privacy. There are too
many ears here that shouldn’t hear what we’ve learned.”
For a long, breathless moment, Nile studied him, her expression
unreadable. Then she inclined her head once, the faintest
acknowledgment of his authority as heir.
“Very well,” she said. “But you will explain everything—to me
and no one else—inside the Hall of Mirrors. And you’ll do it
now.”
Adan turned to catch Eden's face had turned towards him during
the exchange, the faintest glint of shared understanding passing
between them. Whatever waited beyond those gilded doors was
going to decide everything.
Snow adjusted the strap of his sword, his grin returning, sharp
and bright. “Well,” he muttered under his breath to Atreus,
“guess the real show’s about to start.”
"Wait for the epilogue," Atreus murmured back, falling into step
behind Adan as his guards swept around the group as they headed
into the palace.
Eden listened to the playful banter surrounding Atreaus, a soft
chuckle escaping her as warmth fluttered in her chest. Her
shoulders eased, and she leaned ever so slightly toward the
voices, drinking in the easy laughter. Even behind the mask that
hid her eyes, the tilt of her head and the relaxed curve of her
posture spoke of how light and unburdened she felt in that
moment—free.
The shift came quietly at first, a ripple beneath the laughter:
an urgent note in the voices, Adan murmuring that they should
take things inside. The warmth in Eden’s chest faltered. Her
back straightened, shoulders drawing in as if bracing against a
sudden chill. Her hands tightened where they rested, and the
subtle stillness of her frame betrayed the tension her masked
gaze could not.
Reluctantly, she followed her family, her steps slowing as they
left the open air behind. Eden’s boots struck the marble of the
entryway with careful precision, and a pang of longing stirred
for the crunch of gravel or the forgiving give of wild earth
beneath her feet. She squared her shoulders, carrying her unease
like armor as they crossed the threshold into the Hall of
Mirrors.
The vaulted ceiling rose like a gilded cage, capturing every
flicker of torchlight and scattering it into endless reflections
that seemed to close in around her. Her measured stride placed
her just behind Adan. One hand brushed the pommel of the blade
at her hip—not in threat, but as a familiar anchor against the
tightness curling along her spine. She breathed shallowly,
lifting her chin as if defiance alone could grant her the sky
she craved.
When Adan glanced back, the corner of her mouth twitched—a ghost
of reassurance. Her eyes, sharp and restless, flicked across
mirrored panels, chasing ripples of movement that might be guard
or illusion. The scent of wax and polished stone stirred a quiet
resentment; this place was built to impress and to intimidate,
and it succeeded on both fronts.
Still, Eden pressed forward. Her cloak whispered across the
floor as the guards closed in behind them. She brushed her
fingers against a cold marble column, grounding herself in
something solid, something real.
“So many reflections,” she murmured low, a wry thread of humor
in her voice. “Hope one of them shows me a window.”
Yet she did not falter. For all her unease, she was a quiet
blade—rigid, ready, and loyal—as the Hall of Mirrors swallowed
them whole.
Eden stood silently as the Queen eased into her throne, its cold
metal gleam catching the torchlight. Behind the smooth curve of
her mask, Eden’s breathing was shallow—too measured, too
careful—as if each inhale might betray the tremor in her chest.
Her gloved fingers twitched against the hem of her cloak, a
subtle rhythm that matched the pulse of her fraying resolve.
The chamber’s voices blurred into a muffled hum before one name
struck like a bell—“Adan.” Nile’s voice, calm but edged, echoed
across the hall. Faces turned expectantly, a tide of loyalty and
doubt mingling in their eyes. Eden felt the echo of her
alternate self—the one who thrived in shadows and
manipulation—slipping back, leaving the rawness of her Alternate
self exposed beneath the mask. Her spine straightened as if to
hold the pieces together.
Before the Queen could press further, End stepped forward, the
movement abrupt enough to interrupt the flow of conversation
briefly.Her masked face tilted slightly, catching Nile in the
focus of her unseen gaze.
She settled beside Adan, her hands resting on the hilts of her
blades out of long habit as she listened, flanked by her
brothers and Jalal.
Adan stood before the throne, the flicker of firelight from the
mirrored walls catching in his dark hair and gilding the sharp
line of his jaw. For a moment, the silence pressed around him
like the weight of expectation itself. Then, when he finally
stepped forward, his voice carried clearly—steady, deliberate,
yet touched with the ache of what he was about to lay bare.
“Your Majesty,” he began, inclining his head. “Grandmère.”
He turned slightly, gesturing to the figures who stood behind
him in quiet formation. “Allow me to introduce those who’ve
traveled with me. Captain Zan, loyal to the crown and the sea
both. Atreus, and Prince Snow of Audora, who offered his
alliance and his ship in good faith.”
Snow gave a fluid, sweeping bow, one hand over his chest and a
grin playing at his lips. “Your Majesty. A pleasure to be caught
up in royal business that doesn’t involve an execution notice,
for once.”
Adan shot him a faint, warning look, but continued smoothly.
“And lastly—Champion Eden of the Oasis. Guardian and heir to one
of the world’s most ancient sanctuaries. She is the reason we
stand here now.”
A murmur rippled through the hall—guards shifting, nobles
whispering, their reflections splintering in the mirrored walls
like scattered rumors.
Adan drew a slow breath and began. “I’ve come before you to
bring light to a theft—one that began within our own borders. An
artifact known as the Apple of Memory was taken from Eden’s
homeland years ago under the guise of preservation.” His voice
grew firmer, conviction hardening with every word. “In truth, it
was stolen. And the Champion who was meant to guard it—Eden—was
left beaten, bleeding, and abandoned in the desert by one of our
own servants acting on greed.”
The hall froze. Even the torches seemed to hold their flames.
“Those responsible believed the Apple to be a vessel of power—of
prophecy.” Adan’s gaze moved slowly from the courtiers to the
Queen herself. “But what they took was far older. It is no
weapon, no relic of conquest. It is the living memory of the
first Terranian—an echo of the earth’s soul, bound and entrusted
to her people. Without it, the oasis that sustains their lands
is dying.”
He stepped closer to the throne, each word spoken with quiet,
painful reverence. “Grandmère, this crime is not just theft. It
is desecration. Our ancestors swore an oath to protect the
balance of the earth—to serve as guardians, not plunderers. That
oath is the root of our power. It is what keeps our kingdom in
harmony with the spirits of the land.”
Nile’s golden eyes flickered, a shadow of recognition passing
through them, but her face remained unreadable.
Adan’s voice softened. “If we turn a blind eye to this, then we
dishonor everything we claim to protect. Eden has shown
restraint where most would demand vengeance. She came here not
to destroy, but to ask for what was stolen—to restore what is
dying.”
He sank to one knee before the throne, his head bowed. “I beg
you, Grandmère. Let us return what was taken. Let us show the
world that the crown of the fae does not thrive on stolen
roots.”
Snow’s voice broke the silence that followed, smooth but
sincere. “And for what it’s worth, Your Majesty, he’s right.
I’ve seen greed hollow out nations. You still have time to prove
this one different.”
Zan’s bow was brief, but his tone solid as stone. “What he says
is truth. The earth remembers what’s done to it. So do its
people.”
Atreus said nothing—only lowered his head slightly, the dim
light glancing off his hood. But his silence carried weight, as
if he, too, held a piece of the story still untold.
Queen Nile’s voice, low and melodic, rolled across the mirrored
hall like a tide that refused to recede.
“You speak with courage, grandson…and with conviction,” she
said, her golden eyes steady upon Adan. “I will not deny the
power of your words, nor the truth that threads through them.
Yet you speak of the Apple of Memory as though it were but a
passing fruit, plucked and traded from hand to hand. It is not
so. Though it did not originate in my realm, the Apple of Memory
has found its way here. Our halls are the marrow of remembrance;
our very kingdom exists to preserve memory.“
She leaned back, the faintest crease of reluctance touching her
brow. “You ask me to not preserve a memory as I’m merely
replanting it- to help it survive under better protection,” she
said, fingers tightening against her sleeve. “The desert may
have borne it first, but here—here—it has sung. It has
whispered. It has become part of us. I… think it’s in the best
interest it stays- it’s invaluable ...”
Jalal tilted his head. “Then what do you propose so we can get
it back?”
She drew a slow breath. “If it needs to be so—if that is what
must be done—I am willing to do what I can a precaution . I know
of Ezra, and of his oasis binding.”
Enon’s jaw worked, the flicker of reluctance clear in his face,
but he said nothing, holding his composure with effort as he
heard Nile propose.
“I suggest I keep him as collateral in case the Apple fallen in
the wrong hands.”
Eden held her posture with deliberate calm, shoulders squared
and chin lifted, the picture of control. Yet a pulse of
aggression betrayed her through the subtle tightening of her
fists at her sides and the rigid set of her jaw. Her alter ego
flickered in those small betrayals—an almost imperceptible shift
of weight, a coiled readiness, the faintest tremor in her
fingers. Behind the mask of composure, a storm simmered, silent
but unmistakable to anyone attuned to the language of tension.
“And yet,” Nile continued more softly, “you cannot show me proof
that it is yours. Neither Ezra nor Enon could bring me the
evidence I require. You bring me stories, oaths, and grief…but
not the certainty that would let me place the apple in your hand
with trust- that threatens our kingdoms safety.“
Jalal drew in a slow, steady breath, his voice calm but edged
with resolution.
“We cannot simply hand Ezra over,” he said, as though stating an
immutable law. “Ezra is what keeps the oasis alive and thriving.
We came only to retrieve the apple and return home. We’ve been
away long enough already. But if your explanation holds, it
would mean you intend to declare war on our world—because the
apple, and Ezra, were never yours to claim in the first place.”
He stepped closer, posture stiff and tense. “The apple was never
Enon’s, nor Ezra’s, to begin with. Its memory stretches far
beyond what you can know. Bring Eden to it, and you will see the
proof for yourself—see the indelible ties the champion has to
it.”
Nile’s eyes narrowed, seizing on the words of keeping the earth
alive. “They say Ezra keeps the oasis alive,” she said slowly,
letting the weight of the words settle over the gathered faces.
“ what Lies have you told my grandson to convince him
otherwise?”
A tense silence followed, broken only when Solis strode in,
dragging a guard by the arm. The man’s mouth was gagged, his
eyes wide with fear. Solis yanked the gag away and said, “This
one -He’s the proof.”
The guard stumbled forward, trembling as the truth threatened to
spill into the open, the air thick with the scent of betrayal
and the echo of unspoken horrors.
Nile raised her brow as Solis removed the gag from the man.
“Repeat what you said before—no doubt they have a way of knowing
truth from lies,” he said, while Nile let out a sigh.
“Khali!” She called.
A silver-haired man, his skin as dark as midnight, entered the
chamber with an air of quiet gravity. Unlike the vibrant and
colorful guards who surrounded her, he was decorated in muted,
stately tones, a stark figure of authority. Resting atop his
head was an ornate Anubis mask, its golden eyes glinting in the
dim light. An earpiece nestled against his ear hummed softly, a
discreet device that whispered live readings of his vitals—heart
rate, blood pressure—each pulse a reminder of his controlled
composure.
As he listened, the guard’s confession spilled into the room,
raw and unadorned: yes, he had struck the girl, and yes, he had
taken the apple. His voice trembled with a strange conviction as
he explained that he had carried it not to harm, but to
preserve, believing it never should have been in a child’s hands
at the time.
The words rang true, resonating with the silver-haired man like
the toll of an ancient bell. His earpiece whispered back
approval from its silent, clinical readings—calm, steady,
believing.
The man’s reply was measured, his tone carved from the weight of
truth. He spoke of memory, and how returning it should never be
whimsical or reckless, but guided—contained within a controlled
situation where all nations could bear witness, where no single
hand could shape the past alone. His words lingered, heavy as
the mask that watched quietly from his brow.
That’s when End finally surged to the surface, wresting control
from Eden in a flash of raw fury. Her masked face tilted
sharply, the metal glint catching the dim light as she spat,
“That’s a lie! You said you believed it for power and
knowledge!” The words lashed out like a whip, her voice laced
with the rage that had been simmering beneath the calm façade.
Queen Nile’s voice cut through the tense air, calm yet edged
with unshakable authority. “That will be quite enough,
champion,” the Queen said, her tone sharp yet composed. “It is
not your place to speak in such a manner. Jalal, call off your
champion at once. This is not how we will proceed.”” she said,
her tone leaving no room for argument. Her posture was flawless,
chin lifted, her jeweled fingers resting lightly on the carved
armrest of her throne.
End, flushed and trembling, stood with hands clenching and
unclenching as if trying to crush the words she longed to spill.
Her chest heaved, her face turning between the Queen and the
assembled council. Jalal moved- deliberate and fluid, like a
calm current approaching a stormy shore.
He moved toward Eden in unhurried steps, his presence a quiet
anchor in the roiling tension. As he neared her, he inclined his
head slightly and spoke low, just enough for her ears. “Breathe,
End. I know this is rough- but you have allies.” His hand
hovered near her shoulder, an unspoken offer of support without
imposition.
The Queen gestured gracefully toward Khali. “You may continue,”
she said, her voice smoothing the air once more, compelling all
eyes back to the speaker.
End’s shoulders sagged slightly,her lips pressing into a thin
line as she took a stance that allowed a bit more control on her
part. Like a soldier trying to be at ease.
Khali’s head turned slowly, his gaze heavy with thought as he
let the silence stretch, tasting the tension in the air. “Tell
me,” he said evenly, as if weighing the world with each
syllable, “were you carrying it under order… or acting on your
own?”
The answer came, firm and unflinching—acting alone. For just a
heartbeat, a flicker of something unreadable passed across
Khali’s face, a crack in his stoic armor, gone almost before it
arrived. He inclined his head. “Its truth,” he acknowledged
quietly, though his voice held an edge. Then, turning to his
queen, he added, “Given the grievances my queen- we could at
least allow to bring the apple to the champion- if it reacts
then we can go from there.” He suggested smoothly.
Nile hesitated, then finally nodded to the proposal of bringing
out the artifact. “Very well,” she said, her voice calm but
measured. “Let’s see if Eden is truly meant to bear the apple.”
Moments later, the artifact was carried into the chamber under
the watch of a wall of guards. Their armor clinked softly with
each step as they formed a protective ring. Eden’s face locked
on the shimmering apple, her whole body taut with the impulse to
snatch it and run. She clenched her fists, grounding herself,
and forced her breathing to remain steady, restraining both her
body and the reckless end of her thoughts.
The apple shimmered as if stirred by an unseen ripple. A soft,
otherworldly glow pulsed along its surface. Nile stepped closer,
curiosity and reverence mingling in her expression. Tentatively,
she reached out and tried to open the strange seams along the
artifact’s shell—but it did not yield.
“It’s not yours to open,” Jalal said evenly, observing without
moving from his post.
Nile drew back, frowning slightly, while behind her Eden grew
very still—her quietness like a sudden vacuum in the room,
charged with something the others hadn’t yet noticed.
The apple’s glow flared brighter, rippling with an energy that
seemed to hum through the air. Eden’s body went still. Her
breath slowed, shallow and even, but her mind—her mind was
elsewhere.
Her fingers twitched, but she made no move to touch or get
closer to the artifact. Instead, her face fixed on the
shimmering surface of the apple, unfocused and distant. In the
quiet of the chamber, her pulse thundered in her ears, and a
distant memory stirred, rising from some deep, hidden place
within her.
The world around her vanished.
She was no longer in the chamber. She was on cool earth, her
hands buried in soft soil, fingers trailing through the grains
as if she had always known this land, had always belonged to it.
In front of her, two towering figures stood: a goddess with
fiery red hair, and a god whose skin gleamed as dark as fertile
soil. They spoke, not in words, but in a language that
reverberated deep inside her bones.
“Eden,” the god intoned, and the world blossomed around her—a
vast, boundless landscape of green fields, flowing rivers,
towering trees, and vibrant flowers. It was a landscape of
creation itself, of endless possibility.
The word itself—her name—rippled outward, carrying with it a
sense of destiny. *Eden.*
But the vision was fleeting, and with the blink of an eye, it
was gone.
Back in the chamber, the apple pulsed again, the light
flickering wildly for a moment before it settled back into a
soft glow. But Eden remained motionless. Her chest rose and fell
with steady breaths, yet her mind had drifted far beyond the
room, far beyond the present.
Khali’s eyes narrowed, but before he could respond, a voice came
from where the group stood.
Atreus, until now a shadow behind the others, stepped forward.
His hood shifted just enough for the torchlight to catch on his
cheek. “One whose mind has been bent,” he said, his tone low and
calm, “can believe the lies they’ve been given. Truth, under
coercion, will still register as truth to your readings.”
The room fell into silence. Even Snow paused, his dark brows
furrowing in quiet calculation.
Atreus continued, his voice steady but carrying an edge of
restrained certainty. “If your reader doesn’t search for
external tampering—for the signature of a manipulator—you’ll
find only what was left behind, not what was taken away. You
should check him again. For traces of enchantment.”
Adan tilted his head, assessing him. “And you speak as if you’ve
seen such work before.”
Atreus didn’t flinch. “I’ve lived long enough to recognize the
hands that twist truth.”
For a heartbeat, the Hall felt smaller, its mirrored walls
reflecting not grandeur but unease.
Snow’s expression had softened as Eden still stood half-still in
the strange quiet of her awakening. The glow of the Apple
reflected faintly in his eyes, and for a moment, he seemed to
listen to a song only he could hear—the echo of her turmoil, of
something vast and buried rising again in her soul.
He didn’t speak, not yet. He only stepped a little closer to
her, his voice low enough for her alone: “You’re not alone in
this, *Scarlett*. Whatever that thing showed you… we’ll find a
way through it.”
Then Adan straightened, his expression calm though his heart
beat in his throat. “I think we’ve seen enough for one day,” he
said, breaking the stillness. “Grandmère, these revelations…
they’ll need time to settle. And none of us are at our best in
this room of echoes.” His tone was diplomatic but firm.
Adan inclined his head. “Then, allow me to play host. The royal
gardens are open still, and they’ll offer a quieter place to
speak—or not speak, as needed. And if you wish to join us,
Grandmère… your presence would be welcome.”
Once Nile had given her assent to him being host to their
guests, Adan turned to lead the group out with his guards
following at a respectful distance.
The night air was cool, rich with the scent of moonflowers and
dew. The hum of the waterfalls softened the edge of the tension
left behind in the Hall. Lanterns hung among the white-barked
trees, their glow rippling over marble and pond alike.
Adan led the way in silence, his steps deliberate. Snow walked
beside him, Zan a quiet shadow just behind. Eden followed with
Jalal and her brothers, her cloak whispering over the stones.
Atreus lingered at the rear, hands clasped loosely behind his
back, the faint glint of the hood obscuring his face.
When they reached the heart of the gardens—a clearing of soft
grass and still water—Adan finally exhaled. “We’ll talk here,”
he said, voice low but steady. “No walls. No echoes. Just us.”
For a time, the group said nothing. The tension melted into the
sound of falling water and rustling leaves.
Snow crouched nearby, skimming his fingers across the surface of
the pond, watching the patterns spread. “Peaceful,” he murmured,
almost to himself. “Strange how quiet feels louder after a
fight.” His eyes flicked toward Eden, searching her expression
beneath the mask. “You’re still hearing it, aren’t you? Whatever
it showed you.”
Adan moved closer, his tone softer now. “You don’t have to
explain yet. Just… breathe.” His gaze lifted, sweeping across
the others. “All of us need to.”
He turned toward Atreus, studying the still-hooded figure. “You
saw what happened back there—how the guard’s words lined up too
neatly, like a story rehearsed. How did you know?”
Atreus hesitated, then spoke, his voice low but clear. “Because
I’ve heard lies like that before.”
