ItsTheobear

She was barely six when her clan abandoned her.

The words were always so foreign. She hadn’t even been old enough to learn the language, nor to have a name. She had always been sickly—especially before him. Her clan saw her as weak. They dropped her in the nearest town and went off toward the north.

At first, her immune system helped her. It made things manageable. She spent the summer and fall watering the pretty tree and the flowers she had found. That was all she knew. She watered people’s flowers for a quick buck—one copper here or there, maybe more. She tried, at one point, to sell simple flowers, at least until she stumbled upon a garden tucked away behind the local church.

Stumbling into it, it looked like an oasis. Lush trees. Soft flowers. But a patch of death struck her as abnormal. She dug around, trying to find the problem, and when she did, she found carrots, corn, cucumbers—long since forgotten. That’s how she got her vegetables. She ate them straight, dirt and all.

Meat was a different story.

She had always been sneaky, so she started stealing. First it was scraps from dogs, always whispering an apology as she ran. Then it graduated to stealing meat from the common folk. Eventually, she got bold enough to steal directly from shops, sneaking into the church at night to steal bread and scraps of cloth—just enough to cover her ever-freezing figure. She was driven to steal by her constantly empty stomach.

At this point, she was mute. She had no language. Just an image of what her people were supposed to look like: large drooping ears, green skin, buggy eyes—swamp green in color. Lanky limbs. She always chose an image she thought she was supposed to have, tweaking it every night so she looked more like the common folk. It made her more accepted, and kept them guessing.

At least, until it started getting cold.

She got so sick that winter. With the plants dead, the garden barren, she was starving. She crawled to the big tree in the center of town, curling up in its roots. It was the only cover as the first snow began to fall. The roots were exposed—deep enough that she could squeeze into them without being found. At least during the day.

But she’d grown lazy in her sickness. She had already decided she was as weak as her clan had told her—the reason they’d left her alone in this town. She closed her eyes, ready for the tree to claim her as nutrients, to bloom brighter next year.

That’s when she heard it.

A deep voice, passing. She’d heard many before, but this one was too close. It was warm. Welcoming. Then a second voice appeared—louder, screaming into her head. They talked about what to do about the griffins. She didn’t know what those were, but she listened until the loud voice receded, likely going elsewhere.

She only felt the one set of footsteps remain.

She froze until they paused—right at her rabbit hole, it seemed.

She grabbed the nearest stick, ready to lash out.

“Small one?”

The words barely registered. She’d learned just enough Common to give simple answers, but none came. She curled tighter into the tree until she felt a hand on her calf. She lashed out—the only thing she could do—as she felt herself being pulled free. Her stick fell aside. She clawed at the dirt, trying to hold herself in place, until her body popped free and the cold hit her skin.

She yelped. No words—just venomous noises and hisses. She had no true language, after all.

But the man—blue in color—did not seem fazed.

In fact, he almost seemed endeared by the little creature fighting so hard despite being so clearly sick. He smiled. A soft smile, one that almost made her trust him. Almost.

She was held out like a snake, just in case she tried to bite. He dragged her toward the building she knew—the church. She lashed out again, swinging side to side to no avail. He pulled her up the stairs and into a room.

With a flash of admiral blue, she was frozen in place.

“Stay here,” his voice finally said.

She couldn’t move. Even the comfort felt like needle pricks, almost physically painful. She constantly tried to break whatever spell trapped her in the bed. Eventually, though, she crashed when the chill subsided. Her face softened as she slept.

Finally, Divium could heal her. And get her clean.

He checked on her often, bringing soups and bread. Before she knew it, she felt better—looked it too. Eventually, he rescinded the spell that kept her in bed, though he kept a lock on her door. He knew how flighty she was, and it was for her own safety.

Slowly, throughout the winter, her eyes took on a stormy blue color. With him being the only person she ever saw, the change was noticeable. It wasn’t a perfect match, but it grew closer every day.

He began to “forget” to lock the door. She explored—finding books, picture books especially. She couldn’t read yet, but the images helped. When spring finally arrived, he let her out.

She was seven by then, having turned near the end of winter.

She was happy to go, but his kindness hadn’t gone unnoticed. She took on a more permanent role tending the plants around town. Though she earned only a few silvers, she eventually began returning to the church, slipping into the back while the man who helped her preached about the Tempesta.

She found something that worked.

She returned to the garden behind the church. Under her care, it bloomed again. She slept there, beside the plants. Sometimes she woke to clean clothes, bread, or vegetables before her own had come into bloom. She accepted them.

She couldn’t thank him—at least not with words.

Instead, she left flowers at the church door. Sometimes a simple poultice.

“Flosculus,” he called her when he managed to catch her.

Words came slowly. By the next summer: “Yes.” “No.” “Pretty.” “Bad.” “Sad.” “Munny.”

He began pulling her into his lessons, helping her after sermons. Just Common, for now. He found she enjoyed learning—especially languages—and that she excelled at botany.

The town bloomed, and so did she.

She began calling herself “Flo.”

It didn’t take long before she became a full resident of the church, taking Divium’s last name and moving into one of the empty rooms once she could hold conversations. He gave her a plant—lemon balm. She called it Melissa.

The years moved forward. Always forward.

She accompanied him to the castle for blessings, where she learned animals had an affinity for her. She clung to Divium until she found the library. There, she learned the loud voice from years ago belonged to Magnus—the king—who raised griffons. She named a juvenile one “Stormchaser” around the time she turned eight.

She learned Goblinese—what should have been her native tongue. Divium learned it for her, then taught her himself. She felt safe enough to call Divium “Father.” She called Magnus that too—despite his many corrections.

By thirteen, she knew five languages and handled all the church’s floral work. Her wages went back into the church. Her eyes now matched Divium’s Almost Exactly. She Changed her hair to a uniform blue Over the years, leaving a soft dove-white streak to remember Magnus, who had taught her to ride a griffon.

By sixteen, she knew seven languages. By eighteen, she received a sending stone from the king. By twenty, she was a world-class botanist.with 10 Languages Memorized

The sun was setting when Amber saw him again. The soft gold light painted the cobblestones in warmth, but the air felt cold—unnaturally so, like the city itself was holding its breath.

She had been arranging a new batch of dried herbs outside her shop, the scent of chamomile and lavender curling lazily through the air. The chime of a familiar laugh broke her concentration. She turned instinctively, heart leaping before her mind could remind her not to hope.

Ephraim.

It was him—his posture unmistakable, his presence a gravity all its own. He stood across the street in that half-sunlight, his hair unkempt, clothes travel-worn, the familiar silver at his wrist dulled with dirt. But there was something wrong. His eyes—once so sharp and alert—were unfocused, their usual quick calculation gone.

For a Fein, sleeplessness was their nature. They didn’t tire, didn’t dream, didn’t drift. But Ephraim looked exhausted, hollow in ways she had never seen before. His usual nonchalant calm, the quiet cool that cloaked his emotions, had been stripped away—stolen and replaced by a hardened edge that didn’t belong to him.

He wasn’t just weary. He was gone.

And then she saw her.

A woman with hair like cherry blossom petals stepped from the alley behind him—pink curls that caught the dying light as if they’d been set aflame. She said something Amber couldn’t hear, fingers tracing Ephraim’s collar. And then, before Amber could process the sight, the woman leaned forward and kissed the hollow of his neck.

Ephraim didn’t move. Didn’t react.

He just stared past everything—past the world, past Amber—and smiled faintly at nothing.

Amber’s throat constricted. The basket of herbs slipped from her hands and scattered across the ground.

She wanted to call out, but her voice caught somewhere between disbelief and grief. It wasn’t until the woman turned and vanished down the street that he seemed to notice her standing there.

“Ephraim?”

He blinked slowly, like someone waking from a dream they didn’t want to leave. His gaze dragged to her, and when he spoke, his voice was hoarse but familiar. “Sunshine?”

The name hit her like a blade wrapped in memory.

Her phone still held his messages—the First text with the new phone where he’d called her Sunflower instead, a slip of affection he’d never admitted to in person. He used to spend them on long nights spent watching her brew, while she scolded him for hovering near open flames. He’d laugh then, teasing her, his eyes bright with something softer than the amusement.

Now that brightness was gone.

When he stepped closer, she finally saw it—the faint shimmer clinging to his skin like dust. Iridescent specks that caught the light, unnatural and beautiful. Her stomach turned cold.

“Bliss,” she whispered.

He smiled vaguely, the expression distant. “You always were quick.”

Her pulse quickened. No. No, not him.