Snow tilted his head. “You read him. Didn’t you?”
Atreus gave a faint nod. “Not his mind—his blood. It hums
differently when it’s been touched. You can tell when someone’s
memory isn’t their own.”
Adan frowned. “That’s not something ordinary magic can do. Who
are you?”
The question hung heavy in the air, laced with genuine curiosity
rather than accusation. The group’s attention shifted as Atreus
finally reached up and drew back his hood.
Torchlight met his face.
For a breath, Adan forgot how to speak. The resemblance was
uncanny—familiar lines carved by generations, the same cool
composure he’d seen in old portraits, the same quiet strength.
Snow straightened slightly, his usual grin fading into something
softer. “Well,” he said under his breath, “that explains why you
walk like you own the place.”
Atreus’s lips curved faintly. “I don’t,” he said. “Not anymore.
My father did—once. Alrekur. He left before any of you were
born.”
The words hit like a ripple through still water. Adan blinked,
stunned. “Alrekur? But he—he vanished. Centuries ago.”
Atreus nodded. “He chose exile. Left this court to live among
humans. To love one. And I’m what he left behind.”
Zan’s brow furrowed. “Half-fae.”
“Half-blood,” Atreus confirmed quietly. “But that part of me—the
fae blood—it carries something rare. A voice older than any
court magic.”
Without another word, he lifted his sleeve. Faint light traced
along his skin—runes like flowing script, alive and shifting,
pulsing softly in rhythm with his heartbeat. The symbols
shimmered red-gold, the language of fae ancestry glowing through
his veins.
“I’m a blood speaker,” he said. “I can hear the truth that lives
in bloodlines. It’s how I knew the guard was manipulated.
Someone fed him his own conviction.”
Adan stepped forward slowly, his eyes reflecting the faint rune
light. “You’re saying you can see the lies in people’s blood.”
“Yes.” Atreus lowered his arm, the glow fading like embers in
rain. “And if I’m right, someone high in this court has been
using that trick to rewrite the past. To make this kingdom
believe the Apple was theirs all along.”
Snow let out a low whistle, his tone grave but laced with a
flicker of awe. “That’s not just deceit,” he said. “That’s
rewriting history in the bloodstream.”
Snow’s gaze flicked toward Atreus, then to Adan, his voice quiet
but firm. “Then whoever did this—whoever changed that man’s
truth—knew exactly what they were trying to bury.”
Adan drew a slow, steady breath. His next words carried both
weariness and resolve. “Then we find them,” he said. “All of
them. Every name, every hand that touched this lie. But not
tonight.”
He looked around at the gathered faces—the exhausted, the
furious, the newly unmasked—and the faintest smile touched his
lips. “Tonight, we rest. Tomorrow, we start pulling the
threads.”
Snow clapped a hand to his shoulder, smirking faintly. “Finally.
A plan that doesn’t involve falling from the sky.”
That earned a small laugh from Zan and a barely audible hum of
agreement from Jalal.
Adan’s gaze flicked to Eden. “Come morning, we go together. You
have my word.”
And beneath the soft glow of the garden lanterns, the promise
hung between them all—quiet, fragile, but unmistakably real.
Eden’s gaze remained fixed, distant, her breath steady, as
though the memory she was trapped in had become her entire
world. The whisper of the past—a landscape where gods and
goddesses wove the threads of creation—still pulsed around her,
blurring the edges of reality. In the depths of her mind, she
was tethered to the earth, the land that felt as if it had
always called to her. The divine presence of the god and goddess
lingered, and their unspoken words reverberated within her soul,
like a song with no end.
And then, just as the world seemed to press in, the sound of
Snow’s voice cut through the haze of the vision. His
words—familiar, like a soft breeze—swept over her, rousing her
from the depths of her mind.
The tension in her chest shifted, a spark of awareness
flickering at the back of her mind. Snow’s presence was
comforting, his tone a steady anchor in the vastness of her
thoughts. It was as though his words held the power to pull her
from the depths of her own storm, to pull her from whatever
ancient place she had been lost in. But as she pulled herself
back, the memory—the vision—did not fade. It lingered, hovering,
almost teasing her.
Eden’s fingers twitched again, and though her face remained
impassive, a cold shiver ran down her spine. The vision was
fading, but the unease it left behind was not. The light of the
Apple in the room pulsed again, its glow drawing her attention,
but it was no longer a beacon of promise. It was a symbol of
something more insidious. Something taken.
*Her memory.*
The sensation of stolen thoughts, of
something—*someone*—twisting the threads of her own past, gnawed
at her with growing intensity. The anger flared like a sudden
storm.
Her breath quickened, but she exhaled slowly through her nose,
suppressing the heat that threatened to rise from her throat.
And there it was again—the quiet hum in the back of her mind,
the glint of something darker, her other half stirring, cold as
ice.
*we have to wait?*
Her fingers clenched into fists, the soft crackle of magic
running through her veins, thrumming with the promise of
destruction. The urge to let loose, to tear the falsehoods
apart, was almost overwhelming. But she stilled it with a force
of will, holding it back for now.
Eden’s voice, when it came, was low and cutting, like frost on
the wind.
“Pull the threads?… how long will that take?”
The others stood still for a moment, their gazes falling on her,
sensing the shift in her demeanor. It wasn’t just Eden who stood
there now. The other half of her, the one lurking beneath the
surface, was fully awake, and it was clear she would not be
appeased easily.
Jalal sensed the dangerous intensity through the subtle tension
in Eden’s masked gaze and the rigid stillness of their posture.
He stepped forward, shoulders squared yet measured, projecting a
calm but unyielding presence. His hands hovered slightly open at
his sides, a quiet plea in his body language, as he spoke in a
steady, almost imploring tone. “End, listen—this has to stop.
Not here. Not now.”
Her face tilted to him, and for a moment, there was a brief
flash of recognition in her expression—*this* was the side of
her he knew. But the ice in her words didn’t soften.
“This *will* stop, Jalal. Or I’ll make it stop.” The chill in
her voice made it clear she wasn’t talking about mere words.
Jalal’s mask hid his face, but tension rippled through his
posture. Shoulders squared, he leaned forward, a silent
challenge in the set of his frame as he met her gaze. His
movements were deliberate, controlled, yet unyielding.
“But there’s more at play here than just your past. We’ve all
been manipulated.” he said, voice low, coaxing but firm.
End’s shoulders squaring as she took a deliberate step toward
him. Her expression did not waver, though a subtle tightening of
her jaw betrayed the storm beneath. “And what if they don’t give
me a choice?”
He met her face without flinching. “Then I’ll stand with you.
But tomorrow. Tonight... let it go. Let it be.” He hesitated for
a brief moment before adding, his voice low but weighted, “If we
can’t fix this by morning, I promise you I won’t stop what
you’ll do.”
The weight of his words seemed to settle over the garden, the
air thick with the unspoken truth of them. Eden’s jaw flexed, a
brief moment of indecision flashing across her face before it
was masked again by that impenetrable coldness.
But she didn’t speak.
Meanwhile, Nile commanded that the artifact be returned to the
holding chamber and that the guards be doubled. She delayed her
own departure, letting the group go ahead while she lingered to
catch ends words and jalal trying to reel her in.
She was ready to ask about having guards around Eden as she
grows in mistrust of a girl that shown disrespect and seemed
volatile.
Yet the words faltered as soon as her gaze fell on Atreaus. His
face, so strikingly like her son’s, rooted her in place, and the
plea for extra protection never left her tongue.”Alrekur?”
Simple, and shock in her voice.
The air in the garden had gone razor-thin. End’s words still
hung in the space between them like frost suspended mid-fall.
The torches sputtered, their flames bowing under the pressure of
her magic.
Adan took one careful step forward, his voice a steady calm
against the sharpness of her threat.
“Eden,” he said quietly—then corrected himself, eyes flicking to
the subtle shift in her stance. “End. I know you want answers
now, but breaking everything tonight won’t give them to you.”
He stopped a few feet away, enough distance to respect the
danger still simmering in her aura. “I don’t think your fury is
wrong,” he added, softer now. “But if the Apple responded to
you, it means you already have what the rest of us don’t—proof.
You don’t need to destroy anything to make them see. Just stay.”
Snow exhaled beside him, arms crossed loosely, voice a low
rumble that carried more empathy than restraint.
“He’s right. Anger like that burns clean at first—but after, it
only leaves smoke, and you can’t see through it. Don’t let them
make you lose the thing they fear most—your control.”
His gaze met hers, steady and unwavering. “You already shook
their faith just by standing there and breathing. That’s power
enough for one night.”
For a long moment, End didn’t move. The glow from the Apple—now
being carried back toward the palace—reflected faintly in the
lenses of her mask.
Snow leaned toward Adan and murmured, “You’ve got the royal
voice thing down, but you might want to work on not sounding
like her therapist.”
Adan gave him a sidelong look that might’ve been a glare—or a
smile trying to stay hidden. “I’ll leave the charm work to you.”
The quiet around them thickened again, though gentler now—like
the storm had passed but left the scent of lightning behind.
It was then that Atreus finally stepped forward. The torchlight
caught on his profile as he lowered his hood. His eyes, clear
and green as new leaves after rain, lifted toward the queen who
lingered a few steps away.
Her breath hitched audibly. “Alrekur?”
Atreus’s reply was quiet, yet carried through the still garden
with unshakable certainty.
“Alrekur was my father.”
He turned his head slightly, the faint curve of his ear catching
the light—barely pointed, more suggestion than mark. “He left
this realm long before I was born. I had a twin brother, and a
younger sister too… but we were separated when we were still
children. Humans don’t live long lives, and half-bloods live
shorter still.”
He paused, eyes softening though his tone stayed even. “They may
still be out there somewhere. One day, I mean to find them.”
The queen’s lips parted as if to speak, but no words came. Her
eyes—sharp and regal—glimmered with something older than anger.
Recognition. Regret.
Adan’s voice broke the silence, warm with both wonder and
disbelief. “You’re his son… then that makes you…”
Atreus gave a small, rueful smile. “Your cousin.”
Snow let out a low whistle. “Well,” he drawled, “guess that
makes this a family reunion. Someone should’ve brought wine.”
That earned him a faint, exasperated laugh from Zan—quiet but
grounding in the heavy air.
Atreus inclined his head toward Eden, the Apple’s fading glow
still stuck in his memory. “Then it seems every one of us
carries ghosts tonight. But tomorrow, perhaps, we start turning
them into truths.”
The garden fell quiet once more—moonlight spilling across the
pool, wind tugging gently at cloaks and hair. And for the first
time since the confrontation began, the night felt less like a
battlefield and more like a promise waiting to be kept.
End slowly released a shuddering breath, the raw edge of her
fury dulling to a simmer. Her hands, still faintly aglow with
the residue of magic, sank to her sides as she spoke, voice low
and tight.
“Fine,” she said, the word like a reluctant truce. “I won’t
break anything tonight….”
Her gaze shifted to the high walls of the palace, stone gleaming
pale under the moon. “But don’t think I’ll sleep under their
roof. Not tonight.” She jerked her chin toward the garden’s
shadowed corner, where the grass met open sky. “I’d rather let
the cold keep me company than walls built on lies.”
Jalal, who had been silent throughout the exchange, let out a
long, weary sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. “End…
sleeping outside like a stray cat isn’t exactly the statement
you think it is.”
“Maybe not,” she muttered, already moving toward the edge of the
garden, boots whispering against the frost-tipped grass. “But at
least out there, the night doesn’t pretend it’s anything other
than what it is, and I feel safer knowing I’m somewhere open.”
She stated.
Her posture relaxed as Eden slid out.”to that I agree.. things
with four walls feels like a cage.” She said her arms folding
over.
Nile who was still mixed on Atreaus seemed to agree to the
fact.”let us part for tonight.. and .. calm down.” She said in a
tone that sounded strained.
Ezra bowed softly.”thanks for having us- and I apologize for my
sisters’ outbursts- but I agree. One night- but if doesn’t get
resolved then we will apply other means.” Said the oasis binder
as he slid his hands in his sleeves.
#Post#: 1170--------------------------------------------------
Re: Triple threat
By: Inkglitched Date: February 10, 2026, 9:28 am
---------------------------------------------------------
now watched as End’s magic dimmed to faint embers, his stance
relaxing once the pressure in the air finally thinned. He let
out a slow whistle, running a hand through his silver-white
hair. “Well,” he said lightly, “I’ve seen storms calm faster
than that. You sure you don’t want a drink before you start
roughing it in the royal shrubbery?”
He paused, gaze flicking toward her.
When she didn’t answer, Snow nodded, then gestured loosely
toward the edges of the garden, where the shadows pooled like
silk. “If you’re really sleeping out here, you’ll want a fur or
two—and a hammock if you can get one. Jungle nights drop colder
than court tempers, and there are things that wander through the
gardens once the guards grow lazy.” His grin curved, half
warning, half tease. “I can keep you company if you want.
Promise I’m good at scaring off unwanted visitors.”
He waited a beat, his expression playful but expectant.
Zan broke in with a sharp exhale. “Oh no. Absolutely not. If
she’s staying out here, I’m staying too.”
Snow blinked, then gave him an incredulous look. “Why? To
supervise me?”
Zan crossed his arms. “Exactly. Someone has to make sure you
don’t ‘accidentally’ end up keeping her warm.”
Snow’s hands flew up in mock offense, though the grin never left
his face. “Please. I haven’t even tried to charm her yet. I’m
still learning which version of her I’d be talking to.”
He shot a glance her way again, eyes gleaming with challenge.
Adan exhaled slowly, the faintest trace of laughter in his
breath. “If you two are done posturing, I’ll have the attendants
bring blankets, furs, and something warm to eat.” His gaze
shifted toward Atreus, curiosity lingering in his tone. “What
about you? Planning to join them in the great outdoors?”
Atreus arched an elegant brow, his mouth quirking. “Actually,
no. I’ve had my fill of camping under strange skies for one
lifetime.” He glanced toward the palace’s open archways and
added dryly, “If there’s a spare bed and a hot bath, I’d call
that a miracle worth taking.”
Snow smirked. “Practical man. You might survive here after all.”
Atreus’s reply was measured but not unkind. “Survival’s easier
when you don’t volunteer to sleep next to predators.”
That earned a quiet laugh from Zan and a small grin from Snow,
who leaned back on his heels.
Adan turned slightly, his tone dipping softer now. “If you need
anything, send word. You’re guests here, and I intend to see you
treated as such. Even if you’re stubborn enough to sleep under
the stars.”
Snow shot a sidelong look toward her. “You say that like
managing is a badge of honor.”
He waited again, his grin lingering, but there was something
gentler behind it this time—something curious, maybe even
admiring.
For a moment, their gazes held—steady, unreadable, but charged
with something unspoken.
And as the palace guards began their rounds, the strange group
scattered across the garden and halls—royalty, wanderers, and
ancient echoes of old bloodlines—all sharing the same fragile
quiet. For tonight, the war of truths could wait.
The stars, at least, would keep watch.
The magic dulled to embers between her fingers, flickering once
before vanishing into the dark like it had never been. End let
the silence settle around her, the pressure in the air finally
lifting. Her shoulders eased. Not relaxed—just less on edge. The
weight of everyone’s eyes didn't bother her, not yet.
Snow’s voice broke the quiet, light and teasing, just this side
of harmless.
She didn’t look at him right away. Let the silence stretch, let
him wonder. Then she shifted, slow and deliberate, turning just
enough to meet his gaze.
End’s cool tone slid through: “I’ve roughed it in the desert the
past few years. Blistering heat, freezing nights..”
She would pause. The barest tilt of her head, as End
continued.”The jungle won’t be a challenge.”
Her fingers flexed once, then stilled at her side. Her gaze slid
back to him, sharper now—curious, measuring.
*He’s still smiling. Easy grin, confident lean. Offering comfort
with a glint in his eye. He's trying to see which one of me he’s
talking to.*
The corner of her mouth curved upward—half smirk, half dare.
End: “But I’ll take you up on that drink too.”
There was humor in it now, dry and coiled beneath the words like
a sleeping viper.“Unless you were just offering charm. Do you
actually have alcohol—or are you hoping I’ll settle for watching
you flirt?”
Snow’s retort landed easily, that grin still plastered across
his face. It should’ve been irritating, but instead—her stance
shifted. Not rigid now. Loose. One hip cocked lazily, arms
folding. The tension that wrapped her spine unwound by a few
degrees.
And just like that, Eden was speaking and smoothing the edges.
Eden teased rather lightly”, And here I thought you were just
being noble. Protection from beasts… or my own thoughts?”
Zan’s voice cleaved the moment in two. Eden froze mid-step, then
exhaled through her nose. Slowly, deliberately, her smile
shifted back to something with more bite. She didn’t even turn
to face Zan—just let the smirk harden and raised her chin.
End said in a sarcastic- and half truth sort of way: “Wouldn’t
be me in his bed.”
Her face stayed on Snow, gleaming.
End: “It’d be him in mine.”
A cough sounded. She’d pause- to slowly turn her head enough to
her family. Ezra’s, and Enon’s presence, sharp and brotherly,
flaring like a drawn blade somewhere to the left.
Of course.
That got their attention.
End raised one hand in mock surrender, still not bothering to
turn.
“Kidding. Calm down,”She said ,letting her voice drop, softened
by a breath and a glance toward the stars above. The air was
cooler now. Less charged.
Eden then responded,”I can handle myself. This isn’t the desert.
And no one’s foolish enough to try anything here. Not in a
palace garden, not surrounded by guards. And barely met this
man..”
But the steel hadn’t entirely left her voice. It lingered at the
edges—calm, but ready. Eden’s face turned back to Snow, lighter
now, and almost playful.“Unless your motives weren’t quite so…
pure. Anything else you’re offering, other than protection?”
Snow’s grin widened, and Adan’s voice stepped in like a
peacekeeper before anything else could spark. Furs, blankets,
something warm.
Eden tilted her head toward him, amusement tugging at her lips
again.“Mm. Offering to come warm me up too?”
She’d let the words hang just long enough to be suggestive, but
the grin that followed softened the blow.
Mostly.
Then, without waiting for a reply, she turned on her heel and
began to walk toward the darker stretch of garden. Her pace was
unhurried. Fluid.
She felt their eyes on her back but didn’t look.
No need.
Let them wonder which one of her they were watching.
Nile stared, utterly speechless, at the way Eden spoke to Adan.
Her tone carried a teasing lilt, but to Nile, it felt as though
she were hinting at something far too intimate—almost as if she
were suggesting Adan should sleep with her. Nile’s mouth opened,
ready to object, when Jalal chuckled and waved a hand, assuring
him she was only joking and would never cross such a line.
Outwardly, Nile forced a stiff nod, but inside, seeing her at
ease with the men in such a way. Had a feeling it would evolve
to more.
Enon sighed.”maybe I should sleep outside too..” he muttered as
Jalal shook his head.”*Ezra needs extra protection..*” he spoke
in a language that oozed of the ancients- a dialect of the
terranians thought long gone but only known by Eden’s family.
“*with the queen making such an absurd suggestion of trading
Ezra- she might try to lock him up somewhere, and I need someone
to take turns watching.*” he said as the trio began to move.
Snow didn’t flinch at End’s boldness—if anything, his grin
deepened. The flicker of challenge in her tone seemed to spark
something in him rather than ward him off. “Desert heat and
freezing nights, huh?” he said, voice dropping to something
rougher, amused. “Sounds like we’ve got more in common than I
thought. I’ve been burned and frostbitten a few times
myself—metaphorically and otherwise.”
He took a slow step closer, not threatening, just teasingly
confident, head tilted. “But if you’re trading the desert for
the jungle, I’d be a fool not to offer a drink. I do have
alcohol. Stronger than the queen’s patience, if you’re brave
enough to share it.”
Her response earned a low chuckle from him, and when Eden
slipped forward to take over, that easy grin stayed—unbothered,
intrigued. “Protection from beasts, your own thoughts… both
sound like worthwhile causes,” he replied, letting her tease
slide right back between them.
When Zan and the brothers stepped in, Snow turned his head
slowly, expression mock-offended. “As if I’d try anything
untoward. I’ve barely gotten a name; I’m not suicidal.” He shot
a grin back toward her. “Besides, I’m still figuring out which
one of her would hit me first.”
Adan stepped forward, offering his quiet rescue in the form of
warmth and logistics. “Furs, blankets, something warm to eat,”
he murmured.
Snow caught the blush creeping up Adan’s neck at her teasing
about “warmth,” and his grin turned wolfish. “Careful,
Prince—blushing suits you. Might become my favorite color.”
Adan cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “If you
need heat, I can ask one of the guards to oversee a fire,” he
managed, still pink around the ears.
Snow leaned toward Eden/End slightly, voice dropping to a
conspiratorial murmur as Adan began ushering the others away.
“Tell me, Scarlet—think we should make it a competition? See
which of us can get more blushes out of him before sunrise?”
His smirk flashed again before he straightened, all charm and
careless ease.
Adan, meanwhile, led Enon, Ezra, Jalal, and Atreus toward the
palace’s guest wing. The marble halls glowed faintly under
moonlight streaming through tall windows, the soft patter of
footsteps the only sound between them.
Adan’s composure returned by degrees, his tone calm as he spoke.
“There are spare rooms prepared already. Rest while you can;
tomorrow will bring enough questions as it is.”
Atreus lingered for a moment, studying the brothers with that
steady, observant look that missed little. Finally, he said
quietly, “You know… you two remind me of someone I met once.”
Adan turned his head slightly, curiosity flickering in his eyes.
Atreus continued, tone distant, thoughtful. “A man covered in
tattoos. Carried himself like he’d seen too much of the world
but wasn’t done walking it. He had a young girl with him—smart
eyes, stubborn streak. Both of them had names that started with
an E.”
He paused, searching his memory before adding, “Elior… and Ezma.
That was it.”
The night stretched on—moonlight spilling over stone, laughter
fading into the garden behind them, and the hum of something
larger beginning to stir in the spaces between bloodlines and
memory.
Eden tipped her head, strands of her wild hair falling forward
as she stepped closer, slow and deliberate. Her weight shifted
from one hip to the other, a subtle dance of interest and
challenge. The proximity unheard of for her and made her
brothers both snap towards her way.
“Bold enough?” The words slid from her mouth, lazy and
deliberate, though the thought hummed between two heartbeats
inside one chest. Her fingers brushed the flask, testing both it
and him, before drawing back as a teasing smirk curved her lips.
“I’ve survived worse than whatever bite that bottle has,” Eden
said aloud, her voice carrying warmth and taunt in equal
measure.
Eden’s smile showed as she spoke. “If Adan does wander back this
way—well, I don’t mind seeing how the sun and the moon makes him
blush more.”
Their shared body shifted, one hip cocking with languid ease.
Arms folded in a single motion that felt like a dance of two
souls. End’s edge hummed through the posture, a tilt of her
face,that moments ago had flashed amusement.
“If he does come back… “ Eden would start before another voice
emerging after low and velvet, but it was End now, speaking
through the mouth they shared. Her smirk curved sharper, her
presence thick in the air around them. “He might find we’ve
already had our fun.”
A hand lifted, hovering in the space between them, fingers
flexing as if reaching for a touch, then falling away with a
languid grace that carried a whisper of danger. Her breath
slipped out on a low laugh, the sound velvety and teasing, but
beneath it thrummed an undertone that could cut. Even masked,
the room could feel the change—flirtation and warning layered in
her tone, the edges of Eden smoothing into End’s bite, the two
ever present, in one way or another.
——
Enon let out a slow breath, the weight of the night finally
settling on his shoulders. His voice was quieter now, tinged
with the exhaustion of long days and longer nights. “Elior… and
Ezmi.” He said the names like a prayer, a weight lifting just a
little with their mention. He looked over at Ezra, the older of
the two brothers, his eyes softening. “If they’re alive… if
they’ve made it this far—then we’ve still got a chance. We get
the apple, and we head home.” His gaze flickered briefly to
Atreus, his expression firming once again.
“Elior’s probably tearing the world apart looking for us. He
won’t give up, not on us.”
Ezra, who had been quiet up until now, gave a short, relieved
laugh. “I can imagine him pacing like a lion in a cage.” His
tone was half-mocking, but it was laced with affection.
“That stubborn bastard would never let us slip out of his sight
for long.”
Jalal, who had been walking a few steps ahead, turned slightly,
his expression unreadable. “You’re right,” he said softly, his
voice like an old echo in the quiet of the hall.
“He always had that fire in him.” He didn’t need to say it
aloud, but the knowledge that their parents were gone—taken in
the last defense of their home—lingered in the air like smoke.
They all felt it, even without speaking of it directly. His eyes
lingered on the younger brothers for a moment, knowing that
their parents’ sacrifice had shaped the men they’d become.
Enon nodded, his mind already focused on the task ahead. “We’ll
get the relic. Soon as we have it, we’re back.” His tone was
resolute, but the glimmer of hope in his voice was tempered by
the memory of their past struggles.
Ezra glanced at him sideways, his brow furrowing. “When did
Elior get tattoos?” he asked, his curiosity piqued by the
mention of his older brother’s markings. “Last I saw him, he was
still pretty bare of ink.”
Enon’s lips curled into a faint smile, despite the exhaustion
settling in. “A few started when we left. He wasn’t as... as
rough around the edges back then. But I’d bet he’s covered now.
He always had a way of marking his life, you know? Tattoos were
his way of carrying stories.”
Enon said . “let’s rest while we can. We’re going to need all
our strength.”
As the group approached the guest wing, Ezra’s gaze flickered
toward Jalal, and something unspoken passed between them. “What
about Eden?” Ezra asked quietly, almost hesitantly.
Jalal’s expression tightened, the familiar sorrow crossing his
face for a moment before he masked it. “Eden is… cooling off.
She’s been through a lot tonight.” He shook his head slowly, his
tone firm but gentle. “We’ll tell her in the morning. It’s a lot
to take in.”
Ezra and Enon both nodded, exchanging a quiet glance. They knew
how much Ezmi had changed since they last saw her—their baby
sister, barely able to walk. And now? A preteen, and probably
strong in her own way. Enon felt the guilt of not being able to
protect the two either. He felt the sense of failure of not
being able to protect anyone that night- all he could do was
hope that they were alive and safe.
As they reached their room, and thanked Adan properly for the
room.
———
#Post#: 1171--------------------------------------------------
Re: Triple threat
By: Inkglitched Date: February 10, 2026, 9:36 am
---------------------------------------------------------
The garden had gone quiet save for the soft hiss of falling
snow, moonlight dusting the marble paths and branches in silver.
Eden sat near the fountain with Snow and Zan, laughter curling
from their small circle as they passed a flask between them.
The sharp bite of the drink warmed her, the smell of food
lingering in the air, and sitting rather close to snow, it was
as if it was a taste of real peace she dreamed of after the
nightmares they endured.
Eden’s face turned to snow, her not really caring what
expression Zan’s face held. She was enjoying the flirting and
toeing the line with the charismatic lost prince. Her teasing so
close she could feel the breath on her face. The blush that Adan
held from her flirting.. something she was enjoying.
But then, something shifted. The quiet wasn’t right. The
stillness grew heavy, too deliberate. Her smile faded, her
instincts prickling.
She tilted her head, listening. A faint scuff of boots across
stone. Just the guards, she told herself. Relax.
Then the alarm shattered the calm.
The sudden clang of metal bells ripped through the garden,
echoing against the palace walls. Eden shot to her feet, the
flask tumbling from her grasp as her eyes caught a flicker of
movement—a figure darting from the side of the castle, cloak
whipping behind him.
And in his hands… the relic that was being slipped in a bag, and
them running off.
Her breath caught, rage and urgency flaring through her veins.
*Mine.* The thought was instantaneous, primal. She didn’t even
think before she ran, boots cutting through the snow as she
sprinted after the thief, her body twisted and formed as the
wind shot her out, anyone behind feeling the breeze of her
attempt to catch that theif.. or least get the relic back.
Khali, one of Adan’s guards, had also taken off- his sword
drawn. Trying to catch up as they tore down the garden path.
The thief was fast, ducking between columns and trees, moving
with the practiced speed of someone who’d done this before.
When Eden caught up, did she realize- the guy was a tuner
himself. He used the winds to allow for faster reflexes and the
tight spaces to try and lose her. But she was getting ever
closer, end surfacing as she hissed.”return or die!”
End pushed harder, teeth clenched, her lungs burning with the
effort- her tuning beginning to waver. She was close—close
enough that the air between them seemed to hum.
Her hand shot out—fingers brushing the edge of the bag. For a
heartbeat, she felt the relic’s pulse through the leather.
Then—white fire.
A memory she hadn’t invited slammed into her consciousness.
Images and sounds not her own—blood, smoke, a voice screaming
her name. Her breath hitched violently, pain knifing behind her
eyes. She stumbled, clutching her head as another wave struck.
“Eden!” Khali’s voice was distant now, drowned out by the roar
of memory and pain.
The thief vanished into the night, but she didn’t see him go.
The past had her. Her body convulsed, every muscle seizing in
rebellion as she gasped for air. She hit the ground hard, her
hands clawing at the ground, the tremors wracking her until her
limbs no longer obeyed her.
Inside, the alarm jolted Ezra awake. He was on his feet in
seconds, breath ragged, while Enon was already reaching for his
sword.
“What the hell—” Enon started.
Jalal was already moving, his expression grim.”need to check on
Eden!” He said as he rushed through the door.
Adan lingered near the threshold of the guest corridor,
listening as Enon and Ezra spoke of their lost siblings. The air
hung heavy with names that carried the weight of years—Elior,
Ezmi. Grief threaded through every syllable, but beneath it was
hope, raw and alive.
“I’m sorry,” Adan said quietly, his tone sincere. “Losing
family… I can’t imagine how long that’s been for you. But if
they’re alive—if there’s even a chance—they’ll find their way
back to you. People like that always do.”
The brothers both nodded faintly, gratitude flickering in their
expressions. Jalal offered a silent bow of acknowledgment before
ushering them to their rooms.
When the others had gone, Adan turned toward Atreus, gesturing
to the corridor’s end. “This one’s yours,” he said, opening the
ornate door. The room was lavish—curtains of deep blue silk,
gold filigree tracing the walls, the faint scent of myrrh and
cedar drifting through the air.
“I hope you plan on staying awhile,” Adan added after a pause,
his voice softer now, touched by something that wasn’t just
politeness. “You’re the only other family I have left. I’d… like
to get to know you better.”
Atreus smiled faintly, that same quiet warmth that seemed to
ground any conversation. “I’ll stay as long as I can,” he said.
“And even if I have to leave, I’ll come back. You have my word.
Maybe your brilliant mind can help me figure out where my
brother and sister ended up.”
Adan’s lips curved into a small, genuine smile. “Then we’ll
figure it out together,” he promised. “Rest well, cousin.”
After Atreus disappeared into his room, Adan lingered only a
moment longer before heading to the servants’ quarters,
gathering furs, blankets, and a small tray of food and tea. The
night air had grown sharp and cold; it didn’t sit right with him
to leave their guests—especially her—to face it alone. He
changed into warmer clothing, pulling a cloak over his
shoulders, and made his way toward the garden.
The garden’s soft hush greeted him—the whisper of snow and the
low murmur of voices. Snow was laughing quietly with Eden and
Zan, his tone a lazy drawl wrapped in warmth.
“I’ll admit,” Snow was saying, eyes glinting mischievously,
“most people would’ve been halfway drunk or asleep by now. But I
get it—you strike me as the type who only feels at ease under
the stars. There’s honesty in the dark, and I respect that.”
He tipped the flask toward her with a crooked grin. “Don’t
mistake me for the charming scoundrel type, though. I like the
chase more than the prize. The journey, not the destination.
Getting to know someone piece by piece—that’s what’s worth
staying up for.”
There was no leer in his tone, no cheap flirtation—only genuine
intrigue. His gaze softened as he leaned back against the stone
bench, one arm resting along its back, relaxed but attentive.
“Besides,” he added with a sly smile, “I’d never spoil a good
mystery before it’s ready to unravel.”
The snowflakes drifted between them, faint glimmers under the
moonlight, and his expression softened further. “So don’t
worry,” he murmured. “I’m here because I want to be. That’s
all.”
It was at that moment that Adan appeared, quiet-footed, carrying
the bundle of furs and supplies. His arrival broke the ease like
a ripple through still water.
“I brought what you might need,” Adan said softly, setting the
tray and blankets down nearby. His cheeks flushed as he caught a
fragment of Snow’s earlier words, and the subtle tension in his
shoulders betrayed the embarrassment he tried to hide.
Snow glanced up with a grin. “You keep showing up like this,
Prince, and I’ll start thinking you’re trying to steal my job.”
Adan looked momentarily startled, rubbing the back of his neck.
“I—uh—just thought it would be unfair to let you freeze out
here.” His voice wavered slightly before settling. “If you need
heat, I can ask one of the guards to tend a fire.”
Snow’s grin turned playful. “Careful, Adan. Shy and handsome is
a dangerous combination. Might make me competitive.”
That earned him a faint glare from Zan—and a near-visible blush
from the prince himself.
Before any of them could tease further, the sharp clang of metal
shattered the calm.
The alarm.
The sound cut through the night like a blade. Adan’s head
snapped toward the palace; Snow was already on his feet, hand
flying to the dagger at his belt.
A shadow darted past the far end of the garden—a cloaked figure,
the glint of gold in his hands unmistakable.
“The relic,” Adan breathed.
Eden was faster than anyone, already sprinting after the thief,
the wind itself seeming to move with her. Khali followed close
behind, his blade flashing in the moonlight.
Snow didn’t hesitate. “I’ll flank him!” he shouted, veering off
to the right, his boots barely whispering against the snow. He
moved with a predator’s grace, his dagger flashing once as he
hurled it through the air.
A strangled cry tore through the darkness—the thief stumbled,
clutching his side, leaving a trail of crimson across the garden
path before vanishing into the maze of trees.
Inside, Atreus had already emerged from his room, eyes sharp and
glowing faintly gold with the faint hum of fae energy. “Stay
here,” he ordered one of the guards, before vaulting over the
railing into the snow below.
Adan followed close behind, cloak billowing as they chased the
blood trail that snaked through the garden toward the outskirts
of the palace.
They found the thief at last—slumped against a tree, pale and
trembling. The bag that had held the relic was empty, the
contents already gone.
Adan knelt, fury flickering behind his calm. “Where is it?” he
demanded.
The man gasped weakly, eyes unfocused. “Gone… gone to the pit…”
Atreus’s gaze sharpened. His hand lifted, fingers brushing
against the thief’s forehead, his voice low and resonant. “Let’s
see, then.”
The world seemed to still as Atreus’s power flowed outward.
Faint glowing runes shimmered along his forearm and throat,
pulsing with the rhythm of the man’s memories. The images came
sharp and chaotic—flashes of a hidden arena, the roar of a
crowd, and a golden light held aloft like a promise. A flicker
of crumbling ruins somewhere at the edge of the jungle realm and
the red dull sands of the desert just feet away.
Atreus drew back, eyes narrowing. “There's a gladiator pit,
Between the jungle and the desert,” he said grimly. “They’re
planning to give the apple as a trophy to whoever wins.”
Adan’s jaw tightened, the chill of the night biting deep into
his resolve. “Then we’ll have to enter the arena,” he said
quietly, his voice like tempered steel. “And take it back.”
The thief groaned, trying to crawl away, his blood dark against
the snow. Snow caught him easily, shifting the man’s weight onto
his shoulder with a grunt. “You’re lucky I’m in a generous
mood,” he muttered, voice rough but not cruel. “You’re going to
explain everything before the queen’s guards tear you apart.”
He turned back toward the palace, his boots crunching in the
snow as he carried the wounded man across the moonlit garden.
By the time he reached the steps, chaos had already erupted near
the fountain. The air was thick with magic—raw and crackling.
Adan stiffened seeing Khali kneeling over Eden’s collapsed form,
his usually stoic expression creased with alarm. The prince went
pale, his breath catching in his throat. “Eden!”
He dropped to his knees beside her, reaching out without
thinking—then hesitating, afraid to do more harm. “What
happened?” he demanded, glancing between Khali and the other
guards that had gathered.
“She chased the thief,” One of the guards explained, voice
tight. “Caught him, nearly stopped him—but something… something
hit her. I think it came from the relic.”
Adan’s hands hovered helplessly near her shoulder. “She’s
burning up,” he murmured, his voice cracking. “Her magic’s
unstable—”
Snow arrived a moment later, half-carrying, half-dragging the
thief across the courtyard. “Caught your runner,” he said
between breaths, lowering the man to the ground. His usual grin
was gone; concern clouded his sharp features as his gaze flicked
toward Eden. “What in the hells happened to her?”
Adan shook his head. “A vision, maybe. A backlash from the
relic.”
Snow’s jaw clenched. “Shit, That can't be good.” He stepped
closer, crouching beside her with that same easy grace now
tempered by worry. His fingers hovered just above her arm but
didn’t touch. “Is there anything we can do?.”
Atreus’s voice cut through the confusion like a steady flame.
“Wait.”
He stepped forward, eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. The
calm authority in his tone stopped them all cold. “Don’t touch
her. Not yet.”
Adan looked up sharply. “She’s in pain—”
“I know,” Atreus interrupted, his expression firm but gentle.
“But if you use magic she isn’t attuned to, you could kill her.
Her body’s tuned to something else—something older.”
He knelt beside her, his gaze distant, sensing the faint hum of
ancient resonance still thrumming through the air. “We wait for
her family. They’ll know how to stabilize her. Until then, keep
her breathing steady and don’t use spells.”
Snow shifted back slightly, exhaling through his nose, his
concern quiet but palpable. “Right,” he muttered. “Then we keep
watch.”
Adan swallowed hard, forcing himself to focus through the fear
clawing at his chest. He turned to Khali. “Get her brothers.
Now.”
Khali nodded and sprinted toward the palace.
The garden fell quiet again, save for the distant alarm bells
and the ragged breathing of the wounded thief. Snow crouched
beside Adan, his voice softer now. “She’s strong. You’ve seen
it. She’ll pull through.”
Adan didn’t answer right away, eyes fixed on Eden’s still face.
Finally, he whispered, “She has to.”
Atreus straightened, his gaze lingering on Eden before turning
toward the palace lights flickering in the distance. “And when
she wakes,” he said quietly, “we’ll need her strength more than
ever.”
The wind carried their silence as the moon sank lower—its silver
light spilling over fallen snow, three men standing guard over
the woman who had become their fragile center.
Jalal, Ezra, and Enon sprinted through the palace grounds, the
cold night air biting at their skin as Khali kept pace with
them, his breath ragged from the run. The distant sounds of
chaos were still echoing in their ears, but the closer they got
to the garden, the more the weight of the situation seemed to
settle in.
Khali didn’t need to explain much, his face grim enough to tell
them everything. "It was the relic," he muttered between breaths
as they ran. "She chased the thief, she was in touches reach-
but something… hit her. It’s not good."
Ezra was already ahead, his face scanning the area as they
neared the fountain. "How bad is it?"
"Bad," Khali answered bluntly. "You’ll see for yourself."