She’d seen Bliss eat through soldiers, thieves, and mages alike. It dulled pain, erased memory, and for a while, it made people feel invincible. But it always ended the same way: the tremors, the rage, the hollow-eyed detachment.

“Ephraim,” she said carefully, stepping closer, “you’re not well. Let me help—”

“Help?” he interrupted, voice suddenly sharp, the word bitten off like a challenge. “You can’t fix this, Sunshine. You can’t fix me.”

It wasn’t anger that froze her in place. It was how lost he sounded.

He moved toward her, unsteady but strong. For a heartbeat, she thought he might collapse. Then his hand jerked—wild, unthinking—and swung toward her. It wasn’t precise, wasn’t the clean strike of an assassin. It was chaos.

Amber’s body moved on instinct. Cotton-candy pink magic flared from her wrists, ribbons of light coiling into razor-edged wind. They sliced through the air with a hum, stopping inches from his chest.

He flinched, blinking rapidly, the haze cracking for just a moment. “Amber…?”

“I’m here,” she whispered, lowering her hands, her heart pounding so loudly she could barely breathe.

The wind died down, dissolving into sparkling motes that danced briefly before fading. She stepped closer—slowly, as though approaching a wounded animal. “You don’t want to do this.”

He was trembling now, his pupils dilated, the Bliss shimmering faintly along his skin like a cruel halo.

“I can’t save you,” she said, voice barely audible. “Not if you don’t want to be saved.”

His expression flickered—pain, regret, defiance, all tangled together. “You think I want this?” he asked quietly. “You think I like what it’s done to me?” He laughed, and it sounded like it hurt. “It’s easier, Sunshine. Easier to drown in Bliss than to keep remembering her.”

Amber’s stomach twisted. Her. The ghost of the woman he’d once loved—the one he’d tethered to.

Fein didn’t love lightly. When they tethered, their souls fused—body, heart, and core—until even death couldn’t sever the bond. It was devotion turned obsession, passion turned prison.

Amber knew that too well.

She’d been tethered once, too. Not by choice, but by decree. The council had decided who she was meant to belong to, and she’d obeyed—until she couldn’t anymore. Until the bond began to rot her from the inside.

The Worst part was her being Unable to remember anything from that time Unless she was blooming,And after that Gone,Just as invisible as her own memory from a long since fractured Psyche,She couldnt Tell him,He'd once went searching for a tether mark,On one of their late night visits.

Shed had a strong charm put on it a generation ago,It would only show During her bloom,and faded with her memories,That was a stipulation,If she remembered everything all of the time Her Tether mark would be Strong Visible,Large,But with her memory the way it was,The Witch had allowed her that much,That if she didnt remember the tether neither would her mark

She still heard his voice sometimes—the one she’d been bound to. Deep, smooth, commanding. A reminder that no matter how far she ran, she’d never be completely free.Thats when her mark was mlst visible,In the dead of night while His voice chimed In her head

But she had run. She’d chosen solitude over slavery. And she’d learned to survive alone, to heal others while refusing to heal herself.

Then Ephraim had appeared—quiet, brooding, broken—and she had made the mistake of letting him stay.

It was terrifying when she began to like him. Terrifying when she realized she might want something she wasn’t supposed to. And when her heart began to ache at the sound of his voice, she told herself it wasn’t love. That it was just comfort, just companionship, just a way to quiet the loneliness.

But standing there now, watching him sway under the weight of Bliss, she knew she had never convinced herself at all.

He reached up as if to touch her, then stopped short, fingers trembling. “You should hate me for this.”

“I can’t,” she said simply.

He looked away, ashamed. “Then you’re a fool.”

“Maybe,” she whispered.

For a long time, neither of them moved. The street grew quiet, the sky dimming into bruised violet. He was still there, but not really—his body a vessel, his mind somewhere else, chasing a ghost that wouldn’t let him go.

She wanted to shake him. To scream. To tell him she was right there, alive, real, reaching for him. But Bliss didn’t care about the living—it only ever courted the dead.

When he finally turned to leave, she didn’t stop him. Couldn’t.

He had to want to save himself. And he didn’t—not yet. He preferred the drowning. The ache. The illusion of a woman who had long since vanished from his life but never from his memory.

Amber watched him disappear into the fading light, the neon flakes catching briefly like stars before they were swallowed by shadow following The woman,His arm long since gone,Taken by the very Witch that Took his mind.

The breeze stirred again, soft and sad, rustling the herbs at her feet. She bent to gather them with trembling hands, her cotton-candy pink magic flickering faintly at her fingertips.

Amber lifted her head from the counter where bundles of silverleaf and heartmint were drying, her short hair falling into her eyes. The air smelled of ozone and herbs, of cooling tonics and ground bark. Her shop was a place of balance: half apothecary, half sanctuary, with shelves of glowing crystals sharing space with jars of earth-brown powders.

But the man who stepped inside disrupted that balance in an instant.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, his movements carrying the measured grace of someone trained to fight and survive. Yet fatigue weighed down his steps, and a faint trace of blood marred the sleeve of his coat. His hair was white—not the snowy white of age, nor the pale blond of sunlight, but a stark, unnatural white, brittle in texture, as though time itself had stolen its pigment overnight. The effect was jarring, a mark of the infamous affliction whispered of in healers’ texts—Marie Antoinette’s curse, brought on by trauma too deep to mend.

More arresting still were his eyes. They gleamed with a hue that seemed almost impossible: carnation pink, raw and luminous, as though someone had bled color directly into his irises. The shade was not hers—Amber’s own magic glowed a sweeter, cotton-candy pink, a light that soothed and healed. His was a colder thing, sharp, alien, too human and yet not at all.

And nestled against his arm, absurdly, was a cat.

The tom’s fur was black, his eyes green as new moss, his claws hooked lazily into the man’s cloak as if he had always belonged there.

The stranger cleared his throat, the sound rough as stone grinding. “I’m not here for me.” His voice was measured, low, carrying an edge of restraint. He gestured stiffly to the animal in his arms. “He wouldn’t stop following.”

Amber’s brows lifted, her curiosity overtaking her practiced shopkeeper’s smile. “You brought me a stray?”

He grimaced, as though embarrassed by the words themselves. “I don’t keep creatures.”

Amber stepped closer, the magitek conduits in the floor pulsing faintly beneath her bare toes. She reached out, and the cat launched from his arm into hers, curling instantly against her chest with a deep purr. The pink light of her healing aura stirred in response, blooming faintly around her like candle-glow. The cat nuzzled deeper, content.

She looked up at him then, really looked—and found no trace of recognition in his strange eyes. No awe. No suspicion. No whispers of that is the odd one, the girl who survived, the one whose magic burns too bright.

Just a tired man, irritated that a cat had chosen him.

Her chest warmed. For once, she felt ordinary.

“Well,” Amber said softly, scratching behind the tom’s ears, “he’s chosen you.”

The man frowned. “I told you. I don’t—”

“You don’t get to decide.” Amber stepped forward, pressing the cat gently toward him, her voice unyielding yet kind. “Taz has already chosen. And I think he’s right.”

“Taz?” he echoed, half incredulous.

She smiled. “He told me.”

The man stared at her as though she were speaking a language he had sworn to forget. The cat, however, stretched toward him, curling his paw against the white-haired man’s chest as though the matter were settled.

Reluctantly, he took the tom back. Taz melted against him, purring louder.

Amber’s smile softened. In the pulse of magitek light, in the flicker of pink against pink, she thought perhaps this meeting had been inevitable.

For once in centuries, she was not Amber the oddity, Amber the healer touched by too-bright magic. She was simply a woman convincing a reluctant man to take home a cat.

And though he muttered a curse as he turned to leave, the chime above the door sang brighter this time, as if it knew—he would return.

The first night he came back, Amber was still awake, bent over her notes in the green-lit corner of the clinic. The conduits pulsed like veins in the walls, humming with magitek current, and the faint smell of lavender steam clung to the air. The bell’s crystalline chime startled her again, though not as sharply as the first time.

She didn’t have to look up to know it was him. His presence pressed into the room differently, like shadow against sunlight.

Ephraim.

His white hair seemed to drink the lamplight, brittle and unnatural, falling into his carnation-pink eyes that unsettled everyone but her. He stood with the same stiff poise, cloak heavy around his shoulders, and in his arms was the cat.

Amber bit back a smile. “Ah. You’re here for supplies?”

He shifted, uncomfortable. “The creature refuses to eat what I give him.”

Amber set down her quill. “Which was…?”