As they rounded the corner, the sight of Eden sprawled on the
ground, her body unmoving save for the rise and fall of her
chest, nearly knocked the wind out of them. Adan was kneeling
beside her, his hands hovering helplessly above her, a look of
absolute panic on his face. Behind him, several guards
surrounded her. One stabilizing her head if her body moved in
such a way again.
Ezra’s heart skipped, but he pressed forward, his expression
hardened with determination. "Is she okay?”
"She stopped convulsing for now," one of the guards replied
quickly, but there was no masking the fear in his voice.
Jalal came up next to Adan, his own breath coming in shallow
bursts. The sight of Eden, in pain and pale, filled him with an
overwhelming sense of dread. His eyes flickered over to the
faint glow that had begun to shimmer faintly around her, her
element.. too wild, too unstable.
Eden stirred slightly, a guard reflexively holding her head
scared if it was another convulsion. The battle memories, sharp
and painful, surged in waves through her—visions of blades, of
locked combat, of a voice echoing through her mind
a faint memory of a man- and desperation.
*“Stop, end. Please, stop.”*
Her throat tightened as the memory crashed over her again. The
urgency of the moment flooded her senses—was it a warning or a
plea from the past? The voice. The thief. The relic. She could
feel the memory that invaded her from the relic—unforgiving,
merciless.
She tried to speak, but her voice cracked, breaking struggling
to talk. Eden.. end.. one couldn’t tell with the pain in her
voice"The apple... I lost it again. I’m sorry."
Jalal’s eyes softened as he knelt down beside her. His hand
hovered over her own, reluctant to touch but desperate to offer
some comfort.*
"Eden.. end ," he murmured, his voice low, soothing. "We’ll find
it. I swear to you. But you can't keep fighting it. If you do,
you'll be lost too.."
Her breathing hitched as the words registered, and for a moment,
she seemed to fight against them—against the urge to push
forward, to continue the battle no matter the cost. The relic
had been stolen, her wanting to find it- to keep it safe. She
felt herself teetering dangerously on the edge of losing
control.
Jalal’s hand gently settled over her wrist, his grip firm but
not constricting. His voice was quiet but unyielding. "If you
keep struggling, you won’t make it back, Eden. Do you
understand? You need to let the memory play"
Ezra, standing off to the side, couldn’t shake the knot in his
stomach. This wasn’t just about the relic anymore. This was
something deeper, a battle for Eden’s soul that they couldn’t
fight for her. He exchanged a look with Enon, who stood a few
paces back, his frown deepened, clearly focused on Eden.
It was then,Enon finally spoke, his tone almost reluctant.”it’s
tearing her apart, master- isn’t there anything we can do?!?"
Jalal glanced up at him, a mixture of resolve and frustration on
his face.”And what do you suggest, Enon? It’s not something we
can control- not even her.”
Enon’s face moved briefly to the moonlit sky, his voice quieter
but still filled with urgency.”I don’t know. But we’re running
out of time."
Eden’s hand trembled beneath Jalal’s, her body still fighting
against the grip of whatever the memory had her. The past and
present seemed to blur, voices from the battlefield mixing with
the plea for her to hold on.
Jalal’s voice softened, but it was a command she needed to
hear."Eden... end-listen to me. If you don’t stop fighting,
you’ll be lost. We’re here with you, but you have to trust us.
Please... don’t make us lose you too."
Finally, her lips parted again, and with a whispered breath, she
whispered, almost too softly to hear, "okay..."
Jalal exhaled slowly. The night felt fragile, as if it might
shatter with a single breath. His hand rested over Eden’s wrist,
feeling the faint, stuttering rhythm of her pulse.
“Okay…” Her whisper drifted into the darkness.
He listened, waiting. The garden was silent but for the wind and
the far-off chaos of the palace. For a heartbeat, he let himself
believe she was safe.
Adan’s eyes clung to his. Wide. Pleading.
Jalal’s sigh carried the weight of lifetimes. “She is the
first,” he said softly. “The first to be born without the
burden… the first to laugh without knowing.”
“The apple—the relic—it carries her.. All the lives she has
lived, all the faces she has worn.”
A breath
“When she touched it tonight,” Jalal thought, it tore at the
veil.
“When she touched it,” he said aloud, “she tasted fragments.
Memories that are hers… and yet not. So many lifetimes that even
I cannot count them all.”
Eden stirred faintly, and his thumb brushed her wrist. *Hold on.
Don’t drown.*
Ezra leaned closer, his voice broke through to give Jalal a
minute. “the apple… it isn’t just a weapon.”
Jalal’s gaze lingered on Eden’s pale face. *No, never a weapon.*
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s a vessel. A bridge to who
she truly is. When she returns to the Oasis… to the Temple
prepared for her… the relic will awaken everything. Only then
will she be whole.”
He let the thought settle like falling ash. *Until then… she is
still our Eden.*
“Until then,” he murmured, “we must protect her. Even from
herself.”
The moonlight washed over the garden fountain, silver and still.
Only the rise and fall of Eden’s chest proved the world had not
stopped completely.
The silence that followed Jalal’s words was thick, trembling at
the edges with something that wasn’t quite fear—something closer
to awe. The air itself seemed to hum faintly around them, as if
the garden understood what the humans could not.
Adan’s gaze lingered on Eden, her body still and pale beneath
the moonlight. His heart pounded against his ribs.
“Reincarnated…” he whispered, the word reverent. “To live so
many lives and still return—she must be chosen by the gods
themselves.”
He swallowed hard, the gravity of it sinking into his bones. To
touch the relic was one thing. To awaken lifetimes was divine.
“No wonder the relic responded to her,” he murmured, voice
barely more than breath. “She’s… not just mortal, is she?”
Jalal shook his head slowly, eyes shadowed. “No. Not entirely.”
The silence deepened again, stretching taut as everyone’s eyes
turned back to Eden. Her breathing was steady now but shallow,
and the faint shimmer of light beneath her skin seemed to pulse
in rhythm with some unseen heartbeat—something ancient, vast,
and terribly fragile.
Snow shifted where he crouched beside her, worry etched into
every line of his usually easygoing face. He brushed a gloved
hand through his hair, muttering under his breath, “We can’t
just sit here waiting for a miracle…”
He hesitated, glancing up, then exhaled through his nose with a
hint of sheepishness. “I mean… there is one thing I’ve heard of
that might help.”
That earned him a few raised brows, and he gave a halfhearted
shrug. “Grounding techniques. You know—touch, warmth,
connection. Sometimes… well, sometimes a kiss can help pull
someone back when they’re caught between states. Worked once or
twice for—” He stopped himself abruptly, jaw tightening. For
Skoll. The name he didn’t say hung like a ghost between his
ribs.
Atreus’s sharp eyes caught the flicker of pain in Snow’s
expression.“You and your kissing,” he said dryly, though a
teasing smile curved his lips. “You’re falling hard already,
aren’t you?”
Snow huffed out a short laugh, the sound low and rough. “So what
if I am? Hard not to, when she’s like this.” His gaze softened,
following the faint rise and fall of Eden’s chest. “She’s a very
intriguing and beautiful soul. And strong.”
The quiet confession surprised even him, but no one mocked it.
High above, a flutter of delicate wings broke the tension. A
small, glowing figure drifted down from the palace
balcony—Princess Xahri, the pixie monarch’s daughter, her
iridescent hair mussed from sleep. She landed lightly on
Atreus’s shoulder, blinking drowsily.
“What’s all this noise about kissing?” she asked with innocent
curiosity, her tiny voice chiming like glass. “Is this one of
your human rituals for waking people up? How romantic.”
Atreus chuckled softly, half-amused, half-exasperated.
“Something like that, little one.”
Zan, standing off to the side with his arms crossed, finally
groaned and threw up his hands. “By the stars—fine. Just kiss
her already! It’s not like anyone else has a better idea!”
Eden's brothers shot him a glare. “Zan—”But Snow had already
moved. Slowly, carefully, he leaned closer to Eden. The
flickering light from the torches gilded his profile in gold,
and for once there was no mischief in his expression—only
sincerity.
He brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, his voice low and
steady. “If you can hear me, Eden… come back. You don’t have to
fight alone anymore.”
Then, with reverence more than desire, he pressed a soft kiss to
her lips—brief, grounding, warm.
The world seemed to hold its breath.
The glow beneath her skin flared once, bright as dawn—then
softened, settling into a calm, steady rhythm. Her breath
deepened, her fingers twitching faintly against the grass.
Adan let out a shaking exhale, relief flooding his face. “It
worked.”
Atreus smirked faintly, arms folding. “Looks like your methods
aren’t all superstition, after all.”
Snow leaned back, a faint, almost dazed smile tugging at his
lips. “Told you. Works better than panic.”
From Atreus’s shoulder, Xahri’s wings fluttered as she grinned.
“See? Humans are so dramatic. All that shouting and it just
needed a little affection.”
Zan rolled his eyes skyward, muttering, “If she wakes up and
punches you, I’m not helping.”
But as Eden stirred again, her breath soft and even, none of
them cared how ridiculous it might’ve looked.
For the first time that night, hope felt real.“No not entirely.”
Jalal said.”She is of the elements, once she awakens she will be
in proper tune of the elements- air, fire, sand.. sea.. all of
it.” He said softly.
He kept quiet of the history. There was too much to tell. That
and- whoever was on whichever side of her story… would have seen
her as a threat or a blessing depending on their perspective.
Jalal heard Snow mention a connection, and the man’s face turned
toward him. Then his expression drifted back into thought, as if
considering it—grasping for anything that might bring her back
around. His words complimenting her.. left him intrigued.
The declaration from Zan, and the brothers ready to argue earned
a firm.”not now.” Turned enough to not notice Snow leaning over.
His face turned to see just his careful he was as he leaned
down.
——-
Eden drifted in a whirlwind of memory—steel clashing, screams
echoing through a battlefield. Shadows of soldiers and the
bitter tang of smoke surrounded her.
*If you can hear me… you don’t have to fight alone… *
A voice broke through the storm, cracked but steady, cutting
through the chaos. Slowly, the haze began to clear. The
battlefield sharpened into view: a figure in battered silver
armor, the Audorian crest glinting faintly, though aged by years
and wear. Silver hair fell across his brow, and his eyes—so
achingly familiar—met hers. A soft kiss, fleeting in the swirl
of war, stirred warmth in her chest. Her heart lurched with
recognition, with longing.
The memory fractured, melting back into the present. Snow’s face
hovered above her, concern etched across his features. Eden
shifted some and slowly pushed herself upright, her back stiff,
hand pressed against her ribs. Jalal’s steady hands were already
at her shoulders, fussing gently. Ezra hovered close, protective
as ever.
Across the way, Enon let out a low chuckle. “Lucky it worked,”
he muttered, half in disbelief.”maybe I don’t have to hit you.”
Before the words could truly sink in, Eden moved on instinct,
her hands touching the sides of Snow’s face. Without a second
thought, she pulled him down into another kiss, fierce and
sudden, almost as if she was afraid he’d vanish.
Enon who almost walked over was stopped by Jalal. “Don’t.” He
muttered before she’d part and watched her breathe. “Mm sorry-
had to be sure I wasn’t dreaming.” A faint tease. Her head
turned to the man on the ground.” You caught him! Where’s the
artifact?” She asked almost shoving herself up to be stopped by
Ezra.”easy!” He said softly.
Adan had been frozen in place since the moment Eden
stirred—caught between awe and disbelief. The color returned to
his face only when she sat up, alive and breathing. Relief hit
him so sharply he almost staggered. “Thank the gods,” he
murmured, voice soft and reverent, his hands falling to his
sides. “You… you’re all right.”
But the sight that followed—the sudden, unhesitating way she
grabbed Snow and pulled him down into another kiss—left him
blinking, wide-eyed. For a heartbeat, he could only stare. The
prince of Audora, heir to composure and poise, suddenly looked
like a man who had forgotten how to breathe. His ears went pink,
the flush crawling quickly to his cheeks.
Snow, to his credit, was caught entirely off guard. One second
he was kneeling, still halfway between disbelief and concern,
and the next—Eden’s hands on his face, her lips fierce and real
and present. He froze for half a heartbeat before instinct
kicked in, one hand settling lightly against her arm as if
steadying her.
When she pulled away, his expression was somewhere between dazed
admiration and barely-checked laughter. “You know,” he said,
voice rough with a grin breaking through, “if this is your way
of saying thank you, I could get used to being a good
influence.”
Zan groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “By the stars, he’s
insufferable already.”
Snow’s grin only widened. “Hey, I’m not the one who said hitting
me was plan B.”
“You’re lucky it worked,” Zan shot back, though the edge had
already softened into dry amusement. “Otherwise, you’d be
missing teeth instead of getting kissed.”
---
Adan tore his gaze away from the scene just in time to compose
himself, though the pink still lingered on his ears. “W-well,”
he said, clearing his throat and focusing on anything but Snow’s
grin, “I suppose we can all agree it was… effective.”
Eden’s head turned sharply toward the fallen thief. Her
question—about the artifact—snapped the warmth right out of the
air.
Snow’s humor dimmed, his tone shifting with quiet regret. “He
had it. But it’s gone now. Someone took it before we got to
him.”
Adan’s brows knit together, worry shadowing the relief that had
barely settled. “Gone…?”
Atreus, still standing nearby, nodded grimly. “Taken to the
gladiator pits beneath the city. They’re calling it a prize for
the next blood tournament.”
The words hung heavy in the air, the implication enough to twist
everyone’s stomach.
Eden’s expression tightened—anger and determination flickering
behind her eyes—but before the tension could thicken further, a
blur of color zipped down from Zan's shoulder, scattering a fine
trail of golden dust.
“Don’t worry, pretty lady!” came a voice like wind chimes and
mischief. “I can help too!”
All eyes turned upward as a tiny figure darted into view—wings a
blur of iridescent light, hair long and green like summer moss,
and a grin that could outshine the moon. The pixie princess
Xahri hovered at eye level with Eden, hands on her hips and
expression fierce with earnest pride.
_____
“I’m super fast and I can sneak in and spy for you!” she
declared, her wings buzzing with excitement. “And don’t any of
you say I’m too young to go! I’m sixteen! Old enough by pixie
law to go on any adventure I want!”
The declaration was so sudden, so fervent, that even Snow barked
a laugh. “Sixteen, huh? That makes you practically ancient where
I’m from.”
Xahri puffed out her chest, clearly pleased. “Exactly! Which
means I can handle danger. And besides,” she added with a
pointed look at the humans, “you all stomp around like
elephants. I can sneak circles around you!”
Zan crossed his arms, muttering under his breath, “Great. A
pint-sized spy with glitter bombs.”
She spun midair, wings catching the torchlight in a dazzling
shimmer. “Not glitter bombs—distraction pollen,” she corrected
proudly, jingling the golden chain-belt around her waist,
adorned with tiny stolen trinkets and shiny buttons. “Very
effective! I once blinded an ogre for a whole minute!”
Snow tilted his head, a crooked smile tugging at his lips. “I’m
liking her already.”
Adan exhaled slowly, the edge of a smile breaking through his
fatigue. “Then it seems,” he said, glancing at Eden with quiet
admiration, “that we have one more ally for the road.”
Xahri fluttered down until she hovered just above Eden’s
shoulder, grinning wide enough to show tiny fangs. “See? Told
you I’d help. You just say the word, pretty lady, and I’ll zip
right into their fortress before breakfast.”
The tension broke into faint laughter, the weight of what was
coming still heavy—but softened by the unexpected brightness of
their newest, smallest ally.
And for the first time since the alarm, the air in the garden
didn’t feel suffocating.
Eden’s cheeks flushed the moment Snow spoke, and she quickly
covered her mouth, suddenly aware of how intense the kiss had
been. Her lips curled into a half-smile, her voice —a tone mixed
of embarrassment and sharp determination.
“Well,” she said, tilting her head to the side a little, “I’m
sure *someone* needs a good influence. It just so happens, I’m
great at showing my gratitude.” Her voice was teasing but
layered with something deeper, something unsaid. She turned her
face away to cover the awkwardness, hands fidgeting slightly in
her lap.
But the moment the talk shifted back to the artifact, her
amusement vanished. The sharp edge of frustration replaced the
brief moment of levity. “Gone…” she echoed, her voice low. It
was as if the breath left her lungs with that simple word, a
weight settling heavy on her chest. The artifact—the key to
everything they’d been fighting for—was now out of their hands.
“Someone *took* it…” she repeated, her fingers tightening into
fists, her lips forming a straight line.
She wasn’t sure whether to feel rage or helplessness, but she
knew one thing: she wasn’t letting that artifact slip away
without a fight.
When Xahri made her entrance, buzzing with energy and daring
declarations, Eden’s lips softened just slightly, her shoulders
loosening. The pixie’s bright enthusiasm was infectious, pulling
Eden out of her spiraling thoughts, even if just for a moment.
She watched the tiny creature with a smile tugging at the corner
of her lips despite the circumstances.
“Sixteen, huh?” Eden said, her voice lighter than it had been a
moment before, her voice slightly edged with suspicion. “You’re
*really* sure you’re old enough to be running into danger with
us? I mean, I’m all for help, but you might want to take a nap
after this speech.” She leaned in slightly, as if sizing up the
little sprite, but there was a twinkle in her eye, a subtle
flicker of amusement.
“One more ally for the road. If we can’t win this by being
smarter, at least we’ve got a *lot* more people to blame if it
all goes wrong.” She joked as she flashed a quick smile, and
jalal’s body language telling her that she wasn’t being that
funny.
But when the topic shifted to the injured thief, her body grew
rigid. Her voice having more of a dangerous edge. “Honestly- I
want to make that *theif* bleed some more..,” she muttered under
her breath. “Stealing what isn’t his…”
But before she could take a step in that direction, Enon’s voice
cut in. “Settle down, Eden. The kingdom will handle it-as
unfortunate as it sounds.”
Eden’s lips pressed into a thin line, and she shot Enon a quick
glance. “Oh, sure,” she replied, her tone dripping with sarcasm.
“Let the *kingdom* handle it. Because they’ve done such a
stellar job so far. Maybe I should sit tight and wait for the
next disaster to land at our feet.” She paused for a beat, then
added, “But you’re right, I’ll wait. After all, I’m sure their
*sophisticated* approach will be way more effective than
anything I could do.”
With that, she crossed her arms, finally sitting at the edge of
the fountain,though the tension in her posture remained. The
weight of everything—her responsibilities, the artifact, and now
the blood tournament—loomed, but she would fight it all.
#Post#: 1172--------------------------------------------------
Re: Triple threat
By: Inkglitched Date: February 10, 2026, 9:55 am
---------------------------------------------------------
~~•••~~~
The morning light crept through the thin curtains, casting a
pale glow across the hall of mirrors, its soft hue just enough
to disturb the darkness of the room. The echoes of last night
still lingered in Eden’s mind, but they were distant now, like a
half-remembered dream. The others had gathered, preparing for
whatever lay ahead, but Eden remained asleep, her chest rising
and falling in a slow rhythm, unaware of the quiet movement in
the doorway.
Ezra stood there for a moment, his gaze fell to Eden, sprawled
in a way that suggested she hadn't noticed the world moving on
around her. The mask she always wore, even in sleep, remained on
her face, an odd contrast to the vulnerability of her posture.
It was clear she hadn’t intended to stay in the room; she’d
found her way here by sheer chance or, perhaps, something
deeper.
But as Ezra’s eyes lingered on her, a soft, nearly
imperceptible movement in the bed caught her attention. Eden
wasn’t alone.
Snow, still mostly asleep, was wrapped in blankets, his arm
casually draped over Eden's shoulder- almost a reflex. His head
was tilted to the side, hair tousled in the quiet aftermath of
sleep. Eden had somehow curled into him during the night, a
tangled mass of limbs, with her face buried in the crook of his
neck, finding a moment of peace against the storm that had been
brewing inside her for so long.
It wasn’t until Ezra’s voice broke through the silence that Eden
stirred, but it was slow, like she was coming up from a dream
too deep to shake off.
“Eden!” Ezra hissed, his voice laced with panic as he moved from
the doorway, eyes wide with disbelief at the sight of his
sister using Snow as a pillow. He’d never seen her this
vulnerable—not in front of anyone, certainly not after
everything that had happened. He rushed to her side, gently
shaking her shoulder to wake her. “You *have* to get up. Now.”
Eden groaned, disoriented, and slowly moved. The world felt
hazy, and for a moment, she couldn’t quite piece together the
fragments of reality. Her hand instinctively pressed to Snow’s
arm, holding on just a little longer, as if she couldn’t quite
bear to let go. There was something about him, some unspoken
comfort that made her feel safe, even in the chaos of everything
else.
Ezra sighed, trying to keep his voice low, but his urgency was
clear. “C'mon, Eden. Get up. Enon can’t see you like this. We
*need* to get you out of here before—”
Eden finally moved, her head clearing enough to realize the
situation. She pulled away from Snow with care- trying to not
wake him up, as if she wasn’t quite sure why she’d ended up like
this. But the moment was fleeting. She couldn’t explain it, even
to herself. Snow had felt... familiar. Safe.
With a soft yawn, she sat up, rubbing her face with a groggy
hand. She couldn’t put it into words, but there was a strange
pull inside her, a part of her that didn’t want to leave him.
Not just yet. But the weight of the reality they were facing—the
danger of what lay ahead—was enough to pull her into motion. She
could no longer hide in the fleeting comfort of the night.
Ezra’s hands were on her shoulders now, guiding her away, his
tone sharp. “What were you thinking? In his bed, Eden? You
can’t—”
“I didn’t mean to,” she muttered sleepily, almost too tired to
care about the scolding. “I didn’t... I don’t know. He just felt
safe, I guess. I...” Her words trailed off, unsure how to
explain the odd comfort she’d felt when she’d curled into him.
Ezra didn’t say anything more, just ushered her toward the room
she was meant to be in. There was no point in arguing further;
Eden was already lost in her own thoughts. But as she passed the
threshold of the door, she glanced back, her eyes lingering on
the bed she’d just left behind, a fleeting moment of uncertainty
passing through her gaze.
She didn’t know why she’d ended up there, but in that moment, it
didn’t seem to matter.
All she knew was that she hadn’t wanted to let him go.
~~•••~~
Ezra closed the door behind them with a quiet *click*, the
momentary tension still humming between them. Eden stood in the
middle of the small, borrowed room, blinking away the last haze
of sleep. The dim morning light slanted through a narrow window,
casting golden stripes across the floor and catching on the edge
of her mask.
“You smell like sleep and trouble,” Ezra muttered, already
digging through her travel pack with practiced efficiency.
Eden yawned again, fingers tugging through her short wild red
hair making a face at the matted way it had become. “Then I’m
right on brand.”
Ezra rolled his eyes, not bothering to argue as he went to
prepare a bath. It was faster than their ways- a luxury, and
after the week they’d had, a little comfort wasn’t something
he’d deny her. He popped open the bottle bath to pour it in to
get out.
“Bath. Now. Before Enon or Jalal knocks on the door with another
speech about *diplomatic appearance.*”
Eden grumbled but didn’t argue. She peeled off her clothes off,
handing them to Ezra, who immediately shook out the dust and
sweat-stiffened fabric before rolling it into the corner. Her
arms moved slower than usual, her body aching in ways she hadn’t
noticed while curled up against Snow.
She stepped into the basin, letting out a sigh as the heat hit
her skin. Her shoulders dropped slightly, muscles relaxing as
she leaned forward, letting the water lap gently over her. She
cupped her hands, splashing it across the back of her neck and
down her arms, untying her mask to give it a wash. .
Ezra turned his back politely, though his voice carried over. “I
pulled the jungle gear from the bottom of the pack—green,
lightweight, not soaked in blood. You’re welcome.”
She peeked over her shoulder as he laid out the outfit on the
bench: a cropped forest-green halter top, reinforced at the
seams, and modestly fastened across the collarbone with silver
threading. Her signature poofy pants had been swapped for a
looser, jungle-cut variation—lighter fabric that breathed
better, dyed a rich green that blended with dense foliage. Her
boots laying neatly nearby. And finally, folded neatly at the
top of the pile, was a cloak—earth-toned with a deep hood,
perfect for covering her unmistakable red hair in unfriendly
terrain.
She stepped out of the water, toweling down quickly, letting the
last of the steam rise off her skin. Ezra handed her the top
first, and she slipped it on without ceremony. It hugged her
shoulders and ribs snugly, giving her full range of movement.
The pants followed, cinched at the waist with her normal belts
with her swords. She tied the cloak last, pulling the hood low
over her head to shadow her hair, her finally feeling better and
dressed.
Ezra crossed his arms, giving her a once-over. “There. Now you
look like you didn’t travel for days in the same gear”
Eden rolled her shoulder experimentally, her adjusting the belt
that held the top down. “Feels good- think the color is growing
on me.”
She glanced at herself in the small mirror nailed to the
wall—face half-obscured, hood drawn, mask in place. A shadow in
green and ash. The teal of her mask a stark contrast.
Ezra caught the pause. “You good?”
She nodded slowly, adjusting the straps on her boots. “Yeah.
Just… long night.”
He didn’t press. He never did when it came to what she wouldn't
say.
From outside, the muffled sound of voices drifted through the
stone walls—movement in the hall, the day calling them forward.
Eden pulled the cloak tighter and stood.
“Let’s go,” she said quietly. “We’ve got a relic to find- and
I’m already tired of waiting.”
Ezra gave her a grin. “There’s the sister I know. Knife tucked?”
She pulled one from her boot and slid it into her belt with a
soft *snick.*
“Always.”
And with that, they stepped into the hallway, the scent of the
crisp wind creeping in through open windows, heavy with the
promise of blood, secrets, and the prize they couldn’t afford to
lose.
Eden and Ezra stepped into the hall of mirrors, the polished
stone floor reflecting the faint glow of morning light, casting
long shadows along the walls. The room was still and heavy with
the tension of what had transpired—the stolen relic, the blood
tournament, the questions they couldn’t yet answer.
The others had already gathered, standing in a loose
semi-circle, their figures reflected in the mirrors as they
discussed the next move. Jalal stood at the center, his posture
as stiff as always, the weight of his duty pressing down on him
like armor. His gaze flickered briefly to Eden as she entered,
the slight tension in his brow betraying his dissatisfaction.
“Ah, Eden,” he greeted formally, his voice calm but tinged with
an edge that only he could manage to convey without outright
anger. “I trust you’ve had a moment to... collect yourself and
meet with us?” He didn’t give her time to answer. “As we are all
aware, the artifact has been stolen. We will no longer be
pursuing that particular lead.”
He paused, head tilted low,and though his tone remained polite,
there was no mistaking the reproach in his words. “Had the
situation been handled with the appropriate care and foresight
from the start, perhaps we would not be in this position. The
relic might have already been returned to its rightful place.”
Nile’s lips thinned, her gaze hardening as his words hung in the
air like a weight she had no interest in carrying.
“The relic was already taken before I could *act*, Jalal,” she
shot back, her voice sharp. “Had you mentioned the key was Eden
from the start-”
Jalal’s eyes flickered, his posture stiffening further, but he
remained composed, his words cutting yet measured. “Arrogance,”
he said, his voice barely above a whisper but cutting through
the room with precision, “may have endangered us all, Nile.”
Before anything further could unfold, Queen Nile—calmed herself,
then- she spoke up. Her voice was calm but authoritative,
carrying the weight of a leader who’d seen more than her fair
share of struggles.
If you’re finished pointing fingers,” she said, her tone cool
but sharp, “perhaps it’s time we discuss what comes next.”
Jalal turned toward Nile, his expression unreadable, but there
was a clear shift in the air. The tension in the room seemed to
dissipate slightly as a common ground was found, her regained
composure a reminder of the larger picture.
She continued, her gaze flicking over the group, settling
momentarily on Eden. “We may have lost the relic, but there is
still a way forward. We have options, though they are not
without risk.”
Eden’s body language still tense, her frustration simmering
beneath the surface. “And what exactly would that ‘way forward’
look like? Unless you’ve got a magic wand to pull the artifact
from someone’s throat at the blood tournament, we’re pretty much
out of options.”
Nile’s gaze was steady, her eyes not leaving Eden’s as she
spoke. “Not a wand,” she said, her words soft but laced with
purpose, “but we *do* have ways of moving through the city
unnoticed. We’re not entirely powerless, Eden.”
Jalal, standing slightly behind Queen Nile, took a step forward
again, his voice once again cutting through the moment. “We’ll
discuss our plan after we ensure that we’re properly prepared. ”
Eden’s eyes narrowed, her mask providing no veil to the
sharpness of her expression. “We need to move now- if we can
catch them before the pit..”
Ezra stepped forward at that, his voice calm but carrying a note
of caution. “Eden, let’s not—”
But jalal’s voice rose above the growing tension, not unkind,
but firm.
“We’ll leave as soon as our discussion ends and move quickly,
but with caution. No more impulsive choices. We’ll strike where
it hurts most—they gained enough of a lead last night. All we
can do now is prepare."
No one expected help- Eden and the trio was ready to go on their
own. Adan stepped forward, offering his gift for languages. Nile
did not seem pleased that her grandson would leave her kingdom,
but in response, Khali pledged to accompany him and offer his
support. A shared sense of purpose compelled them to take this
stand. Then Snow, the ever-charismatic lost prince, raised his
hand as well. Why? No one knew—but it seemed he genuinely wanted
to help. And last- The mysterious blood reader Atreaus, lending
his hand to their cause. Their journey would unfold in ways one
wouldn’t expect.
Morning light spilled through the stained glass of the council
chamber, painting the marble floor in fractured color. The air
carried the faint echo of night’s chaos—the alarm, the chase,
the relic lost once more. Yet what lingered most was resolve.
Nile’s gaze slid toward Adan. “And you would let them go alone?”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
Adan stepped forward, the morning sun catching on the faint
shimmer of his sigil pendant. “The southern territories speak in
half a dozen dialects, some lost to the court’s memory. I can
read and translate them. If they’re heading toward the ruins,
they’ll need someone who can understand the old tongues carved
into the stone.”
A flicker of alarm crossed the Queen’s face—maternal before
regal. “You intend to leave the safety of your kingdom?”
Before Adan could answer, Khali stepped forward, bowing low. His
silver hair gleamed in the light. “Then I will go with him,” he
said, voice firm. “If my prince must walk into danger, he will
not walk there unguarded.”
Something in Nile’s expression softened, though her lips pressed
tight. “So it seems my bloodline is determined to court peril,”
she murmured.
“Not peril,” Adan said gently. “Purpose.”
A quiet rustle drew their eyes to Snow. He raised his hand
lazily, the half-smile on his lips belying the seriousness in
his eyes. “Count me in too,” he said simply. “Could use an
adventure, and I’ve got a feeling this one won’t be boring.”
“You’re volunteering just like that?” one of Eden's brothers
asked.
“Why not?” Snow grinned. “Besides, I don’t like owing anyone a
life debt, and your sister’s got a talent for giving me those.”
And then came Atreus—measured, deliberate. “You’ll need someone
who can read bloodlines,” he said quietly. “If the relic
recognizes its rightful bearer, I can confirm it.”
Nile’s gaze lingered on him longer than the rest—her newly found
nephew, her brother’s son. The resemblance to Alrekur still
haunted her.
Behind the assembly, Xahri hovered near one of the pillars,
wings dimmed to a faint shimmer so as not to draw too much royal
attention. She whispered toward Zan, who leaned against the wall
with his arms crossed.
“You should go after them,” she said conspiratorially. “They’ll
need a fast exit once they grab the apple.”
Zan’s eyes flicked toward her, then toward Snow, who stood
across the chamber. The two men locked eyes for a brief
moment—an unspoken exchange. I’ll be close. Snow gave the barest
nod of acknowledgment.
Zan exhaled and straightened, calling to his crew. “Get the ship
ready. We’re leaving the moment they do.”
When the formalities were done, and the Queen’s reluctant
blessing secured, Xahri flitted down to perch delicately on
Eden’s shoulder. “I can lead part of the way,” she whispered
brightly, her wings glittering in the sun. “But there are places
the jungle doesn’t like me much. You’ll need someone else to
guide you once we’re past the emerald glade.”
Adan nodded thoughtfully. “Then we’ll bring a jungle guard.
Someone who knows the terrain.”
That’s how Thesia joined them—tall, dark-skinned, her amber eyes
gleaming with quiet confidence. She stood beside her mount,
Sion—a massive feline creature with sleek, midnight black fur
and a deep, resonant purr that seemed to shake the earth. When
she bowed, the motion was fluid, precise. “I’ll see you through
the heart of the wild,” she said. “The jungle’s moods change
with the wind. You’ll need someone who can read them.”
---
They departed within the hour.
The jungle swallowed them in layers of green and gold, the air
thick with the hum of unseen life. Xahri and Thesia led the
way—pixie darting like a shard of light, Thesia riding astride
Sion, her posture regal, her spear resting across her lap.
Every now and then, Xahri darted upward, scanning the treetops.
“Pitfall ahead!” she called once, swooping down just as Adan
stepped forward.
Snow’s arm shot out, catching him around the waist and yanking
him backward. The ground where Adan had been standing gave way
into a narrow sinkhole hidden beneath moss.
Adan’s breath caught, wide-eyed. “That—was—”
“Close,” Snow finished for him, smirking. “You all right,
Prince?”
Adan exhaled shakily, cheeks flushed. “Yes. Thank you.”
Snow leaned in just slightly, his voice low and teasing. “Stay
close, then. We’d like to keep you in one piece.”
The flush deepened, and Adan nodded mutely, falling in step
beside him after that—closer than before.
----
Behind them, Ezra’s voice carried with amused disbelief. “Is it
just me, or is this starting to feel like a parade of chaos?”
Enon snorted. “You only say that because you’re not leading it.”
From the front, Xahri twirled mid-air, her laughter chiming
through the leaves. “Oh, this is going to be so much fun.”
And somewhere deep in the jungle, something ancient
stirred—watching the small, determined band make their way
toward the ruins where desert met green.
The journey had begun.
By dusk, the jungle had begun to hum with the songs of unseen
life—the rise and fall of nocturnal creatures, the rustle of
leaves as the air grew heavy with dew. The small band found a
clearing near a slow-moving river where the fireflies hung like
suspended stars.
While most were still figuring out where to start, Snow and
Atreus moved without hesitation. Snow stripped fallen branches
for kindling, his hands practiced and sure, while Atreus found a
sheltered alcove beneath a massive tree and began setting the
perimeter stones with quiet precision.
Within minutes, a fire crackled to life.
Ezra had been mid-complaint about damp wood when Snow shot him a
grin. “Please,” he said, gesturing toward the neat campfire with
a lazy flick of his wrist. “We’ve been doing this most of our
lives.”
Atreus smirked from where he crouched, tightening the cords of a
makeshift canopy. “He’s not wrong. You learn quickly when royal
walls aren’t always there to sleep under.”
The others exchanged surprised looks—Eden, half amused; Adan,
more impressed than he’d admit; even Thesia offered a faint
approving nod as she brushed down her great mount, Sion. Xahri
flitted above the firelight, her wings scattering tiny motes of
gold that danced with the sparks.
As night deepened, their laughter mellowed into low
conversation—plans, fragments of stories, the quiet sound of
water lapping against stones. For a little while, they could
almost forget how much rested on their shoulders.
The next day brought heat and motion. The air thickened, the
canopy twisting the light into strange patterns as they pressed
onward. Sweat clung to their necks, the scent of earth and moss
filling their lungs.
Thesia led at a steady pace, Sion padding silently beside her,
every movement smooth and deliberate. Adan walked close behind
Snow this time, no longer protesting the proximity after nearly
falling into another hidden trap that morning.
By late afternoon, the dense wall of green began to thin, the
shadows giving way to open air. A shimmer of sandstone gleamed
through the foliage ahead—the first sight of the ancient ruins,
their crumbling towers half swallowed by vines and time.
“Finally,” One of Eden's brother's muttered.
But before anyone could take another step, a streak of green and
gold shot past them.
“Loud-foots, stay here!” Xahri declared, spinning midair with
her hands on her hips. Her voice rang with mischief and command
alike. “You’ll scare the snakes and the sentries both. I’ll go
take a peek and see what’s waiting inside.”
Before anyone could argue, the pixie zipped forward, wings
humming like a harp string. She vanished into the shifting light
between the trees, leaving only a faint trail of glittering dust
behind.
Snow folded his arms, leaning against a moss-covered stone. “You
heard her,” he said lightly, a hint of amusement in his voice.
“Let the professional handle it.”
Adan tried not to smile, though his eyes lingered on the spot
where the pixie disappeared. “She’s braver than she looks.”
“Or smarter. Let’s hope she stays that way.” Atreus murmured,
his eyes shifting to Adan's shoulder where his lizard lay curled
agaist his neck. He had noticed the small creature's presence
the night before but hadn't said anything. The magic in it
hummed much stronger than any creature he'd encountered before.
Still..now wasn't the time to bring it up.
The jungle fell quiet around them once more—waiting.
Somewhere ahead, the ruins stirred with life that had not been
disturbed in centuries.
The ruins loomed like a half-swallowed skeleton, bleached stone
jutting through roots and vine. From a distance it was silent,
but the closer Xahri drifted, the more she could feel it
breathing—an ancient pulse thrumming through every crack of
moss-covered wall.
She shrank her glow to a faint shimmer, wings slowing until the
only sound was the soft sigh of air they stirred. “All right,
quiet as a leaf,” she whispered to herself, easing through a gap
in the **** archway.
Voices drifted ahead—low, rhythmic chanting. The infamous Pack.
She pressed herself flat against the stone and peeked around the
edge. Half a dozen robed figures circled a small brazier,
symbols painted on their arms in streaks of red clay. But among
them stood something else: a ward construct, half-stone,
half-spirit, its eyes burning with blue light as it scanned the
air.
Her breath caught. Magical sentry.
She inched backward, letting her wings barely twitch. The
construct’s gaze swept the passage. For one terrible heartbeat
its light passed directly over her. The air prickled against her
skin—she froze, heartbeat thunderous in her ears.
Then a pack member stumbled, coughing as the smoke thickened,
and the construct turned toward the noise instead.
Xahri slipped away, darting down a side corridor and ducking
into a narrow tunnel almost hidden beneath a fallen column. The
stone groaned as she squeezed through, and then the world opened
below her.
---The tunnel spiraled downward into a vast cavern lit by
torchlight and runic flares. What had once been a grand
subterranean city was now a den of cages and iron.
Xahri hovered above it all, horrified. Dozens of fighters filled
the pits—men and women, beastkin and elemental alike. The
smaller cells along the walls were crammed with one-on-one
duels, blood staining the dirt floor. Farther ahead, a great pit
yawned open, lined with spikes and banners. Cheers and roars
echoed from within as bodies clashed beneath the burning sigil
of the “Order of the First Flame.”
Her stomach turned. “This is madness…” she whispered.
Then, movement caught her eye—a guard slipping quietly along the
edge of the cages. Not one of the zealots, by his look. His
uniform was mismatched, eyes darting nervously. She watched as
he crouched beside a cell and slid a small bundle of food
through the bars. The fighter inside—thin, bruised—mouthed a
silent thanks. The guard nodded once and hurried on.
Xahri’s expression softened, just for a moment. Not everyone
here’s cruel.