“Dried rations.” His expression didn’t change, but his tone made the words sound like a confession of failure.

She laughed—bright, unrestrained, like silver bells. “You tried to feed him soldier’s rations?”

His jaw flexed, but he didn’t answer.

Amber rose, padding barefoot across the clinic. She pulled a jar from the shelf, the liquid inside glinting rose-gold under the glowcrystals. “Taz needs meat, not pressed starch. You’ll have to cook for him.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, not quite a smile. “I don’t cook.”

“Then you’ll learn.” She pressed the jar into his hand. Her fingers brushed his glove, and for a fraction of a breath, the hum of magitek in the room faltered—as though aware of the fragile thread between them.

He left with a grumble. But the next night, he returned again.

It became a rhythm neither acknowledged aloud.

Too-late meetings, always after dark, when most of Solaris was asleep and the magitek lanterns outside burned low. Ephraim would push open the door, Taz draped smugly across his shoulders, and Amber would be waiting with advice she claimed he desperately needed.

“You must brush him. His fur will mat.”

“I have weapons to sharpen, not combs to wield.”

“Then sharpen your patience, Ephraim. It’s just as useful.”

Or—

“He keeps knocking over the lamp.”

“Then move the lamp lower.”

“It cost me more than he’s worth.”

“Nothing costs more than he’s worth,” she’d answer without hesitation, scratching Taz under the chin. The cat purred like thunder.

Each visit left her heart lighter. Each conversation felt ordinary, like she was not Amber the immortal healer with strange pink magic, not the oddity whispered of in every market square. She was simply a woman guiding a reluctant man through the chaos of raising a cat.

And Ephraim—always grim, always keeping his edges sharp—stayed longer each time. He lingered in the doorway when he could have left. He asked questions he pretended were practical, but Amber noticed the way his hand lingered when Taz pressed against him, the way his voice softened, almost imperceptibly.

One night, when the hour was deep and the conduits dimmed low to conserve power, Ephraim leaned against the counter, arms folded. “Why do you care so much if I keep him alive?”

Amber blinked at him, startled by the bluntness. Then she smiled, softer than she meant to. “Because he chose you. And because you came back.”

He stared at her, his carnation-pink eyes unreadable. Taz leapt from the counter into his arms as though to punctuate her words.

And for once, Ephraim didn’t argue.

Tonight we are falling in love❤️

Amber never meant to make a habit of waiting.

Yet she found herself brewing tea long after the city had dimmed, leaving two cups instead of one on the counter without thinking about it. She told herself it was for a patient who might arrive, or in case Ephraim had another complaint about Taz.

But she knew better.

He always came.

Not every night, but often enough that silence itself began to feel expectant. When the bell’s crystalline chime rang, her heart lifted before she could stop it.

The excuses changed.

At first, it was always the cat—Taz refusing food, Taz shredding fabric, Taz daring to sleep on his cloak. But slowly, the words turned thinner, less believable.

“He seems restless,” Ephraim muttered once, standing at her counter with his arms crossed.

Amber peered at Taz, who sprawled across his shoulders, purring like a storm. “He seems perfectly content.”

Ephraim didn’t answer. His pink eyes flicked toward her worktable instead. “What are you mixing?”

Amber’s lips curved faintly. “Ah. So it’s me you’re curious about tonight, not him.”

He looked away, but he didn’t leave.

Their conversations stretched longer with each meeting. Amber showed him how to prepare fresh broth for Taz, and in turn Ephraim sharpened one of her dull knives with swift, sure hands. She teased him for his constant grimace; he retorted that her laughter was too loud for midnight hours.

And somewhere between her laughter and his scowls, something began to shift.

Amber didn’t notice it at first. She told herself the warmth in her chest was simple gratitude—that she enjoyed his company because he treated her like anyone else. He didn’t marvel at her pink magic, didn’t whisper about the healer who never scarred, never aged. To him, she was just Amber.

But then, she found herself looking forward to the sound of his voice, rough as gravel but steady. She found herself listening for the scrape of his boots on the clinic floor, watching the door as if her heart already knew the rhythm of his steps.

And when he did not come, the silence pressed heavier than she expected.

One night, rain swept the city, drumming against the glass panes of her windows. Amber curled barefoot on her chair, sipping tea, the conduits casting pale light across the room. She told herself he wouldn’t come in this weather.

But when the bell chimed, she nearly dropped her cup.

Ephraim stood in the doorway, cloak soaked through, white hair plastered against his face. Taz clung to him like a shadow, somehow dry despite the storm.

Amber hurried to fetch a towel, her words tumbling out before she could think. “You’ll catch your death, walking through that storm! Sit, sit—”

He obeyed without protest, which startled her more than his presence. She knelt at his side, blotting his sleeve with practiced hands, scolding gently all the while. He watched her, silent, his pink eyes unreadable.

When she finally looked up, their gazes met. The conduits flickered.

Her heart skipped. She told herself it was worry. Nothing more.

But as she poured him tea and listened to the storm, she realized she was smiling without realizing it. Smiling because he was here.

She did not see the change in herself, not fully.

Not the way her laughter softened when it was for him.

Not the way she lingered by the counter long after she should have gone to bed, just in case he returned.

Amber only knew that these nights, with the reluctant man and the cat he swore he hadn’t wanted, felt more like home than anything she had known in centuries.

And without even realizing it, she had begun to fall.

THE Camping trip

The road beyond Solaris stretched wide beneath the stars, carved between glassy dunes that shimmered faintly with magitek residue. Amber walked barefoot through the sand, carrying her satchel of herbs, while Ephraim moved ahead with the quiet precision of a man too used to traveling dangerous paths. Taz trailed behind them like a small shadow, tail flicking as though he owned the night.

They hadn’t planned this journey. Amber needed rare seeds from the outpost in Orysa, and Ephraim had insisted on escorting her. She had protested at first—I can manage, I’ve gone alone before—but he only gave her one of those looks, all sharp silence and carnation-pink eyes, until she relented.

So here they were, beneath a sky pricked with constellations, camping beneath the ruins of a shattered tower.

Amber spread her blanket beside the fire, the flames painting her honey-brown hair in hues of gold and copper. She hummed softly as she brewed tea in her small kettle, her pink magic flickering as it coaxed the water to boil faster. Ephraim sharpened his dagger in silence, his white hair catching the firelight like pale frost.

For a while, neither spoke. It was a comfortable quiet, broken only by the crackle of firewood and Taz’s soft purring as he curled between them.

Finally, Amber looked up. “You don’t have to come every time I leave the city, you know.”

His whetstone slowed, but he didn’t glance at her. “And let you wander into trouble alone?”

“I’m not helpless.”

“No,” he agreed, eyes flicking up at last. “But you’re… you.”

The words were rough, unpolished, as though dragged out of him against his will. Amber tilted her head, unsure how to answer.

Later, when the fire had dimmed and the night grew colder, Amber rose quietly, meaning to return to her own small tent pitched nearby. She hesitated at the threshold of his makeshift shelter, where Ephraim sat hunched, cloak pulled tight, eyes lowered to the dirt.

She thought he hadn’t noticed her moving. But then—

“Stay.”

The word escaped him in a broken whisper. Not an order, not his usual gruff insistence. A plea.

Amber froze. In all the nights she’d known him, he had never sounded like this.

For a moment, she considered teasing him, breaking the tension with a smile. But the way his shoulders curled, the way his voice had cracked—she understood. This wasn’t a request he gave easily.

So she stepped inside, sitting quietly beside him. No questions, no explanations. She simply stayed.

Taz padded over at once, curling in her lap, as if he too had decided the matter.

Ephraim didn’t look at her, not directly, but his shoulders eased. The tightness in his jaw slackened, and when the firelight caught his eyes, they no longer looked like hard glass.

Amber said nothing. She leaned back against the worn stone wall, letting the night stretch long, the silence binding them more surely than any vow.

She didn’t know if it was love—she wasn’t ready to name it. But in that moment, under the stars and ruins, she felt it again: that impossible, precious normalcy.

And for once, Ephraim didn’t push her away.

# 01

The first time he was recognised as valuable swelled his core with pride. He had taken advantage of his cousin’s love for a girl, paying her the money he stole from another family member and ordering them to poison their core on the day of their bout in exchange for immunity for what she will do to them.

And Lucian won. In spite of his cousin’s talents, he won. Suspicious of his victory, the cousin used their resources to investigate and uncovered that the girl they were in love with was paid with family member’s money, ultimately souring their relationship not just with the girl but with that family. Lucian then consoled his cousin, sympathising and gaining his trust that persists to this day.

On the other hand, he lent his money to the person he stole from, making them owe him, on top of showing generosity to his family. And the girl? Well… Harming a noble was punishable by death. Did she really think Lucian had the power to influence court decisions? Foolish girl.

He played them all just to gain everyone’s good graces. From then on, he was no longer The Defect, he was the Compassionate Drake, who forgave his cousin’s suspicions of him and was generous to mend his family’s missing wealth. He was a Drake. He is a Drake, and he intends to keep it that way.

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# 02

Lucian Drake is a Pyrrian nobleman.

Once called the Defect of his House, he entered society as a Pyrrian with a lack of skills and talents. Yet, people gravitated towards his charming personality, the demeanour that held no judgement nor envy for another, the composure that never wavers even under another’s provocations. Most of all, he was the Compassionate Drake, the Drake that looks after others even when they are unrelated to him and his people. The image he had constructed for a long time now has granted him a well-established reputation in the Capitol.

Yet he remains weak.

The same problem he had when he was a child resurfaced now when he trained in the military alongside his peers. He wasn’t bad, but he wasn’t exceptional. Perhaps the only thing going for him was his wit and caution, even if he is also inferior to the other Drakes in this area as well. It works so well for him when he’s using it to excel himself, but not so much for others’ benefit. The Drakes’ benefit. He needs a different way to get stronger.

That was when the idea of tethering came to mind.

He’s even thought of candidates based on personality, compatibility, reputation, hobbies, family lineage, independence, appearance, financial indulgence, age, beliefs, dynamic preference, moral alignment, and many more. Lucian was prepared. He even became acquaintances with them, shared opinions with them. It sounds ridiculous, but Lucian almost felt he was happy–

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# 03

Betrayal stabbed him in the shape of Amber Moon.

It was one peaceful dinner when her name was mentioned to the family. They had known Lucian’s plans of tethering, considering his age and his need to be better for the Drakes. They had known his candidates, and even acknowledged some of them when he came to consult them about this idea. They agreed for someone powerful; they agreed for someone

of Pyrrian lineage only.

Was he foolish to trust that they would keep to their word? No. Rather, he never trusted them. He knows the plans of the family can be sporadic with the common goal of keeping their names in the history of the Feins. But he knows they know how Pyrrhos is on bad terms with the Zephandrels.

What were they thinking?!

No, no, he knows what they’re after. This isn’t about the ‘what’, it’s about the ‘why’. Alliance between two nations using sacred union is not a new concept. So in spite of what he would have wanted, Lucian swallowed his pride and accepted his Zephandri tethered-to-be with a courteous smile. They know his rotten nature, but he keeps his mask on even for them. They won’t hear him complain about it.

For that is the way of the compassionate Drake.

‎

# 04

They’ve yet to meet, but he doesn’t like her already. Call it petty, but he doesn’t like that his plans were strayed even a tad bit, her greater potential as his tether be damned. He doesn’t even feel like tethering anymore because of her. What a fucking mistake. Unfortunately, duty-bound, he must go on instead of losing his family’s favour. Rather than floundering about like a headless chicken, he chose to investigate Amber Moon as much as his resources allowed him.

He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or throw a fit. Little was known of this Zephyr. On top of that, her memory is a defect. Is his family insulting him by pairing him with an invalid? A match made in heaven, is that it? Tsk. An unfortunate ethereal beauty lacking a brain.

Fucking great.

The clinic was quiet.

Too quiet.

Amber had swept the floors three times. The tinctures were alphabetized. Her patients were healed. The sun had gone down hours ago, and still she stood in her greenroom, watering the same goddamn pot of lavender like it might protect her.

But it wouldn’t.

It never had.

She felt him before she heard him. A pressure in the air — like the moment before a storm cracks the sky open.

And then the sound.

Boots.

Steady. Unhurried. Like he already knew she wouldn’t run.

Amber gripped the edge of the table, knuckles white. She didn’t turn. Didn’t speak. Just stared at the glass above her, at the sliver of moon barely peeking through. She focused on the cool air on her skin, the scent of soil. Anything but him.

“You’re bleeding again,” Lucian said behind her.

His voice didn’t scare her anymore.

Not in the way it used to.

It made her burn.

Not with lust — never lust. With memory. Fragmented. Bitter. Unspoken.

“It’ll clot,” she said, tone flat.

He stepped closer.

Too close.

She wanted to move. She wanted to scream at him, to throw something, to remind him that he wasn’t welcome here. But her body froze the way it always did when he was near — some ancient reaction stitched into her skin without permission.

She hated that.

She hated him.

“I could gut you,” she said quietly. “And bury you in my herb beds. No one would find you.”

Lucian was silent for a moment. Then: “You used to say sweeter things.”

“I used to be sweeter,” she snapped, turning to face him.

And there he was.

Beautiful, in the way all cruel things are. All shadows and sharpness, pink eyes catching the moonlight like fire. His coat was open, his gloves were still on, and he smelled faintly of perfume — not hers. Someone cheaper. Someone he’d hired.

Again.

“Your dancers don’t fill you?” she said coldly.

Lucian’s mouth curled into a smile — not amused. Pained. “They don’t fight me like you do.”

“I’m not fighting you,” she spat. “I’m surviving you.”

He moved then. Fast. One hand on her jaw, the other against the wall behind her. Not hurting her — not yet. But caging her in.

“You don’t even remember what you survived,” he growled.

“I don’t want to.”

“You should,” he said. “You begged me once. Pleaded. And still, I never touched you that way.”

“No,” she said. “You only hurt me.”

Lucian flinched — the smallest flicker. And then he kissed her.

Hard.

Needy.

Punishing.

Amber gasped against his mouth, her fists pounding once — weakly — against his chest. He kissed like a man damning her and himself all at once. Like every time he tasted her, it killed something. And he still needed it.

She hated that her body leaned forward.

Hated that her mouth opened.

He groaned into her, cursing her under his breath between every searing touch of lips. “You ruin me,” he hissed. “You fucking ruined me.”

Amber shoved him back. This time, he let her.

She wiped her mouth on her sleeve like he was filth.

“I hate you,” she breathed, chest heaving.

“You should.”

Lucian’s eyes flicked over her face. His jaw clenched. “Do you know how long I waited for you to remember me? To scream my name like you used to when I—”

“Don’t,” she cut in. Her voice broke.

He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to.

She remembered flashes. His voice like honey over a blade. The scent of blood. The way he whispered things into her ear not to comfort her, but to own her. He’d never taken her innocence. He hadn’t needed to.

Because what he did take had left her hollow just the same.

And she hated him for it.

“You think you’re some tragic figure,” she snapped, her voice sharp. “But you’re just a coward who kisses the woman he broke.”

Lucian stepped back, breathing hard. “You don’t remember what you were to me.”

Amber narrowed her eyes. “I was your prisoner. Not your lover.”

Silence.

He didn’t deny it.

And that silence made her stomach twist.

Lucian turned, walking toward the door like he might actually leave this time. But just before he crossed the threshold, he paused.

“You were more than that,” he said without turning around. “That’s why I didn’t touch you. Not really. That’s why I still can’t.”

“Not because you had mercy,” she said bitterly. “But because you wanted to keep me suffering.”

Lucian didn’t answer.

Didn’t look back.

The door closed behind him, soft as snowfall.

Amber slid down the wall, breath trembling, throat tight.

Her lips still tingled from the kiss.

And her heart — gods, her heart — beat like it remembered something her mind still refused to accept.

She hadn’t loved him.

She couldn’t have.

But there was still something buried beneath the loathing.

And that terrified her more than anything else.

~4,660 years ago — Year One of the Tether

She couldn’t move.

Amber’s fingers twitched uselessly against the stone. Her magic, once warm and humming pink, crackled at the edge of her skin like static trapped under glass. It wouldn’t respond. It hadn’t since he arrived.

Lucian.

She didn’t know his name the first time. Only the heat of his presence, the weight of something ancient and cruel tethered to her very soul. Her heart had beat like a trapped bird. Her mouth had screamed until it cracked. But nothing—nothing—had undone whatever he had done to her.

“I thought you’d be louder,” he said on the first day. He stood across the chamber, tall and inhumanly still, draped in black. His voice was calm. Curious. Too calm.

“I don’t belong to you,” she had spat, throat raw.

Lucian had tilted his head like a scholar observing a beast in a cage. “But you do.”

He hadn’t touched her—not then. That came later.

Instead, he watched. For days. Every time she struggled, her magic seized. Every time she tried to flee, her legs collapsed. He didn’t lay a hand on her. He didn’t need to.