But her focus snapped back to the far wall where a platform
gleamed with layered wards. There, in a crystal case suspended
by chains, the Apple of Memory pulsed faintly—its glow like a
heartbeat. Half a dozen guards surrounded it, and more above
watched from the gallery with crossbows ready.
“Locked, sealed, and worshipped,” she muttered, fluttering
behind a column. She listened as two guards boasted nearby.
“Grandmaster says it’s the prize for the open challenge,” one
sneered. “Any fool who wins gets it—but none ever do.”
“So it’s true then,” Xahri breathed. “An open fight for the
relic.”
She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling her pulse match the
relic’s faint rhythm. They’ll have to fight for it.
___
She turned to leave when a hiss slithered through the air. A
massive shape uncoiled from the shadows—scales glinting bronze,
eyes slit and gleaming. A naga, its twin blades curved like
fangs, slithered between the cages, tongue flicking.
Xahri’s breath hitched. She darted up toward the ceiling, hiding
behind a carved pillar as the creature’s head turned, nostrils
flaring. The naga paused, the tip of its tail twitching—it could
smell magic.
A shout rang from across the cavern. One of the Pack guards
barked an order. “The southern pit’s breaking! Get down there!”
The naga hissed irritably and slid away toward the commotion.
Xahri didn’t wait. She bolted up the tunnel in a streak of green
and gold, heart hammering in her chest.
---
By the time she burst back into the light, her wings were
trembling from the strain. She nearly collided with Snow, who
caught her in his palms before she could crash.
“Whoa there, little star,” he said softly. “Easy.”
She sucked in a deep breath, wings buzzing weakly.
“You—are—not—going—to believe what’s down there,” she gasped,
eyes wide. “It’s… it’s a whole city! Underground! Pits, cages,
fighters—and the relic—it’s there! Locked up and guarded like
it’s the heart of the world!”
Adan’s face tightened. “And to get it?”
Xahri pointed toward the ruins, her tiny hand trembling.
“They’re holding an open challenge. Anyone can enter. The winner
gets the apple.”
Snow’s expression hardened, all traces of humor gone. “Then it
looks like we’re not sneaking in after all.”
Eden watched the exchange, her thoughts swirling with the weight
of what Xahri had just revealed. A city beneath the earth, a
relic locked away like it was the very soul of the world, and an
open challenge to win it. End stirred - her heart skipped a
beat, a mix of excitement and dread. Fighting - to reclaim what
was hers back? It was both a blessing and a curse.
Jalal’s words slid out "Hide your hair." The triplets’ striking
red hair was their most obvious feature—impossible to miss, even
in a crowd. If they wanted any hope of blending in, they'd need
to cover it up.
Eden crouched near the stream, scooping a double handful of
thick, mineral-rich mud. The sharp, earthen smell filled her
nose as she let it ooze through her fingers. It wasn't ideal,
but Jalal had been right—there was no faster way to get caught
than by showing up to a fighter's pit with flame-colored hair
that practically shouted *"look at me."*
She glanced at her siblings. Enon was already rubbing mud into
his scalp, tying it back in a ponytail to give himself a bit of
flexibility.jaw tight with focused frustration, his bright red
hair quickly disappearing beneath dark smears.
Ezra was less graceful about it, grimacing as he pulled his
hair out and slathered the mud into the strands. “This better
wash out,” he muttered.
Their hair had always been their marker, their curse and their
warning. Too red, too wild, too easy to follow. Even in the
deepest shadows, the triplets’ hair had a firelight sheen to it.
Eden remembered once, years ago, watching the way it glowed
under torchlight—and how it made them easy targets.
Now, the red was dulled, masked by layers of dark soil. Eden
even added ash into her own mix to make it darker, helping it
cling. Not perfect, but better than nothing.
Eden stood, flicking a glob of drying mud from her wrist. “stop
complaining- if we show up they’ll know who we are. It’s best
this way.”
Ezra exhaled slowly, rubbing the mud into his roots a final
time. “So we win fast, grab the relic, and get out before they
can peel us open.”
Eden looked toward the jagged ruins that led to the descent as
she put the hood on her head to obscure the fact of what she
done. A narrow stairwell carved into stone like a throat to the
underworld. Fires flickered below, shadows moving.
*We’re really doing this.*
“Alright,” she said, her face turning to the group. “Let’s go
win a fight.”
The descent into the underground city was steeper than Eden
expected.
The carved stone steps wound downward in a slow, echoing spiral,
lit by flickering sconces jammed into crumbling walls. The air
thickened with every step—humid, metallic, and charged with the
distant roar of a crowd.
Somewhere below, the arena was already alive.
They passed others on the way down. Fighters. Spectators.
Merchants. Some looked up, appraising them with sharp eyes. Most
looked away.
*Good,* Eden thought. *cant see our hair.*
The stairs opened abruptly into a vast, stifling cavern—twice
the size of any hall Eden had ever seen, ringed with jagged
stone balconies and high platforms where people leaned and
watched. The light came from above and below, torches flickering
against crystal outcroppings that reflected firelight in dozens
of colors. Red, orange, blue. It gave the entire space a
dreamlike, unreal shimmer.
And at the center of it all—*the pit.*
The arena was carved into the earth like a sunken bowl,
surrounded by jagged black rock. There were no ropes, no elegant
platforms—just dirt and blood and stone. Around it, crowds
pressed in tight, cheering or shouting or whispering like a
storm of voices.
A gong rang out, low and thunderous. Someone screamed. Someone
else cheered.
Eden’s stomach flipped. Not from fear. From anticipation.
“This place is *mad,*” Ezra muttered beside her, voice tight
with awe. “It’s like a festival and an execution all in one.”
“Both,” Jalal said from behind them. “That’s the point.”
He stepped ahead, nodding toward the far side of the arena where
a massive stone slab jutted from the ground like a throne. Upon
it lounged a man in dark clothing, his face painted with gold
dust, his eyes sharp as broken glass. Rings glinted from every
finger. He wasn’t smiling.
Down below, a man tattooed from head to toe- raised his hand in
victory as his name was shouted from the crowd.
*grim!grim! Grim!*
“Guess we enter down there.” Said Khali- his eye trailing to a
man that was writing names in a book. Words of a group fight
before facing the champion of the arena reached Eden’s ears.”we
need to enter- probably as many of us as possible.” She said
thinking.
The group gathered near the edge of the ruins, where the heavy
air from below carried faint echoes of roaring crowds and
clashing steel. The closer they drew to the entrance of the
underground city, the more the weight of what they were about to
do pressed down on them.
Atreus crouched near the stream beside Eden, his gaze sharp as
he watched the triplets mud their bright hair into dull shades
of brown and black. “Smart,” he murmured, nodding. “The fanatics
have long memories—and they remember the red-haired ones who
stood against them.”
Then his eyes flicked toward Snow. “That includes you,
silverhead.”
Snow arched a brow, mock offense coloring his grin. “What? You
saying I stand out?”
“Like a lighthouse in a thunderstorm,” Atreus said dryly.
Snow sighed theatrically, crouching beside the others and
examining the bucket of muddy water like it might personally
insult him. “I’ve worn crowns and crawled through swamps, but
mud baths were never my thing.”
“You missed a spot.” Atreus murmured spying the patch of red
still showing on the back of Ezra's hair. He moved to lend a
hand, rubbing more of the mud into the other's hair and then
stepped back, a slight lift to the corner of his mouth.
Before Snow could dip a finger in the muck, a soft weight landed
on his shoulder. “Oh, stop being dramatic,” Xahri said, wings
fluttering like shards of glass in sunlight. “Hold still. I’ll
make it painless.”
Her tiny hands brushed through his hair, leaving a faint shimmer
of golden dust. When she drew back, the silver-white locks had
deepened into a dark chestnut brown that suited him startlingly
well.
“There,” she said proudly. “Now you look almost normal.”
Snow glanced at the reflection in the stream and flashed her a
grin. “Almost. I’ll take it.”
--
Thesia approached next, wiping away the green-and-gold jungle
paint that had marked her as a guardian of the forest. Her armor
gleamed dully in the filtered light. “I’ll guard the prince,”
she said, her tone brooking no argument. “He’s our diplomat, not
our fighter.”
Adan frowned, clearly reluctant, but before he could argue,
Thesia added, “Your grandmother sent me to make sure you come
back alive. Don’t make me fail her.”
He sighed and nodded. “Fair.”
Xahri fluttered up to him next, her voice low. “If anyone asks
where I am, tell them you don’t know. I’ll hide.”
She darted into the shadow of his hood, her glow dimming to a
faint ember. “It’ll mask my magic. And it’s cozy in here.”
Adan murmured back, “Just don’t tickle.”
----
Near the registration table, Snow leaned forward over the ledger
where names were hastily scrawled by a scribe missing two
fingers. “Rules say we can enter as partners,” he said, voice
low as he skimmed the worn parchment.
He turned to Eden, the faintest smirk curving his mouth. “Guess
that settles it, then.”
Her brow rose, but she didn’t argue.
“Cal,” Snow said when asked for a name—short, clean, unassuming.
A nickname from a life long buried, one only Atreus would
recognize.
“Fine,” the scribe grunted. “Two for the Group Trials.”
Atreus, waiting his turn, looked to Ezra. “You plan on
fighting?”
Ezra’s answering grin was quick and fierce. “You ask like
there’s a choice.”
“Good,” Atreus said, dipping his head slightly. “Then we fight
together.”
He gave his own name when asked—no alias, no falsehood—and the
scribe paused just long enough to give him a strange, wary look
before scratching it down and moving on.
As the last names were entered, the sound of the gong echoed
through the cavern again—deep, resonant, final. The next rounds
were about to begin.
Eden’s pulse thrummed in her ears as she glanced toward the pit,
the roar of the crowd vibrating through the stone beneath her
feet. Her gaze met Snow’s, and though neither spoke, there was
an unspoken understanding between them.
They weren’t sneaking in anymore. They were stepping into the
storm.
Eden scribbled down her name in the ledger, the quill scratching
harshly on the worn parchment. "Thunder," she said with an air
of finality. The scribe glanced up, taking in her steady,
unflinching gaze, before nodding in acknowledgment. Her eyes
briefly flickered to Snow—**Cal**—before she stepped aside.
Enon, standing just behind her, leaned over to inspect the names
scrawled on the parchment. A brief flash of amusement crossed
his face as he added his name, the letters neat and clean, a
contrast to the chaos of the tournament’s atmosphere. **Ember**,
He then passed the parchment to Jalal, who dutifully wrote down
his own moniker.
"Jalal," he muttered, his eyes narrowing suspiciously as the
scribe finished the task with a rough grunt.
"Good luck!”, Eden said with a smile.”
Enon glanced at her with a small smile. "Luck hah- I don’t need
that.."
The Two entered the arena, the cheers and jeers sounding out. A
sound of the gong- and the fight got started.Enon and Jalal were
already locked in, their movements fluid, but each of them
pulling from their own elemental strengths. The pack members
were charging at them, but it was clear they hadn’t faced
opponents quite like this before.
As one of the pack lunged at Enon, his speed was unmatched, but
Enon had already anticipated it. With a flick of his wrist, the
ground beneath him *sizzled*, a burst of heat rising from the
very earth as flames snaked around his arms. The air shimmered
with the heat as his body became a conduit for the raw energy of
fire, the tips of his fingers sparking with flames.
“Not fast enough,” Enon grinned, his voice barely audible over
the crowd's roar.
With a single, fluid movement, Enon thrust his palm forward,
sending a wave of flames toward his opponent. The pack member, a
tall figure with dark eyes, tried to dodge, but the fire was
relentless. It twisted and turned, moving like an angry snake,
forcing the pack member into a desperate roll. He only barely
managed to avoid being burned alive, but his clothes were
singed, and his movements had become erratic.
Enon laughed lowly, clearly enjoying himself, his flames
crackling like an eager storm. "Come on! Show me something worth
my time."
Across from him, Jalal was a study in contrast. Where Enon was
fire, he was stone—solid, immovable. The pack member facing him
wielded a massive axe, swinging it down with a deadly arc. But
Jalal, his posture unshaken, wasn’t worried.
With a quick step back, his feet dug into the earth, and the
ground seemed to *respond* to his will. His body radiated an
unsettling calm, an energy that whispered through the earth
beneath him. His fingers twitched, and as the axe came down
again, the earth *rose* to meet it. A thick slab of rock shot up
from the ground in front of him, blocking the blow with a
resounding crash. The shockwave from the impact rattled through
the arena, but Jalal stood firm, his feet planted deep into the
earth.
The pack member roared in frustration, trying to swing again,
but Jalal wasn’t finished. With a sharp movement of his hand,
the stone wall split into jagged shards, sending them hurtling
at the pack member like spears. The sharp edges found their
mark, forcing the fighter to stumble back, a cut along his
shoulder bleeding freely.
“Think you can out-swing me?” Jalal muttered, his voice deep,
almost guttural as the rocks settled back into the ground
beneath him. The earth obeyed his every command, his affinity
for rock and soil making him a near-impenetrable fortress.
Meanwhile, Enon was still playing with his opponent, dodging
strikes with ease as he summoned more fire. His eyes glowed with
an inner heat as flames swirled around his limbs, turning his
every movement into a streak of burning light.
“You know,” Enon said, as he ducked under a desperate swipe from
his pack opponent, “I really thought you’d be more of a
challenge. You should’ve trained harder."
The pack member snarled and rushed forward again, but before he
could land another blow, Enon snapped his fingers. The air
around him *exploded*, sending a sudden burst of flame that
caught the opponent off guard, sending him crashing to the
ground in a heap of charred skin and ruined pride.
Jalal took a breath, turning his gaze back to his own opponent,
who was struggling to regain his balance after the barrage of
stone projectiles. He didn’t need to see the finish—he knew that
fight was over. But it wasn’t time to celebrate.
Jalal focused again, his palms pressed against the ground. The
earth beneath his feet trembled, and with a forceful command, he
raised a massive boulder from the earth. As the pack member
tried to scramble back, Jalal hurled the stone forward, sending
it hurtling across the arena. It collided with the fighter with
a thundering crack, knocking him out of the fight entirely.
The arena fell silent for a moment as the dust cleared. The
crowd roared in appreciation, the energy palpable. Eden and Snow
exchanged a quick glance, both of them aware that Enon and Jalal
had just delivered a performance worthy of legends.
Enon was already brushing off the dust from his clothes, his
grin wide. “That was *too* easy.”
“Let’s just make sure we don’t have any more surprises,” Jalal
said to Enon, his voice low. He didn’t know why, but something
in the air had shifted.
But Enon was already moving—his gaze was fixed on something else
entirely. A figure, blond and barely clothed, was being escorted
by a tall, imposing man across the pit. There was something
about the blonde that was familiar, though Enon couldn’t quite
place it.
With a swift movement, Enon slipped away into the crowd without
a word. "Where is he going?" Jalal asked, his voice edged with
suspicion.
Eden glanced at him and shrugged, but her own curiosity was
piqued. "Dunno, but I’ve got a feeling it’s not to grab a
drink."
Jalal watched Enon’s retreating figure for a moment before his
brow furrowed. "Something’s off. I’m going after him."
As Jalal turned, intent on tracking Enon down, his attention was
caught by a commotion further to the side. The sound of water
splashing, followed by a series of startled exclamations, drew
him toward a cage—a tall structure adorned with dark metal bars.
Inside, a creature stirred—its glossy black mane and sleek body
unmistakable.
A kelpie—its waterlogged mane dripping onto the dusty floor of
the arena. Its haunting eyes flickered between Jalal and the
surrounding crowd. The beast had been captured, its power
stifled by the iron bars that held it in place. The image of the
creature stirred something in Jalal—a sense of unease, a strange
mix of sympathy and fascination.
He stopped in his tracks, his gaze locked on the kelpie, the
strange weight in his chest deepening. It was almost as though
the kelpie was calling to him, its silent plea for freedom
echoing in the pit of his soul.
But before he could make a move, he heard a familiar voice
calling his name.
"Jalal! Where the hell are you going?" Eden’s voice sliced
through his reverie.
"Enon vanished in going to look for him.," he called out, his
steps quickening to figure out just where Enon had went.
Jalal knew exactly what his priorities were—he told himself he
couldn’t afford distractions. Finding Enon was all that
mattered. Yet, as he passed by, his eyes fell on a chained
kelpie, its dark eyes wide and glistening. He tried to keep
walking, forcing his thoughts back to Enon, but the soft, almost
pleading whinny of the creature tugged at him. His resolve
wavered. Against his better judgment, he found his steps
slowing, helpless against the pull of something so unexpectedly
cute.
~~~•••~~~
The crowd was louder now, buzzing with energy after the previous
match. Bets were shouted. Names were roared. And the pit’s sandy
floor was stained with sweat, dirt, and magic residue.
From the shadowed archway, **Yarick** stepped lightly into the
light, his gossamer wings catching the sun and fracturing it
into dazzling color. He barely seemed to touch the ground, his
lithe frame dancing with movement even before the fight had
begun.
Beside him strode **Khali**, equally elegant, but more
still—serene in a way that made people nervous. Shadows clung to
his steps like a second skin. His eyes were unreadable, under
the dark veil of illusion magic he wore like a second outfit.
There and not. Real and false. Even his silhouette shimmered now
and then, like a heat mirage.
Their opponents were the opposite in every way.
First came **Grim**—bare-chested, scarred, and grinning like a
madman. His enormous axe was slung over one shoulder, and dried
blood caked his hands. The berserker looked like a man who
didn’t just enjoy battle—he *lived* for it. His partner, a
rangy, sharp-eyed fighter in dark leathers, was quiet—knife-fast
and twitchy, clearly a rogue or scout type. He said nothing,
only flicked his blade and watched.
The horn sounded.
And the arena exploded into motion.
Yarick launched skyward in a *burst* of wind, wings beating once
to lift him high above the fray. His movements were blindingly
fast, little more than streaks of motion. One second he was
above Grim, the next he was behind him, slashing shallow cuts
into the berserker’s arms and darting out of range before the
axe could swing.
Khali moved differently—*slipping* across the battlefield like
water through fingers. Illusions of himself appeared, flickering
and phasing in and out of existence. At one point, he split into
five mirror images, all circling Grim’s partner. The rogue
struck out—once, twice—each blow hitting nothing but air.
“Which one’s real?” Khali’s voice whispered from behind him—and
then the rogue dropped, unconscious from a sudden,
perfectly-placed blow to the neck.
*One down.*
Meanwhile, Grim *laughed*. A great, chest-rattling *laugh* that
rang out over the cheering crowd.
“You’re a slippery one, aren’t you?” he bellowed, spinning to
try and catch Yarick with a wild upward swing. He missed—again.
Yarick zipped past him, wings shimmering, twin daggers flashing.
Another shallow cut across Grim’s ribs. Another dodge.
Grim looked down at the blood, then up at the fae—eyes wide,
and... glittering?
“Oh, I like you,” he called out, eyes full of delight, even as
blood dripped down his side. “Fast, pretty, and cruel. You’re my
kind of b*stard!”
Yarick raised an elegant brow mid-flight, spinning in the air
with a flourish. “You flirt like you fight,” he said dryly,
voice melodic. “Messy and loud.”
Khali chuckled from the sidelines, arms folded as the rogue
beside him groaned and stayed down.
Grim swung again, this time with a surprising burst of speed.
Yarick dodged, but not entirely—Grim clipped his shoulder. A
graze, but enough to knock him slightly off his rhythm. He hit
the ground and rolled.
Grim was there immediately, axe raised—
—and then froze.
Yarick was on one knee, head raised, his pale hair falling into
his face, blood on his lips, wings flared wide behind him.
Grim stared.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, eyes round and sincere, like he’d
just seen a god descend into the dirt. “Absolutely gorgeous.
That’s it. Win or lose, I’ve decided—”
He pointed at Yarick with the blunt end of his axe.