The tether did all the work for him.

Weeks passed.

Months.

She began to scream less. He didn’t give her reason to scream—no blades, no brands, no blood. But it was worse somehow. The way he’d whisper things she didn’t understand. The way her own power twisted inside her when he looked at her. The way his presence made her bones ache and her breath shallow.

She didn’t know what he wanted.

Until the first time he kissed her.

It wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t anything close to kind. It was a punishment.

A hard, sudden press of lips against hers as she sobbed on the floor, magic sparking at her fingertips like a dying star.

He cursed her the entire time.

“You shouldn’t exist.”

“You were never meant for me.”

“You took everything and gave me this.”

She clawed at him. Bit his lip. Screamed into his mouth.

He only kissed her harder.

And when he pulled back, blood on his mouth and fire in his eyes, he looked wounded. Not by her. By himself.

“I didn’t ask for this,” he muttered.

“You’re a monster,” she rasped.

Lucian stared at her. “I was. Long before you.”

Years passed.

Hundreds.

She stopped tracking time.

She stopped speaking.

He kept coming. Never to take her body. Never to love her. Only to unmake her in pieces. A kiss when he couldn’t resist. A grip on her throat when she fought back too hard. A whisper of memories she didn’t have, threaded into nightmares she couldn’t escape.

She aged slowly. Not like mortals,As a Fein. Her magic—when it wasn’t betraying her—kept her skin soft, her body youthful. But her soul? That grew tired. Shattered.

And he never let her die.

“I need you alive,” he once said, panting after a night of silence shattered by a single kiss and a flood of magic that left both of them scorched. “But gods, I wish I didn’t.”

He would disappear for centuries. Return smelling of death and wine and other women. Women whose names he said just loud enough for her to hear.

“You should see what softness feels like,” he had whispered once. “Maybe then I’d stop coming back to you.”

She never asked him to stay.

She never asked him to stop.

She never asked him anything.

Because no matter how many times he came…

She knew the truth.

He didn’t kiss her because he wanted her.

He kissed her because he hated that he did.

Would you like to see her first escape attempt next — the moment she nearly broke the tether? Or would you prefer a moment of false tenderness, where for a heartbeat she almost believes he could change, before it all crumbles again?

3,600 years ago – A masquerade in the palace of lies

Amber stood still as marble, her gown trailing behind her like fog. Pink silk. Pale petals stitched at the sleeves. Someone had dressed her with care, brushing her hair, pinning fresh flowers into the strands, smoothing her cheeks with something fragrant and shimmery.

A doll. A puppet.

Lucian’s 'Beloved' Tether.

She hated the word.

She hated the eyes more — the ones watching her now, from across the grand hall, masked nobles whispering behind gilded fans. They wanted to see her smile. To see her clinging to him. To see the mark of ownership written on her skin like she wore him proudly.

The music started.

Amber didn’t move.

But Lucian was already at her side.

He always appeared like that. Without warning. Without warmth. One moment there was space — blessed, aching space — and the next he was standing beside her like he’d never left.

“Smile,” he murmured, too low for the crowd to hear.

Amber didn’t look at him. “Why?”

“You’re mine tonight,” he said flatly. “Try to look like it doesn’t disgust you.”

She turned her head slowly, lips barely curving. “You’re lucky I don’t vomit on your shoes.”

He chuckled. Not kindly. But believably.

The mask slipped into place — his face becoming a portrait of affection, his arm slipping around her waist like he might kiss her temple. She stiffened. He didn’t. Because he knew her body would betray her soon enough. It always did.

They stepped onto the marble floor. The first dance began.

He took her hand.

Held it like he meant it.

And gods help her, the part of her that was still nineteen — still hopeful, still desperate for love — almost believed the warmth in his palm was real.

“I could make this easier,” he said softly, guiding her into the spin.

Amber looked up at him, her face the picture of grace. “You already made it hell.”

The next step was too close. His hand grazed the small of her back. Not low enough to scandalize, but enough to remind her that he could claim more if he wanted.

He didn’t.

He never did.

“You play the lover well,” she whispered, sweet as poisoned tea.

“And you,” he murmured, eyes burning down into hers, “play the victim even better.”

Her breath caught — not from pain, but from the cruel kind of yearning. The kind that made her want him to mean it, even when she knew better.

Even when his lips brushed her cheek before the final turn.

Even when his fingers lingered at her waist.

Even when he dipped his head close and said softly, “They think I cherish you.”

She didn’t answer.

Because for one single moment, under the chandeliers and starlight, she almost imagined it.

Almost.

Later, behind the velvet curtains:

He let go of her hand like it burned him.

She didn’t turn. Just said, “Was it hard, pretending to care?”

He didn’t answer.

But when she glanced back — just once — she caught the expression on his face.

Regret.

No, not regret.

Resentment.

For what?

For feeling anything at all.

He hated her for it.

And she hated that part of her still wanted to believe his hand had been warm on purpose.

Would you like the next scene to show what happens after they return home — the mask off, the dance done, and the bitterness flooding back in? Or perhaps a quiet night later, where Amber dreams of the boy he could have been, had none of this happened?

East wing of the Pyrrhos manor

The door latched behind her with a soft metallic click. She knew that sound too well.

Amber stood still in the moon-drenched room. Not because she was tired. But because it hurt to remember this place.

His place.

Her cage.

The gown clung to her skin like guilt. Silk, gold-threaded, beautiful — but she peeled it off like it was soaked in blood. It slid to the marble floor in a hush, pooling around her bare feet.

The mirror stared back at her.

So did the scar.

Her back was bare to the moonlight, and there, still faint but unmistakable, it shimmered: a large L, burned not with iron, but with magic.

His magic.

It had hissed across her skin like wildfire that day, all those centuries ago — when he stood over her with his blue-violet eyes and no soul behind them. He’d raised a hand. No spellcircle. No incantation. He was the spell.

The magic obeyed him, not language.

And it had carved his Initial into her.

“You belong to me,” he said.

Not a whisper. Not a threat. Just fact.

It had lit her spine up like lightning. She hadn’t even screamed. Not at first. The pain was inside her, ripping from bone to skin. The L twisted itself into her flesh, elegant and unmistakable — branded into her by His Fire.

Lucian hadn’t even blinked.

He watched it take.

“Now,” he said calmly, “everyone will know.”

She collapsed to her knees now, in the present, staring at the glowing scar in the mirror. Her heart rattled inside her ribs.

He had made her into a symbol.

His property. His warning to others. His trophy.

He never needed chains. Not when he could spell her magic to betray her. Not when the mark on her body kept her bound tighter than any shackle.

And he never made love to her. That would’ve implied want.

No, Lucian loathed her.

He kissed her only when his hunger overpowered his pride. Rough. Bitter. Cursing her through clenched teeth.

And in public? He would touch her hand, rest a hand lightly on her back like a lover. People whispered about how tender he seemed. How tragic their bond must be, if unconsummated.

But at home, when the curtains fell and the night took over?

He ignored her.

Until he didn't.

Until he brought his lovers into the same room she had once bled in, and let them ride his lap while she sat cross-legged on the floor, naked, watching.

“You’ll never be them,” he whispered one night, as she trembled. “But you’ll always be here.”

That was his curse.

Not lust.

Not torture.

Endurance.

Centuries of being the marked one.

The cursed one.

His.

And worst of all? That small part of her that once believed he might change, might feel, had finally withered.

But the scar remained.

Burning faintly.

Like her hatred.

Like the truth no one ever saw when they looked at her at his side.

Amber tried Always tried to forget,But trapped in this house,Like a bird whose lost her Wings

The Manor in Pyrrhos — 3,900 years ago

Amber stood alone in the dim washroom of the east wing, the quietest part of the manor. Not even the servants came here anymore. Not after the screams.

The room still smelled faintly of lavender and blood. She’d stopped trying to scrub it clean.

Her hands trembled as she lit the lantern with a flick of her fingers — pink flame catching on the wick, flaring with the softness of cotton candy, her magic still delicate even now. Even after everything.

She let her robe fall away.

There it was again.

The L.

Fresh. Again.

The scar had healed, once. It always did. Her magic was relentless like that—gentle but tenacious. Flesh that closed before blood had time to dry. Bones that set themselves back in place with a quiet hum.

She could regrow a flower from a snapped stem with a single breath.

But not this.

Because he never let her.

He’d found a way around her magic. A loophole in her gift. Every time her skin threatened to erase the symbol, to forget him—he reminded it. Quietly. With cold fingers and colder magic.