“—You’re going to be mine.”
*The crowd lost it.*
Grim twirled his axe and assumed a wide stance again, eyes never
leaving Yarick.
“Come on one last blow!” He called out at the ready.
Yarick would take the moment, a burst of speed beyond his
limits- a moment a flurry of strikes before he’d pass Grim. The
man collapsing at the end.
As Grim was escorted from the arena—bloody, grinning, and
waving—he called out one last time:
“Don’t forget me, wings! I’ll come find you after this thing’s
done. You and me—we’ve got unfinished romance!”
Yarick stared after him, expression unreadable, then turned to
Khali.
“Well,” he said, shaking glitter from his wings, “I think I made
a mistake.”
Khali just smiled. “He’s not your worst admirer.”
Yarick muttered, “He might be.”
But somewhere deep down—under the adrenaline, under the
victory—he was still thinking about the way Grim had smiled at
him like he was the best part of the whole damn tournament.
And that… was *troubling*.
~~~•••~~~
As the sun dipped lower over the jagged skyline of the
pit-fortress, the tournament pushed on—its brutality sharpened
by the heat and the roaring bloodlust of the crowd. Each round
was faster, fiercer, more desperate. Weak teams fell like dead
leaves. And in their place, the survivors carved names into the
blood-stained sand.
**Enon and Jalal were nowhere to be found.**
Their absence caused whispers. Some thought they'd been
eliminated. Others muttered about interference, sabotage, or
that they'd uncovered something they weren’t meant to see.
But those rumors faded into the roar of the crowd as **Eden and
Snow—Thunder and Cal—** climbed the ranks with calculated
precision.
Together, they fought like twin storms—Eden a flash of
lightning, all force and grace, while Snow was cold, brutal,
efficient. Every blow she struck found purpose; every move he
made was surgical. Magic and might. Ice and steel.
Match after match, they took down werebeasts, mages,
mercenaries, and a harpy pair that nearly took Eden’s arm before
Snow intervened- his knife clipping one’s wings mid-flight.
Elsewhere, **Yarick and Khali** dazzled the pit with their
finesse. Audiences came just to see them fight—Yarick streaking
through the sky like a comet, Khali bending light and shadow to
confuse and misdirect. Even their opponents applauded—just
before falling unconscious. They made violence look like art.
Yet even they, for all their elegance, fell in the penultimate
round—*to Eden and Snow*.
Yarick took the loss with grace. Khali vanished before the dust
settled.
The arena thundered as the pitmaster strode into the center,
flanked by armored guards and fire-breathing horn banners. His
voice rang out across the stands, magically amplified.
“Let all bear witness—
The team known as **Thunder and Cal** has emerged victorious
from the proving rounds!”
“They are to be granted the right of challenge…”
*“…against the reigning champion of the Pit.”*
The air went still.
The gates across the arena groaned open.
And out stepped a *giant of a figure*—his hair wild snd thick,
limbs corded with muscle, and
eyes gleaming with feral intelligence. His breath misted in the
warm air, and the scars on his chest told stories of a hundred
fights survived.
Steel gauntlets encased his forearms. A broken crown of bone
rested atop his brow.
The crowd *howled* as the pitmaster raised a hand.
The champion of Claw and Bone—
“Skullcrusher!”
Eden’s jaw set. Snow said nothing—just adjusted his grip on his
sword and nodded once.
The final fight loomed.
“Alright ‘cal’- I’ll hit high and you hit low.” Eden said low.
The gong sounded and she took off like a shot. She didn’t think
twice to aim for the giant of the man’s head.
Life in the gladiatorial pits was little more than a rhythm of
pain and performance—a gilded cage dressed in blood and
applause.
Aziz had long since stopped pretending that freedom would ever
come. Hope was a luxury beaten out of him years ago. Now, he
wore his resignation like a second skin—pale, scarred, and
dusted with the gold sheen of arena light.
The blonde kept his head down when the masters passed, but his
eyes never softened. There was still fire there—muted, buried,
but not gone. That spark had cost him plenty.
For every order he obeyed too slowly, for every sideways glance,
for every word he dared to bite back, the punishment came swift
and cruel.
And yet—he couldn’t help himself.
He’d been dragged from his cell again tonight, forced to
entertain one of the high-end patrons. The man’s perfume made
his stomach turn; his touch was unwelcome. Aziz did what was
required, but his rebellion was never quiet. A single sharp
look, a tensed jaw, a refusal to break.
He was beautiful even in defiance, and they hated him for it.
When the door shut behind him and the torches burned low, he sat
on the cold stone floor and pressed his forehead to his knees,
the faint hum of the crowd far above vibrating through the
walls.
Tomorrow, he would be paraded again—oiled, dressed, and thrown
to the spectacle.
And still, a small, poisonous voice whispered in the back of his
mind: Maybe I’ll make them bleed for it.
—-
The days bled together in the dark—metal, sweat, and the copper
tang of blood. Skoll had stopped counting the years. The only
constants were the chains on his wrists and the roar of the mob
demanding more carnage.
He was their monster. Their spectacle. Their god of violence.
When the iron doors creaked open, the torchlight spilled over a
body built from scar tissue and survival. He was
massive—barefoot, bare-chested, skin marred by a lifetime of
blade kisses. His hair hung wild and matted, the color of burnt
straw, and his eyes gleamed the way a wolf’s might before it
lunged.
The handlers unclasped his chains, and Skoll rolled his
shoulders, the heavy muscles shifting under his skin. He gave
them what they wanted—a roar that rattled the bars, deep and
primal, echoing through the pit. The crowd answered in kind.
He’d learned that sound pleased his masters.
Then he saw her—the challenger, small but fierce, eyes sharp
with purpose. She didn’t flinch when he roared. Didn’t bow.
So… a fighter, then.
When the gong sounded, Skoll moved first, his bare feet kicking
up sand. He struck hard enough to make the air quake, but held
back just enough to test her mettle.
Then, the moment her blade grazed his skin—just a thin, stinging
line of crimson—something inside him snapped.
His blood answered.
It spilled, shimmered, and then hardened—stretching from his
arms in jagged, crimson talons that curved like the claws of
some ancient beast. The scent of iron thickened in the air. His
vision tunneled red. The sound of the crowd dissolved into
static as the bloodlust took him whole.
He became motion—violent, unrestrained, terrifying.
Every swing painted the sand scarlet. Every roar broke against
the walls like thunder.
In that moment, Skoll was not man or slave—he was the storm
they’d made of him.
And no one—not even his masters—could truly control what they’d
unleashed.
From the upper tiers of the spectator’s hall, Basredun of House
Vel’Sarra, draped in dark silk and silver thread, watched the
match unfold with the patient detachment of a man used to seeing
blood as spectacle. The crowd’s roar was a physical thing—heat
and sound pressing like a tide—but the drow mage stood utterly
still, fingers resting on the carved armrest of his private
balcony.
Below, Grim was being hauled from the pit, grinning through
blood and shouting something about wings and romance. Basredun’s
crimson eyes followed the berserker until he vanished beneath
the archway.
“Charming, in his own barbaric way,” he murmured. “Pity about
the brains. But the heart? Remarkably loud.”
A whisper of movement rippled at his feet as a shape detached
from the shadows—long, sinewy, and faintly translucent. His
familiar, Avarice, took the form of a half-solid shadow demon,
eyes like twin coals smoldering in a mask of smoke.
“You linger, master,” Avarice rasped. “The games bore you, yet
you stay.”
Basredun’s lips curved faintly. “Because boredom is often the
mask worn by opportunity.”
His gaze returned to the arena floor, now being reset for the
next bout. He wasn’t watching the blood this time. He was
watching the people. The way the Grandmaster’s attendants moved
with subtle synchronization; the way the wards flared when
certain names were announced; the faint taste of poison magic on
the air whenever the crowd grew too loud.
And deeper still, a pulse—a resonance beneath the stone. The
Apple’s presence, chained by ritual, humming like a captured
sun.
He could feel the intent radiating from the Grandmaster above
the pit: a possessive hunger. He’ll never give it up, Basredun
realized. No victor will leave this place alive. He means to
keep the relic for himself.
------
Avarice hissed softly, feeling his master’s tension. “You will
intervene?”
“Not yet,” Basredun said, eyes narrowing. “But something is
coming. The threads are pulling tighter. When it snaps—”
He paused. His head tilted slightly. In the far reaches of the
gallery, a faint surge of divine energy pricked at his
senses—raw, tempestuous, restrained only by sheer will.
His gaze found the source easily: a man half-hidden in the
crowd, tall, bronze-skinned, eyes like stormlight bottled behind
mortal guise.
“Well,” Basredun murmured, “that’s not something you see every
day.”
He smirked, faintly amused. “A demi-god among gamblers and
cutthroats. When he moves, this entire place will shake.”
Avarice’s tail curled, sensing the same danger.
Basredun turned away, cloak whispering as he moved toward the
rear of his balcony. “Prepare the circle. Quietly. We’ll have
need of a gate before the night ends. Make it large enough for…
guests.”
“As you wish,” Avarice hissed, sinking back into the darkness.
— ✦ —
Far below, the demi-god known as Namor stood among the masses
like a storm waiting for a reason to break. He’d watched enough
blood for one day. The Apple’s light pulsed faintly beneath the
main dais, calling to him—not for greed, but for duty. He could
feel the relic’s wrongness, twisted by ritual and violence.
They’re feeding it with death.
The thought burned through him.
He turned away from the pit, threading through the side tunnels
that wound behind the cages. The noise of the arena dimmed,
replaced by the muffled sobs and low moans of the captives.
Slaves—fighters broken for sport.
Namor’s jaw tightened. He reached for the lock on the first cage
when a shadow moved beside him.
A guard stepped from the alcove—tattooed, dreadlocked, eyes
sharp but not hostile.
“Hold,” the man said, voice low. “You’re not what you pretend to
be.”
Namor’s hand hovered near his weapon. “Neither are you,
apparently.”
The guard’s expression shifted, wary but resolute. “Name’s Dare.
I know what you are—feel it in my bones. And I won’t raise the
alarm. Truth is, I don’t care much for this place either. Too
many screams. Too much blood for one man’s glory.”
Namor studied him. Beneath the human facade he could sense
something—faint traces of divine ichor, diluted but there.
“You’re mixed blood,” he said quietly.Dare nodded once. “Half
mortal, half spirit-born. Doesn’t buy me much but faster healing
and a nose for lies.”
“Then you know this isn’t going to end cleanly.”
Dare’s grin was quick and humorless. “Didn’t think it would. You
take the cages on this side, I’ll handle the eastern run. When
the crowd’s distracted by the next match, we’ll start opening
doors.”
Namor gave a single curt nod. “Don’t make me hunt you down
later.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
And with that, they split—one demi-god and one half-blood moving
in opposite directions, the murmurs of freedom beginning to stir
behind the cage bars as the next gong thundered from above.
— ✦ —
Back in the shadows of the balcony, Basredun’s circle began to
shimmer faintly, the sigils pulsing with restrained energy. He
rested one gloved hand on the railing, watching as the next
fighters were announced—new faces stepping into a pit that was
about to become a battlefield for far more than sport.
Somewhere in the crowd below, he saw the flicker of movement as
cages began to open. The air shifted, heavy with foreboding.
“Here it comes,” Basredun murmured. “Let’s see who survives the
storm.”
____
The gong hit like thunder.
Eden moved first—lightning-fast, blade flashing. Skoll’s roar
answered her, deep and primal enough to shake the bones in
Snow’s chest. The sand erupted beneath the giant’s steps; every
movement was violence made flesh.
Snow didn’t think—he moved. His knives were in his hands before
he registered it, silver glinting under the torchlight as he
darted between Skoll’s swings. The giant’s reach was immense,
but Snow was quick—cutting, ducking, sliding in close to strike
and then vanish again.
The sound of impact was deafening. Metal on flesh, flesh on
stone, the shudder of every blow echoing like drumbeats through
the pit.
And through it all, something twisted in Snow’s gut—an echo of
familiarity he couldn’t name.
That stance.
That roar.
The rhythm of his breathing between attacks.
It shouldn’t have been possible. Not here. Not after all these
years.
Snow lunged again, blades catching a thin line across Skoll’s
ribs. The blood that spilled wasn’t natural—it shimmered before
hardening, crawling up the man’s arms in jagged crimson shards
until they curved into monstrous claws.
The crowd roared its approval. But Snow’s stomach dropped.He
knew those claws. He’d traced the scars beneath them once, a
lifetime ago.
No. It can’t be.
Eden’s voice cut through the din. “Move, Cal!”
He dodged too late—Skoll’s swing grazed his side, sent him
sprawling through the sand. Pain flared, hot and immediate.
Snow rolled to his feet, breath catching. He could feel the
other man’s power rising—wild, unrestrained. Bloodlust. Rage.
Suffering.
The same way it had sounded, that last night before the army
came.
“Skoll…” The name tore from his lips before he could stop it.
The beast’s head snapped toward him, eyes gleaming red.
“Skoll, please—” Snow’s voice ****. “It’s me.”
For a heartbeat, there was nothing but the sound of
breathing—his own ragged, Skoll’s thunderous.
Then the next blow came. Hard. Deliberate. Snow barely deflected
it, his arm screaming in protest.
“Stop—stop!” he shouted, dancing backward. “You don’t recognize
me, fine—but listen to my voice, my amír!”
The endearment slipped out—old, instinctive, trembling.
The claws hesitated mid-swing.
Snow saw it—the flicker in those red eyes. The confusion. The
memory scratching at the edges of fury.
“You called me your moonlight,” Snow said hoarsely, taking a
step forward. “Said I’d always find you, no matter how dark it
got.”
His knives lowered, the weight of them suddenly unbearable.
“Skoll… I found you.”
The crowd didn’t understand. They thought he was taunting,
playing for drama. But Snow wasn’t looking at them. He was
staring at the man he loved—the one chained, twisted, made
unrecognizable—and hoping something human still lived inside
him.
For one impossible second, it did.
------
The crowd was chaos incarnate—cheering, chanting, stamping their
feet hard enough to shake the balcony rails. Dust rose like
smoke, torches flickered in the sudden gusts of magic that
rippled through the cavern.
Atreus pushed through the crush of bodies, his hood drawn low.
His hand never left the hilt of his blade. “Where in the hells
did they go?” he muttered, scanning the sea of faces.
Ezra was a few steps ahead, moving like a man born for battle
even in a crowd. “Jalal and Enon were up there before the last
round started,” he said, nodding toward a higher gallery. “Maybe
they went to find a better view.”
Atreus frowned. “Or maybe they felt the same thing I do.”
Ezra turned. “Which is?”
Atreus’ eyes lifted toward the dais where the pitmaster stood—a
commanding figure, ringed by guards, his hands clasped behind
his back as though he commanded a court rather than a
slaughterhouse. The faint shimmer of sigils around him burned at
the edge of Atreus’ vision. Control magic. Binding glyphs.
Traps.
Then, beneath that—another pulse.
A heartbeat that wasn’t human.
#Post#: 1173--------------------------------------------------
Re: Triple threat
By: Inkglitched Date: February 10, 2026, 10:49 am
---------------------------------------------------------
He inhaled sharply. The air thickened, carrying a faint scent of
ozone and salt.
Ezra saw his expression change. “Atreus?”
The blood-reader’s voice was quiet, but strained. “There’s a
demi-god here. Close.” His gaze swept the crowd again, searching
for the source. “He’s cloaked, but I can feel it—like standing
in the eye of a storm. Whoever he is, he’s waiting for
something." Atreus grabbed Ezra’s arm. “We need to find Jalal
and Enon now, and make sure Thesia gets Adan out of here before
the shit storm hits," He hissed.
Atreus’ eyes flicked to a darkened alcove to the left of the
main stairway—and froze. A tall figure stood there, wreathed in
faint golden light that no mortal should possess.
The demi-god’s gaze lifted briefly to meet his own.
For one instant, the connection was electric—like lightning
under the skin.
“Found him,” Atreus whispered.
Ezra followed his gaze and swore. “Great. Exactly what we
needed—another divine being about to lose his temper.”
“Not lose it,” Atreus said grimly. “Use it.” He turned toward
the stairs pulling Ezra after him.
—-
Enon had seen many faces in the cages—most of them broken, lost
to the brutality of the arena—but none had ever stopped his
heart the way Aziz's did now. The moment his gaze found the
golden-haired slave, his breath caught in his throat, the air
around him thick with the sharp sting of recognition.
Aziz. It couldn't be anyone else. The boy from the oasis, the
one he'd tried—and failed—to protect. His pulse thundered in his
ears as he watched Aziz being shoved into the cage, the door
clanging shut behind him with a sound that felt too much like
finality. Enon leaned forward, his body pressing into the bars
as his mind swirled with memories, fragments of a life he'd
almost lost.
*I told him to run. I told him to get to safety.*
The image of the invasion flashed like lightning in his mind—the
chaos, the screams, the crackling energy of the fae that had
torn through their peaceful home. Enon, barely a teenager, had
been running towards Ezra, desperate to protect his brother,
when he'd found Aziz, wounded and cornered.
"Go!" Enon had shouted, voice frantic as he shoved Aziz toward
an escape route. "Get to safety! I'll hold them off!" But Aziz
hadn’t listened. He’d never been the type to run from danger,
even back then.
It wasn’t subtle- it was as if things had gotten progressively
worse as the invasion of the fae taken over their oasis.
It was a blur for Enon, he was fighting at first- but then would
find himself dragged off and a ceremonial knife hanging above
his head.
Enon’s words spilled from him before he could stop them, voice
low, barely a whisper.
“You… you shouldn’t be here.” The words weren’t for the
guards—they were for Aziz, the boy who had once been full of
life, now a shadow of himself.
He studied Aziz for a long moment, not just the slave, but the
boy he’d known, the boy he loved-the boy he'd failed. A storm of
emotions raged in Enon’s chest—guilt, anger, sorrow—but
underneath it all was something more: the same protective
instinct that had driven him to risk his life for this boy once
before.
His hand clenched around the bars. He couldn’t stand it—not
seeing him like this, not in this place.
“Aziz! It’s me.. Enon… I’ll get you out of here,” Enon muttered,
more to himself than to anyone else. His voice carried a
promise, one forged in the fires of their shared past, and
though it sounded like a fool’s hope, it burned brighter than
anything he had left.
“And I’ll make them all burn for what they did to you.”
The rough hand on Enon’s shoulder snapped him back to the
present.
“Keep moving,” the guard sneered, yanking him away from the
bars. “Unless you're paying to play with the pretty one.”
Enon turned slowly, his jaw tight, his head tilting . He wasn’t
a slave. He wasn’t a noble. He wasn’t even a patron. But the
heat rising in his chest said he *wasn’t* going to let this
pass.
The guard didn’t back down. “What? You sweet on him or
something?” he taunted, leaning in. “A little coin and he’s
yours for the night. Might not talk, but he sure—”
*Fwoosh.*
A wave of searing heat exploded from Enon’s core, a flash of
flame leaping up between them. The guard stumbled back,
shrieking, slapping at the embers clinging to his uniform. The
fire hadn’t burned deep—it never did unless Enon *meant* it
to—but it scorched enough to send the others scrambling.
More guards rushed in. Shouts echoed. Steel rang.
But Enon had already moved, his instincts in full command. The
training Jalal had drilled into him came alive—fluid, precise,
brutal.
He ducked the first swing, drove his fist into a man’s gut, and
twisted a spear from another’s hands. With a growl, he spun and
*smashed* the shaft across the cage’s lock. Once. Twice. On the
third strike, the door burst open, clattering back on its
hinges.
Enon stood in the space where the door had been, breathing hard
as his hands stable. Around him, guards groaned on the floor,
some unconscious, others too afraid to charge again.