A flick of his wrist. A spell without a name.

The pain that followed wasn’t the worst of it. The worst part was watching her magic recoil. Watching it struggle to knit her back together… and fail.

Amber sank to the edge of the porcelain basin and stared at her reflection. Her own eyes — blue like the open sky, once innocent, once full of questions — now just... tired. Still defiant.

She hadn't forgotten who she was. Not entirely.

Not even when he tried to strip it from her.

Not when he’d left her locked in this manor for years at a time. Not when he’d spoken sweetly to her only in public, pretending there was love beneath the lie. Not when he expected her to kneel, to beg.

And she had.

Because that was the only way to survive it.

Amber closed her eyes and let the magic ripple beneath her skin. She could still feel it — that tiny thread of healing, frayed, but never broken. A heartbeat, soft and pink and still hers.

She would live.

And that was the rebellion.

Every breath she took. Every time she stood instead of falling. Every time she healed.

He had tried to make her into a mark.

But she was more than his brand.

She was alive.

And he would never destroy her magic—not entirely.

In Pyrrhos, long ago.

-The first night of bloom.-

Amber felt it in her ribs first—the ache, subtle and hollow, like a breath held too long. Her fingers curled around the silk of her sleeve, already damp from the sweat she refused to acknowledge. The bloom had come early this year.

Of course it had. Of course it would betray her too.

Behind her, the manor's grand doors groaned open, and the temperature shifted. Colder. The scent of smoke and storm rolled in with him.

Lucian.

Her whole body braced before she could stop it. Her magic flinched in her veins.

“Of all the damn years,” his voice snarled low, sharp as a knife's whisper, “you couldn’t just wither quietly, could you?”

Amber turned slowly, lifting her chin though her knees threatened to give. “I never asked for this.”

“You never ask for anything,” he spat, crossing the floor with an urgency that was almost ugly. “You just endure. Obey. Like a good little healer—”

“Because what choice do I have?” she hissed.

But then—

The moment always came like a collapse.

He was in front of her before the thought could form. His hands were on her arms—rough, hot—his breath ghosting against her cheek.

“You ruin me,” he growled, and the words burned more than the brand ever had.

His lips crushed against hers with the violence of a man cursing his own craving. There was nothing soft about it. Nothing kind. Just heat, and resentment, and something primal he couldn't swallow down. His fingers twitched like they wanted to pull her closer—and break her apart in the same breath.

She didn’t kiss him back.

Not at first.

Her body trembled, torn between revulsion and memory, between the ghost of love and the echo of chains. But the bloom clawed at her magic, made her sensitive to everything—his scent, his voice, the way his touch turned frantic in an instant. Like he hated needing her. Like it drove him mad.

She opened her mouth to breathe and he took it as surrender.

“I should’ve destroyed you,” he snarled against her lips, dragging her closer. “I should’ve left your pretty pink magic scattered in ash. Instead I—”

Instead.

He didn't finish.

He never did.

The kiss deepened, rough and hungry and wrong. He kissed her like she was the only thing left that could hurt him. And she let him. Because the bloom didn't care about hatred or history. It only magnified what already rotted beneath.

His pride crumbled every year like this.

Only during bloom did he need her more than he hated her.

Of course. Here's the continuation—deepening the tension between them as the bloom breaks down Lucian’s pride, making his need undeniable. The scene stays emotionally intense and intimate, yet grounded within boundaries. It explores the sickly tenderness that only bloom could force out of him—and what that meant for Amber, who remembers everything At least until she doesnt.

His mouth lingered on hers longer than it should have—longer than he'd ever allow himself outside the bloom. And she felt it. That hesitation.

The crack in him.

The tremble in his grip.

Lucian wasn’t trembling from restraint. Not tonight. Not during bloom.

When he finally pulled away, his breathing was ragged, teeth bared like he’d tasted poison. Like the kiss had wounded him more than her defiance ever had.

His eyes—deep blue, rimmed in violet—shimmered like glass stretched too thin.

“You make me weak,” he hissed. Not shouted. Hissed. Like a confession dragged from his throat, bitter and involuntary.

She swallowed hard, eyes tracing the sharp line of his jaw. Her voice came quieter than it had before. “Then why do you always come back?”

He turned away as if her words had struck something too close to truth. His fists clenched. And in the flickering lamplight of the grand chamber, for the briefest moment, he looked less like a god of fire and more like a man suffocating under the weight of his own hunger.

“I don’t come back,” he muttered, almost to himself. “I never left.”

He reached for her again.

This time slower.

Fingers brushed her cheek, almost gentle, like he’d forgotten himself. Like something fragile inside him was clawing to the surface, choking on the need to touch her. The pads of his thumbs hovered near the corners of her lips, trembling.

He always hated her mouth. That’s what he used to say. Too soft. Too sweet. Too good for a creature like you.

But tonight he touched it like he didn’t know what else to do.

And Amber—Amber stood there, letting him. Hating herself for not flinching. Hating the way her heart remembered what her mind had tried to erase.

She could feel her magic clawing inside her ribs again, that sickened cotton-candy pink spark fluttering behind her ribs. It recoiled from his hands, then reached out again—bloom-tethered. Desperate. Starved.

“I should chain you back to the marble,” Lucian murmured, leaning into her temple, breath hot against her skin. “I should brand you again, watch it fight to heal just so I can ruin it all over.”

“I know,” she whispered.

She didn’t flinch.

She didn’t cry.

She only stood there, arms slack at her sides, until he collapsed into her like a dying man. One hand buried in her hair, the other gripping her waist tight enough to bruise.

“Just... for tonight,” he muttered. “Don’t speak.”

“I wasn’t going to,” she replied, bitter.

He kissed her again, slower now. Less rage. More ache. Like he was already mourning the moment as it happened.

Because come morning—

He’d be himself again.

And she’d go back to being his property, his prisoner, his shame.

The water beat down against her shoulders, crimson curling down the drain in delicate spirals — blood, dirt, and ash swirling away as if none of it had mattered.

But it did. It clung to her. Inside.

Amber braced herself against the wall of Ephraim’s shower, bare feet planted on warm tile slick with steam, her breath coming shallow. She wasn’t used to this — the trembling, the sharp twist in her side where a real wound bled sluggishly beneath a cracked healing spell. Her mana was gone. Her body frayed. Her magic a mere ember.

Ephraim wasn’t home.

But Johnny had been.

He’d found her Leaned against the House, blood matting her short hair, one arm clutched to her ribs. No smile on her face. No gentle words. Just blank pain and breathless silence. He’d taken one look at her and said nothing — only opened the door to Ephraim’s house and guided her in.

“You need a mana tonic." Johnny said as he whipped out a herbs only an Orrathi could identify.He crushed it between his hands to powder. Then he grabbed a mint leaf, and filled a cup with water and mixed it. "Drink." He slides it over. "Its harsh but itll help your mana to regenerate" It had Nearly been forcefed to her,If she hadnt Relented and sipped on it

She hadn’t answered. Couldn’t. Just nodded.

He hadn’t asked what happened. Maybe he knew better than to pry.

"Who're you" The screeching voice almost made her whimper from the harsh realities,Amber introduced herself with the same chipper Smile albeit very wounded.

"Right." She replied flat, and very stiff. Not stiff as in awkward but as if there was underlying aggression. "You're the healer helping out in town, aren't you?"

Amber wound up nodding rather than using many words

And you," She dragged out, "thought to come to this house?" Her question was rough, aggressive, and it would feel like an interrogation. Her arms folded over her chest, weight resting on one leg as the other is bent at her knee. Her blonde hair, evenly split on her shoulders, was nice and soft.

They had left soon after Johnny guarding the woman as if she were some precious Gem able to be broke at any time,A bitter taste in Amber's Mouth

At some point she managed to Srumble into the bathroom,Her clothes in a messy pile outside of the door while she laid on the floor when the pain began,Not just an ache like usual,But like Pure,Boiling pain

She’d managed to step under the water before the shaking really began.

And now — knees to tile, water streaming over her back — she was certain this pain had nothing to do with the quake.

This was the other thing. The thing she’d never been able to name.

It came in waves. It always did. Like her soul had been bound to a furnace and the flames surged whenever she was too weak to fight them. But this time was worse — far worse. It clawed at her bones. It pulled something inside her tight, like a tether wrapped around her ribs and dragged taut from a place she couldn’t see.

Amber gasped, her hand against her chest. Her wound throbbed. Her magic sparked faintly at her fingertips, a flicker of cotton candy pink, but it fizzled out just as quickly. She had nothing left.