He held out his hand, gaze locked on Aziz like it had been all
those years ago in the oasis.
“Come on, Aziz,” he said, voice steady despite the fury still
simmering under his skin.
“Let’s go home.”
~~•••~~~
The guard kept his post where the desert met the creeping edge
of the jungle, a place where heat and shadow mingled uneasily.
The kelpie waited in its shallow pit, restless in the fading
light, slick skin shimmering like a mirage. It watched
everything—eyes black, unreadable.
Hal scanned the perimeter and then saw Jalal approaching—each
step deliberate, each movement soft, as if he were walking on
glass.
Jalal crouched by the edge of the pit, whispering to the
creature. His voice was low, steady, almost kind.
Hal stiffened. “Watch it!” he called out, voice cutting through
the dry air. “She’ll eat you if you get too close.”
Jalal didn’t so much as glance back. “Only if you’re volatile,”
he said evenly. “I’m not like that.”
The answer landed like a spark on dry grass—irritating,
dangerous. Hal strode forward, boots grinding sand. He was
halfway to them when the boom came—deep, sudden, a dull roar
shaking the ground beneath his feet.
The alarm shrieked into the night. Lights flared. From the
jungle’s edge, birds scattered in a panicked wave.
“Back to the pit!” Hal barked. “Move!” Jalal didn’t respond.
Other guards scrambled, weapons drawn. Hal saw Jalal lean
forward, hand extended. A soft chime—metal on metal—as the lock
disengaged.
Hal lunged, trying to intercept.
“Halt theif!”
But the man didn’t run. He *walked*, guiding the creature with
murmured words and a gentle hand on its flank. The kelpie
followed—ears twitching, water pooling around its feet in
unnatural ripples.
“I said halt!!” Hal shouted again, angling to cut them off.
The kelpie reared, water forming a barrier between them, and Hal
stumbled back, soaked and blinded. By the time he cleared his
eyes, they were already at the jungle’s edge—Jalal was slipping
away guiding the beast with him through the crowds and getting
away.
>>>
The alarm continued to wailed on, hollow and bitter. Around Hal,
the other guards shouted, scrambling to restore order, but it
was too late. He ripped another alarm as a result.
~~~•••~~~
Eden moved like a streak of stormlight—blade flashing, breath
steady, each step calculated as she danced just out of reach of
the monster bearing down on her. Skoll’s roar tore through the
arena, primal and raw, rattling the bones of every onlooker. But
she didn’t flinch. She met it head-on, head tilted, heart sharp.
The air sang with tension as his blood claws unfurled—vicious,
jagged, glinting crimson in the torchlight. Eden ducked low,
twisting through the space between his strikes, the rush of
displaced air slicing past her skin. He was faster than anything
that size had the right to be.
Brutal. Precise. Too controlled to be mindless, too wild to be
sane.
Still, she pressed in.
She feinted left, pivoted, then drove forward—her blade an
extension of her will, aiming for the hollow between muscle and
bone. But Skoll was already moving.
His arm swung like a wrecking beam, and Eden had just enough
time to curse under her breath before the blow slammed into her
side.
Pain exploded through her ribs, sharp and immediate.
She was airborne before she realized it.
Wind screamed past her ears as the world tilted, and Eden did
what she always did when the world tried to break her—*she took
control*. Her fingers twitched in the air, gathering momentum,
tuning the wind around her body like a musician adjusting the
pitch of a desperate note.
*Slow me down. Turn me.*
The gust wrapped around her like a second skin, catching her
fall just enough to blunt the worst of the impact. Even so, she
struck the cage wall with a hollow clang, the metal humming with
the force of her body colliding against it. She dropped to one
knee in the sand, coughing, her vision swimming.
But she stayed conscious.
Stayed *angry*.
Gritting her teeth, Eden pushed to her feet, hand pressed to her
ribs. Blood trickled from her mouth, but she wiped it away and
looked up—just in time to see something stranger than any magic
she’d ever studied.
Snow—*Calen*—was standing between her and Skoll. No weapon
raised. No fight in his stance. Just words.
Words that made Eden’s heart twist.
*Skoll… please—it’s me.*
No strategy. No ruse.
Just *recognition*.
She heard it in his voice—the tremble, the ache. Something
private. Something ancient. And when he called Skoll *amír*,
Eden’s breath caught in her throat.
No. Not here. Not now.
“*Cal!*” she shouted, voice cracking with fury and fear.
“*Move!*”
But he didn’t.
Didn’t even hear her, maybe. He was lost in something
else—something that had nothing to do with the blood-soaked sand
or the baying crowd or even the mission that had brought them
here.
Eden’s fingers curled into the grit.
She didn’t understand this. Didn’t *want* to. But she saw
it—clear as day—in the way Calen looked at the monster.
Not like an enemy.
Like a *ghost* he’d been chasing for years. And
somehow—*somehow*—he’d found it.
Eden forced herself upright, drawing the wind to her like armor,
even as pain throbbed in every limb. Her blade was still in her
hand. Her body still willing to fight. But her mind?
Her mind was burning with questions.
As Eden staggered to her feet, bruised and gasping, the hecklers
pounced like vultures circling a wounded beast.
“Get up, girl! He’ll gut the boy next!”
“She’s done—leave her for the worms!”
“Should’ve sent real fighters!”
Their voices stabbed like knives, laughter sharp-edged and
bitter. Above them, torches guttered in their sconces, shadows
dancing on the rusted bars that kept the mob from spilling into
the sand below.
Eden ignored them—mostly. Her ears rang, her body ached, and her
thoughts were a blur of pain and confusion. But her grip on the
wind steadied her, kept her grounded. *Breathe. Focus.*
Then the *boom* came.
A deep, unnatural sound that pulsed through the arena like the
toll of some monstrous bell. The ground shuddered beneath her
boots. Dust drifted from the upper rafters. Even the crowd went
momentarily silent, faces turned toward the darkened archways
that ringed the pit.
Something was *wrong*.
And yet—above them all, from his private perch behind blackglass
and iron—**Onyx** raised a hand.
Not to stop.
To *continue*.
The crowd erupted again, the bloodlust rekindled.
Eden’s lip curled. Of course he wouldn’t stop the fight. Not
when the beast was still on his feet. Not when the crowd was
still baying for blood.
She forced her legs to move, each propping to stand the throb of
pain behind it.
Then came the water.
Cold. Sudden. Dumped from above.
It hit her like ice and soaked her through, plastering her
clothes to her skin and turning the sand around her into mud.
She gasped as the chill bit down, looking up through the spray.
Above her, a man—red-faced and desperate—shouted through the
bars.
“You’re losing me coin, you witch!” he spat. “Fight, damn you!”
He yanked the hood from her shoulders, pulling it through the
grate and tossing it behind him.
The torchlight caught her soaked hair,The mud washed away in
streaks across her face, staining her teal mask.
It was the color that brought shock.. red.
Not just any red.
Not dyed.
*Natural.*
Rare.
The kind of red whispered about in ancient texts, the shade
carried only by bloodlines touched by forces far older than the
arena.
The crowd didn’t notice.
But **Onyx** did.
From his high perch, cloaked in shadow and wealth, he leaned
forward. The glass didn’t reflect his face—no one ever saw
it—but the movement alone sent a ripple through his guards.
He stilled.
Eyes fixed on the girl in the mud, her red hair catching the
flame-light like blood and fire.
“…Impossible,” he breathed.
The alarms didn’t stop the fight.
Not yet.
The artifact they’d searched for across the desert. The key
believed that would open it . The weapon that brought those she
led prosperity and dominance. To those she defeated ruin.
Standing alone in the center of the arena—drenched, battered,
but not broken.
Eden.
Onyx’s voice, low and razor-sharp, slid from behind the glass.
“Ready the binders.- I want her alive.
A hush crept in—slow, like smoke crawling through a room.
Eden noticed it first in the change of the crowd. The jeers
hadn’t stopped, but they were softer now. Confused. Tilted with
questions no one quite dared to voice.
She followed their eyes. Realized they weren’t looking at Skoll
anymore.
They were looking at *her*.
The water had done more than humiliate. It had revealed.
Her fingers pushed her hair from her face, slick and dripping,
her breath still coming hard—but something in her gut twisted
sharp and cold.
*Why are they staring?*
She could still taste blood in her mouth, the copper tang biting
against her teeth. Her ribs screamed. Her blade trembled
slightly in her hand, though she hated that it did.
Then, above the roar of the crowd, she felt it—not heard—*felt*
it:
A shift in the wind.
Not hers.
Not natural.
*Watched.*
Like the weight of a storm building just beyond the horizon,
that moment before the lightning strikes.
She looked up—past the mob, past the guards ringing the pit,
toward the dark tower that overlooked it all. Its windows were
blackglass, reflecting nothing, giving nothing. And yet…
She *knew* he was there.
Whoever he was.
Whatever this place truly was.
Her skin prickled with something old and instinctive. Her magic,
tuned so carefully to the currents of air and pressure, buzzed
with warning. Not danger in the way Skoll was danger—but a
different kind of threat.
*Strategic. Silent. Caged in a mind colder than winter stone.*
Her blade lowered half an inch as realization settled in.
This wasn’t about the fight anymore.
Something else had taken root.
She moved slowly, adjusting her stance, her boots sinking into
the mud. Calen was still in front of Skoll—still speaking to him
like he wasn’t a monster carved in blood and pain. Eden wanted
to scream at him again, to drag him away, to *protect him*—but
something inside her whispered:
*Don’t.*
Don’t draw more attention.
Don’t move too fast.
Don’t give them an excuse.
From somewhere high above, metal groaned.
A signal.
She felt it.
Guards shifting. Gears turning. A protocol unfolding like a trap
being slowly, carefully sprung.
And yet the crowd stayed hungry. Unaware.
Eden’s head tilted to the left.
That’s the difference between prey and predator, she thought,
twisting a strand of wet red hair around her fingers to pull it
behind her ear. *The prey never notices when the forest goes
quiet.*
She took one slow breath. Two.
Then her voice broke the silence, low and steady as her blade.
“Snow. We need to move.”
She didn’t yell. Didn’t plead.
Just said it like a fact.
A truth sliding into place.
Because whatever was about to happen, whatever she *was* to
them—it had already begun-The hunt.
And if Onyx wanted her alive?
He’d have to *catch her first*.
#Post#: 1174--------------------------------------------------
Re: Triple threat
By: Inkglitched Date: February 10, 2026, 10:51 am
---------------------------------------------------------
Aziz froze at the sound of violence outside his cage.
For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to static—the clash of
steel, the shouted orders, the alarm bells shrieking somewhere
above—it all blurred into a distant hum. His mind refused to
catch up with what his eyes saw. The door hung open. The chains
lay broken. And standing there, framed in smoke and torchlight,
was a ghost he had buried long ago.
“Enon…”
The name slipped out like a prayer half-forgotten—hoarse,
cracked, fragile as a dying flame.
He blinked hard, once, twice, expecting the mirage to waver and
vanish. The pits had done that to him before—fed him phantoms
spun from hunger and grief. They liked to make him see the
things he’d lost. The boy he’d loved. The home they’d burned.
The freedom he no longer believed in.
But this one didn’t fade.
The figure didn’t dissolve into dust, and the heat rolling
through the air as Enon fought—the holy, searing heat—was real.
Aziz could still feel its kiss on his skin.
His knees threatened to give as he staggered backward until the
cold wall caught him. “No,” he breathed, shaking his head. “You
can’t be here. You’re not—” His voice cracked. “You’re not
real.”
It sounded childish, but it was safer to believe the lie.
Because if Enon was real, then so were the screams. The blood.
The night Aziz had run—and Enon hadn’t.
He looked up again, heart hammering, and saw him clearly now:
taller, scarred, shoulders broader, clothing torn and singed,
but unmistakable. And over his eyes—the cloth. The sacred
covering of their faith.
Aziz’s breath caught. Shame burned through him like acid.
He hadn’t worn his in years. They’d torn it from him in the
first week of the arena, said he didn’t deserve the honor of his
people, not after failing his “masters.” He hadn’t fought them.
He’d let them take it, let them strip away everything that once
made him more than a weapon.
And now Enon stood before him—faith intact, even in battle, the
mark of their people bound across his eyes like a vow kept.
Aziz turned his face away, jaw tight, as if the sight itself
were a wound. “You shouldn’t look at me,” he said, voice
trembling despite every effort to steady it. “Not like this.”
The air between them seemed to hum with ghosts—the scent of
river reeds at dusk, the laughter under desert stars, the
whispered promises of boys who thought faith and friendship
could keep them safe. All of it buried under years of ash.
He forced a bitter laugh. “You came all this way for a slave?
I’ll only slow you down.”
It came out harsher than he meant, but the tremor in his words
betrayed him.
When Enon didn’t answer, Aziz risked a glance. He was still
there—arm extended, palm open, waiting.
Aziz stared at that hand for a long, suspended moment. Every
instinct screamed don’t trust it. Every scar whispered rescue is
just another trick.
But his body remembered what his mind could not forget—how many
times that same hand had pulled him from danger, from storms,
from despair itself.
His throat tightened. The pit air felt too thick to breathe. “If
this is another dream,” he whispered, voice breaking, “then
please… don’t let me wake up.”
And slowly—hesitantly—Aziz reached forward, his fingers
trembling in the space between faith and fear.
——
Blood.
That was all he knew anymore.
It slicked his hands, filled his lungs, beat like a second pulse
beneath his skin. The crowd’s roar was nothing but thunder in
his skull, a meaningless storm that demanded death. So he gave
it. Again and again. That was his world — the pit, the rage, the
red.
His claws — born of his own blood — dripped, lengthened, tore.
The fight blurred into instinct. Strike. Rip. Survive.
He didn’t think. He didn’t remember.
Until he heard his name.
“Skoll!”
It wasn’t the bark of a master. It wasn’t a jeer from the crowd.
It was his name — his real name — spoken like a lifeline thrown
into a storm.
He froze.
The haze cracked. The noise fell away until all that was left
was his heartbeat — too loud, too heavy. The scent of blood
soured in his mouth. His claws trembled.
Then another word broke through. Softer. Shaken.
“Amír.”
Everything stopped.
His body went still, caught between a breath and a heartbeat.
The word burned in his ears — a name no one had called him in
years. Not since the world still made sense. Not since he’d had
a name worth answering to.
He turned, slow and uncertain, the wildness in his eyes
faltering as he searched through the smoke and chaos.
And there — standing across the ring — was him.
Snow.
Older. Harder around the edges. But the same. The same eyes that
once saw through the beast in him. The same voice that used to
pull him out of nightmares.
His throat closed. He took a half-step forward, then stopped,
chest heaving. “...Snow?” The name rasped out like a wound
reopening.
For a moment, he didn’t know what to do — the fight still
singing through his veins, the instinct screaming kill while
something deeper whispered home.
He looked down at his hands — the blood still dripping from them
— and shame flooded in. The beast wanted to hide, to crawl back
into its cage where it couldn’t ruin the only good thing left in
this world.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he breathed, voice low and rough.
“Not... not near me.”
But his body betrayed him.
When one of the guards shifted toward Snow — when a shadow moved
too fast — Skoll’s instincts snapped in the other direction. He
stepped between them in a blink, claws raised, a snarl ripping
from his throat.
Only this time, the rage wasn’t for the crowd.
It was for anyone who dared come near him.
Snow.
The man he’d thought dead. The man who’d once called him
brother. The man who, somehow, still saw him beneath the blood.
He didn’t understand how this was real, or if it was real at all
— but for the first time in years, he didn’t care. The beast in
him had chosen.
And it would burn the whole arena down before letting Snow fall.
—-
Basredun smiled as the first sigil cracked.
The noise was sublime—a brittle, echoing whine that gave way to
the low groan of failing stone. He tilted his head, dark hair
slipping across one shoulder, the golden rings in his long white
braids catching the dying light.
“Ahh…” His voice purred through the uproar. “The sweet sound of
chaos. I haven’t heard its song in nearly a hundred years.”
All around him, panic spread like wildfire. Guards shoved
through the crowd, trying to reach the lower tiers. The pit’s
wards were collapsing one by one, the air turning thick with
unleashed magic and dust.
Basredun simply adjusted his cuffs and murmured a word in
Undercommon.
A flicker of darkness rippled at his feet. His
familiar—Avarice—emerged, all fanged grin and molten shadow.
“Go, little sin,” Basredun said lazily, eyes narrowing toward
the iron cages below. “Make yourself useful. Carve a path
through the mess. We’re collecting strays tonight.”
Avarice hissed in delight and slithered down the nearest wall
like liquid ink.
Basredun’s own hands began to weave—long fingers tracing sigils
of violet light. Chains snapped. Locks melted. All across the
lower cells, collars of suppression shattered like glass.
Beastkin howled as their magic flared to life for the first time
in years.
The guards’ cries turned from command to terror.
“Let’s see how you fare without your pets collared,” Basredun
murmured, lips curving in a dangerous smile. “A little
equilibrium for once.”
Below, Enon was already on fire—figuratively and literally. The
heat from his strikes made the air shimmer, his every motion
precise and furious. When he smashed open Aziz’s cage, Basredun
lifted a brow.
“Romance and rebellion in the same heartbeat,” he mused.
“Charming.”
He flicked two fingers, and an arcane blast sent a knot of
guards flying away from Enon’s flank.
“Consider that a gift, little firebrand,” he drawled under his
breath. “Do make use of it.”
----
Across the pit’s upper gallery, Ezra and Atreus burst through a
corridor thick with smoke and shouting.
“Left!” Ezra barked, cutting down a guard.
“Right,” Atreus replied smoothly—before his hand flared red. The
blood within a second guard twisted, jerking the man mid-step
like a puppet on invisible strings.
The soldier dropped his weapon, eyes rolling back. Atreus
grimaced. “I don’t like using that one,” he muttered.
“It worked,” Ezra snapped, grabbing a ring of keys from the
man’s belt and sprinting toward another set of cages. “You said
you wanted to get them out—so move.”
One by one, they flung open cell doors. Beastkin, elementals,
and prisoners stumbled free, dazed and half-feral. “Out the
north tunnels!” Ezra barked. “Follow the light—don’t stop!”
A deep tremor rolled through the floor, sending both men
staggering.
Atreus caught himself, eyes narrowing. “That’s not just
structural failure…” His gaze cut upward, pupils narrowing into
a predatory gleam. “Someone’s unraveling the wards themselves.”
Ezra looked grim. “Then we have minutes, not hours. Enon—”
“I see him,” Atreus said. He pointed through the chaos toward
Enon, still guarding Aziz as fire flared around him.
“Go!” Ezra sprinted ahead, shoving through the stampede of freed
slaves. Atreus followed, blood-sense flaring outward like sonar,
tracking his companions’ heartbeats through the din.
---
In the twisting tunnels leading toward the surface, Thesia
hauled Adan forward by the arm, blades flashing as she cut down
a charging guard.
“Stay behind me, Prince!” she shouted over the din.
Adan ducked instinctively as a spear grazed the wall beside his
head. “I thought I was!” he shot back, clutching his cloak
tighter around the pixie hidden inside.
Xahri’s muffled voice chimed indignantly from under the fabric:
“I’m helping, thank you very much!”
Thesia kicked another attacker off the ledge, spun, and grabbed
Adan’s shoulder. “We’re splitting up from the others for now.
Khali’s on his way to the main pit.”
Right on cue, Khali appeared at the junction, blades dripping
and eyes alight. “The others are pinned in the lower
rings—Skoll’s too big to move fast.”
Thesia’s tone brooked no argument. “Then you go help them. I’ll
get Adan clear.”
Khali hesitated, jaw tightening. “If you die—”
“I won’t.” Her smile was fierce. “Now move.”
---
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