Nothing but this.

The pain. The burn.

A choked sob escaped her as her forehead pressed to the tile. “Please,” she whispered. “Make it stop…”

And then—

Laughter.

Low. Sharp. Familiar in a way that made her skin crawl.

"Even after all this time… it still burns you."

The voice echoed inside her head — not real, not present, but there. It always found her in these moments.

She squeezed her eyes shut, a tremor shaking through her spine. “Who—who are you?” she rasped.

But her body already knew. Her soul ached with knowing.

"You don’t even remember me," the voice sneered. "But you carry me still."

Lucian.

The name surfaced like blood in water — uninvited, unremembered, but undeniably hers.

She didn’t know him.

But she feared him.

Her chest screamed, her skin blazing from the inside out. She wrapped her arms around herself, gasping. “No—no, I’m not—I’m not—”

Not tethered. Not claimed. Not his.

Tethers were sacred. Precious. They didn’t feel like this. They weren’t supposed to hurt. They weren’t supposed to haunt.

"Three thousand years," the voice purred, "and you still flinch like a child."

Her vision blurred. Her heart stuttered.

And the worst part was, she didn’t remember anything that would explain it.

Not the pain. Not the name. Not the burn beneath her ribs.

But something in her recognized him.

Not with love.

With terror.

The water shut off with a shaking hand. She barely remembered moving. Her legs wobbled. The towel felt like a useless barrier against the cold of her own skin.

She drank The rest Of the tonic in one trembling gulp.

It didn’t help the pain.

recovered from a singed vellum page tucked between two ruined tomes in the shattered library of the Menagerie in the far reaches of Zephandrel, high among the heathered cliffs and rain-slick ruins, the Menagerie of the Westwind Tribe stood like a living poem

a library grown wild, a sanctuary where knowledge took root in the soil and bloomed. Birds nested in the rafters of lecture halls. Rare beasts wandered the open greenhouses. Spellbooks hummed softly when touched, their margins annotated by centuries of patient hands.

And there, barefoot in the moss-lined corridors and always with ink on her fingers, lived an apprentice healer named Amber Moon.

She was just eighteen—still memorizing the pressure points of wyverns, still practicing incantations that made her palms shimmer faintly. Her magic was soft then, barely a flicker, pink as morning blush on parchment. She carried no weapon. She owned no title.

But when the war came, she did not flinch.

The skies over Zephandrel fractured—veins of crimson tearing through the clouds. Siege bells rang out across the Menagerie’s spires. Scrolls burned. Beasts screamed. The air itself turned to ash. And while others barricaded the ancient halls or fled into the forest, Amber ran toward the sound of breaking.

Her magic, fragile until then, opened like a bloom under fire.

It was not a warrior’s magic. It was light and cotton-soft, the color of spun sugar and lullabies. But it moved through her like a current, flooding wounds with warmth, knitting flesh with impossible tenderness. It clung to her skin in threads of luminous pink, dancing at her fingertips, humming with purpose.

She healed with ferocity—tore open spellbooks to find forgotten rites, crushed herbs between bloodied palms, whispered to half-dead creatures in languages the wind hadn’t heard in centuries. She worked through the night in the shattered atrium, surrounded by bookshelves split by flame and tiles cracked with boot prints. She did not cry. She did not sleep.

There is a moment, they say, that no one who saw it will forget.

The glass dome above the central hall collapsed—shards descending like frozen stars. Amber stood beneath it, arms raised, hair tangled with soot, and her magic unfurled above her in a great pink shield, soft and pulsing, as if the dawn itself had chosen her to bear it.

When the dust settled, there were survivors all around her. Some human. Some beast. Some too far gone to name.

She had saved twenty-nine.

Her hands shook. Her voice was gone. The soft leather of her apprentice robes was blackened at the hem, and her satchel held only scraps of what once had been potions. But her light still glowed.

When the war retreated into the eastern mists and the wounded began to stir, the elders gathered what remained of the Menagerie and asked her why she hadn’t fled with the others.

Amber, her voice raw and quiet, looked out across the scorched gardens and said:

“Because I knew how to help. And that had to be enough.”

She was not a master. She had not yet graduated.

But from that day on, her name was etched into the heart of the Westwind.

No longer just a student. No longer just a girl.

She was the ember that would not extinguish.

I Walk alone on a path headed to the sea The road is harsh with thistle and spore, The path is closed by many trees, Though I know

I know

I am going in the right direction, For I can smell the sweet saltiness of the ocean, The smell of the bay guiding me towards my goal, I emerge from the thick forest into a small town Dusty with filth and deforestation I walk still guided by the sharp tang of the Bay, And I smell the sweetness of the water, I walk on still though the town is disturbing, I arrive at the beach, Sand drifting in between my toes, I lay down and look up towards the sky, I feel myself rising

RISING

Towards the stars, Almost not meaning to I raise my hand, It outreaches towards the planets, The suns, And yet I cannot reach them, I suppose the sea will have to do, Though I will never give up, I will reach the sky, and on that day, I will remain calm, as I float up towards the sky, And land among the stars

Tucked inside a worn field journal, between pressed marigold petals and a list of Orysan trade vendors. Amber's Intricate classic handwriting,It looked more like an old lady's,Next to is was an unfinished project,A small handkerchief,her own hands crafted an embroidered sunflower on the edge,Shed never give it away,But Gods did that name make her shiver,She often wondered how he came up with that,But shed never be against it,Sunflowers had almost a sweet taste after all,Like honey almonds,It was an often used herbal remedy,but she doubted that was ephraims reasoning for the name

Ephraim,

I’m not writing this to guilt you. Or to drag you back. I know better than that. You’re not the kind of man who moves because someone else asks. You move when the storm inside you does.

Still, I wish you’d said something before you left Solaris. Even just a nod. A grunt. A “don’t wait up.” I’d have understood. I always do.

You don’t owe me anything. We never promised each other anything more than... whatever this is. This strange rhythm we fall into—sharing space when we find each other in the same place, speaking more in silence than in declarations. I’ve never needed more than that.

But I miss you. Not in a desperate, hopeless kind of way. Just in the quiet way people miss things they’ve grown used to—the sound of your boots on tile, the way you never sit still, the particular silence that comes when you’re near but pretending not to be watching me work.

Taz would probably agree with me, but he’s never been one for letters,I stopped by your place in Orysa,I had needed some things,I met your gardener he seemed nice enough though i wish i had gotten to talk to him more on the moonflowers,And that little vampire girl,Though a tad judgemental of my Showy clothing,Taz didnt even come out I assume he was hiding on the highest shelf,Though i was able to stop By the flower shop to get my seeds,Oh you shouldve seen it,There was so much moreselection than here in solaris Without having to run to the alchemy part of the market district.

I know about her. I don’t know her, but I’ve seen the way your jaw sets when you hear the thrum of your own core, the way your shoulders tighten like a man still standing guard at the ruins. You follow the memory of her love like a soldier chasing a battle that’s already over. You won’t say it, and I won’t ask. I’m not jealous. I’m just... aware.

You’re still haunted. And I’m still here.

We’re not a love story. Not the kind people write about, anyway. We’re more like a page someone dog-eared and forgot to come back to. But we exist, and that’s always been enough for me.

I don’t need you to choose me. I never did.

But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t wish—just a little—that you’d stop chasing ghosts long enough to see what’s right in front of you.

That’s all. No questions. No demands. Just... truth.

Wherever you are, I hope you’re safe. I hope Umbra keeps the worst of the loneliness off your heels. And if you ever find your way back through Solaris again, the kettle will be on. Same as always.

Take care of yourself, Ephraim.

You’re still someone I look for in the wind.

—Amber

Amber placed the Letter to the side,Tucked into a place where not even Isla and her childish curiosity would look,The place where she kept everything shed never send,Ears drooping slightly just enough to show that bit of loneliness and longing for him even if she had no control over it,Clara padded over to her Bunting her with her little head,Shed be a great therapy pet for anyone,Clara knew when something was off,She still missed her brothers,Koda and Taz,And she hadnt given up the search,Not quite,As much as people told her that koda had probably gone and got himself ran over by a carriage,Or even maybe one of those new automobiles that were everywhere,But she didnt quit looking,Her soul knew he was still out there,Somewhere

Amber closed the drawer pressing her thumb to the magitek lock to ensure nobody could get into the shelf,Before she busied herself making more potions,More poultices,In the quiet summer hours,She had been thinking of going to the summer courts beach party though the invite never came,So there she sat,Alone in her shop,With the animals,The passing patients,and Moriarty, The Robot still hadnt completely recovered from its run in with Dr voskin.

The next morning, Amber awoke groggily, her limbs heavy with sleep and her mind drifting somewhere far beyond the walls of her cozy clinic. The soft light of dawn filtered through gauzy curtains, casting golden patterns across the floor. She blinked slowly, disoriented. Everything ached faintly—not from injury, but from exhaustion. Yesterday had run long, and she'd returned far later than she meant to.

Still wrapped in the linen sheets, she sat up, rubbing at her eyes. Her short hair stuck out in odd directions, the scent of dried lavender and a faint metallic tang of magitek still lingering in the air. It was quiet… too quiet. No clinking of jars. No cats begging for breakfast. Even the usual hum of the herbal enchantments felt muffled and distant.

With a groan, she swung her bare feet onto the cool wooden floor and shuffled forward, tugging on her oversized robe as she went. Her steps weren’t elegant; she nearly tripped on a basket of dried thistle leaves someone had left by the doorway—likely herself.

“Greenroom,” she mumbled to no one, in particular, voice hoarse from sleep. The thought of her plants—her sweet, steadfast green companions—was what finally urged her forward. They needed misting. Sunlight. A song, maybe, if her voice felt up to it. That, at least, was a rhythm she could keep, even if the rest of her world felt adrift.

She reached the door to the Green room, pressed her forehead against the warm wood for just a moment, and sighed. Late night. Long thoughts. And somewhere in the middle of it all, his eyes had haunted her again—glinting pink, impossible to forget.

Amber pushed open the door.

Time to tend to the living things.

Amber lingered in the Green room for a few more moments, unable to leave without tending to her beloved plants. With a small yawn, she reached for the watering globe, its surface etched with old runes that shimmered faintly at her touch. She moved from pot to pot with practiced care, humming under her breath—a soft, wandering melody that made the leaves tremble slightly in response.

"There you go, little ones. Drink up. I’ll be back before you miss me." Her voice was gentle and affectionate.

She gave a particularly stubborn ivy a light pinch at the tip, and it shivered dramatically in protest, earning a fond chuckle from her. When the last of the dew settled into the soil, she stepped back, brushing her hands off on her robe and adjusting her satchel.

With everything in place, Amber made her way toward the Magitek elevator just beyond her clinic's back corridor. It was a towering bronze structure built into the mountainside, carved with swirling patterns that pulsed faintly as she approached. As she stepped onto the platform, the elevator sensed her presence, gears groaning to life with a soft whir.

Amber held the railing lightly, watching as the world of Solaris slowly lowered beneath her. The city stretched out like a dream below—cascading rooftops, warm light, and streets that pulsed with energy. Somewhere in the distance, the trade routes to Orysa shimmered, already calling.

The wind tugged at her cloak as the elevator descended, and she closed her eyes for a moment, letting it carry away the last of her sleep. Today would be busy—but maybe, just maybe, something interesting waited down there.

Just before she left She jotted a quick note and left it on the counter, in case anyone came by looking for her:

“Gone to Orysa! Be back before dusk. Don’t touch the humming jar. Seriously. – A.”

Amber grabbed another bag of food, Figuring she might as well drop by Ephraim's Place 'Sunflower' His nickname chimed through her skull Sending sharp flutters down her spine, she reminded herself that she should likely come up with a new nickname for him going over a few options in her mind

Grumpy? no

Sweetie? God no

Love? Eugh im not in love

Handsome? Ehh~

She kept Going through the names Unable to properly formulated one as she walked It took about half a day before the lights of the human town finnaly came into veiw,She plastered her smile right on her face as she mi hled with the human folk

In the ancient realm of Aegis, where magic and tradition intertwine, two souls from contrasting worlds find their destinies entangled.

Amber Moon, an apprentice to the revered healer of the Academy of Luminaries A rather Revered Healer from the Zephandri tribes,An Air fein, possesses an uncanny ability to soothe both physical ailments and troubled spirits. Her days are filled with tending to the wounded, harmonizing melodies in the Band ensemble, cultivating rare herbs in enchanted gardens, and bringing tales to life on the grand stage. Though her appearance is modest, an ethereal grace surrounds her, drawing others into her calming presence. She becomes a beacon of hope, her reputation spreading like wildfire, yet she remains humble, untouched by the allure of fame.

Ephraim Ad Vries, the Academy's formidable rugby captain, is known for his strength and tempestuous nature. His status grants him leeway, and he often tests boundaries with his cocky demeanor and sharp tongue. Yet, amidst his outbursts and mischief, he finds himself inexplicably drawn to Amber. Her serene confidence and the way she connects effortlessly with everyone unsettle him. Determined to provoke a reaction, he teases and challenges her at every turn.

But Amber remains unflappable, meeting his antics with grace and wit. Their interactions evolve into a complex dance of mutual curiosity and unspoken admiration. As shadows loom over Aegis, The Asharoth trying to regain control over the people of Aegis, threatening to disrupt the harmony of the Academy, Amber, and Ephraim must confront their inner demons, and the growing bond between them.

In the heart of Aegis, amidst the echoes of ancient spells and the rustle of enchanted pages, Amber and Ephraim discover a love that bridges their worlds,In not the best way,Will both capitols Be destroyed to make their love available Or will something break within the counsel their love spreading like Wildfire—

The battle with the sand serpents had been brutal. By the time the last beast fell, Ephraim was breathing hard, his sword dripping with their black ichor. Amber had done her part—freeing the Ember back hare, guiding it to safety. But now, in the aftermath, all he could think about was how close she had been to the chaos.

They sat by the remains of their fire that night, hidden within a small canyon where the wind howled overhead. The Hare had Been put into her bag Peaceful finnaly asleep, leaving behind only a faint shimmer in the air.

“You didn’t have to come with me,” Amber murmured, carefully wrapping a bandage around Ephraim’s arm. The cut wasn’t deep, but she insisted.

“I know,” he admitted.

She didn’t look up. “So why did you?”

He exhaled, glancing at the fire. He should have said "because I needed to kill the serpents". That had been the plan. The mission.

But instead, what came out was—

“Because I didn’t want you to go alone.”

Amber’s hands stilled for a moment before she resumed tying the bandage. “You act like I’m fragile.”

“You’re not,” he said without hesitation. “That’s the problem.”

She finally looked at him, the firelight catching the gold in her eyes. “And what’s so wrong with that?”

Ephraim clenched his jaw. "Because you make me care. Because you make me forget why I even came to this village in the first place."

Instead, he only muttered, “It’s dangerous.”

Amber let out a quiet laugh. “So is caring about people, I suppose.”

He froze. The words hit too close to home—too sharp, too real.

Amber tilted her head, studying him in that way that made him feel like she could see right through him. “You know,” she said softly, “I don’t think you’re as lost as you believe.”

Ephraim didn’t know what to say to that.

So he said nothing.

Instead, when she settled beside him, he didn’t move away. When her shoulder brushed his, he let it stay there.

And for the first time in years, the silence between him and someone else didn’t feel like a wall—

It felt like a bridge.

I'm Theo,Least thats my online persona

She-They

I Appear online as a pink bear a carebear if you will The species itself is Helarctos malayanus or sunbear! Many call me Mama Bear

Im a photojournalist with big plans for the future

I like to write, Read, Listen to music, Draw, And have perfected my craft, I am still into Fandoms just not nearly as loud as I used to be,Im a slytherin,Who loves doctor who,My hero academia,Among so many other things

I'm quite outdoorsy, And love to be outside whether it be gardening, Fishing, Camping,I love animals every single one of them, Even some bushcraft, or Stargazing

I'm a cat mom at 22 years old going on 23 here in another month, Engaged and eager to get my life started, I stay at home and work for myself by myself, Just moved into a home with my wonderful fiancee of 5 years, We are from the middle of nowhere Nebraska and that's how we like it

Otherwise, this Tumblr will be getting a whole new everything, I'll be posting my pictures, Art, Books that I'm reading, Stories that i write, and meals I cook with the recipe, So look forward to that

Im also going to lay some ground rules

•No promos

•No politics

•No childeren on my page

•And no I will not be doxxing myself and showing face,Not mine or my fiancees,Or any of our families

•I follow druidic beliefs, And will not stand for the Christians that force their ideals down my throat

•I am much different than the last time we met,And will not let anyone try to push me around,We aren't 16 anymore after all

Otherwise, I'm glad to meet your acquaintance and I do hope you'll respect what few rules I have in place