Sebastian

Because he didn't know. Of course he didn't know.How could he? Rory let out a shaky breath and looked at him again. Really looked at him. The man who had loved her. The man who had loved Livvy. The man who had stepped into spaces that had never belonged to him and filled them anyway because he cared enough to try. And she hated that she was about to hurt him.

"Corey is Livvy's father." The words landed softly. No less devastating for it. Rory swallowed hard. "The one I've told stories about. The one who left before she was born. The one I thought was gone." Her voice cracked slightly. "The one I spent years learning how to live without." She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly feeling cold.

"When he came back, I thought it was going to be fine." A humorless laugh escaped her. "Actually, no. That's a lie. I knew it wasn't going to be fine. I just thought I could handle it." Her gaze dropped to the floor. "I thought I could keep those feelings where I'd buried them." Another silence. Another breath. "I was wrong."

The admission felt ugly. Necessary. Rory shook her head. "I didn't go looking for this, Sebastian. I need you to know that." Her eyes lifted to his again, shining now. "I wasn't unhappy. I wasn't sitting here wishing for a different life. I loved you."

Loved. Past tense. The word nearly stopped her heart. Rory heard it too. Judged herself for it immediately. "I love you," she corrected softly, tears threatening again. "I do. I love you."

The truth was complicated. Messy. Impossible to fit neatly into a single sentence. "But every time I saw him..." Her voice broke. "Every time I talked to him, every time I tried to convince myself it was just history or nostalgia or unfinished business..." She laughed shakily. "It just kept getting worse."

Her fingers curled into the sleeves of her sweater. "I kept waiting for it to go away." Because that was the part nobody understood. She had wanted it to. Desperately. "I wanted to wake up one morning and realize I'd imagined it. That I was just overwhelmed. That I was confused."

But she wasn't. And eventually the truth had become too heavy to keep carrying alone. Rory looked at him and her heart shattered all over again at the pain in his expression. "I'm saying that I don't think I ever stopped loving him." The room felt impossibly quiet. "I didn't know that until he came back."Her voice dropped lower.

"And if I stay here pretending otherwise because it's easier, because it's kinder, because I'm scared of hurting you..." A tear finally escaped and slid down her cheek. "Then eventually I'd be lying to both of us." Rory shook her head, devastated. "You deserve somebody who wakes up every day and chooses you without hesitation." Her throat tightened. "You deserve certainty."

The irony almost made her laugh. Because Sebastian had spent so much time offering her exactly that. Steadiness. Patience. Love. And now she was standing here admitting she couldn't give the same thing back.

"I'm so sorry."The words came out broken. Not because she thought they would fix anything. Not because they were enough. Just because they were true. "I never wanted to hurt you." And somehow that made hurting him now feel even worse.

"Lorelai, he left you!" Sebastian stated once more. The vampire - the prince - tried desperately to think about this situation from the woman's viewpoint. He tried to look at things rationally, but each word she spoke felt only like daggers stabbing in the same place in his chest.

Again.

Again.

The relationship was complex from the beginning. He tried to tell himself. You still have Aliyah. You still love Aliyah.

It was true. He had never given it voice, but in that moment he assumed it really was the truth. He did love Aliyah. But, he also loved Lorelai. That part of him is what the vamprism within him latched onto; what emotions it used as fuel.

"And what of, her?!" He questioned through clenched jaws and pointed at the ceiling above, towards Livvy's room. "What will you say when Little Livvy comes asking where I am? Huh? Will you tell her that I just abandoned her, but that's okay because a father she's never known is now back!" He exclaimed with a fake joy.

"Sorry?" Sebastian scoffed, as his restraint slipped a little farther and a little more. "I may still be new to this modern world of yours, but where I come from - in my days, loving someone did not mean ruining them, Lorelai Lockwood." He hissed. There was a pause and he laughed, once. Humorless. "You know, I butchered a woman the other day. Night Court. My own people. And the only thing I could think about was how you and Aliyah would look at me. Turns out, I was foolish - you were too busy casting your gaze upon another."

Blackened veins flickered into view beneath his eyes and fade as the vampire moved to step around the woman and aimed for the door. The words were unfair. Intentionally hurtful and deep down, he knew it. Yet, he said them anyway, unable to stop himself.

Rory had been staring at the same cold cup of tea for nearly an hour by the time Sebastian came home. At some point she'd stopped pretending she was going to drink it and had settled for wrapping both hands around the mug because it gave them something to do besides shake. The apartment was quiet. Livvy was asleep. Aliyah had gone home hours ago after kissing her goodbye and telling her to get some rest, and Rory had hated herself a little for how guilty that simple act had made her feel.

When Sebastian walked into the kitchen, she looked up immediately and knew she was already losing whatever battle she'd been trying to win with herself. The concern on his face hit harder than she expected. It would've been easier if he'd been angry. Easier if he'd done something wrong. Instead, he was still Sebastian. Still good. Still steady. Still one of the people she loved most in the world.

"Can you sit down for a minute?" she asked quietly.

The second the words left her mouth, she wanted them back. They sounded too serious. Too final. But there wasn't another way to do this anymore.

Rory rubbed both hands over her face and let out a shaky breath. "I've been trying to figure out how to explain this for weeks, and every version sounds awful, so I'm just going to say it." Her eyes dropped to the table before lifting again. "I need you to know that I was okay. Really okay. That's the part I can't stop coming back to. I wasn't sitting around waiting for Corey. I wasn't comparing you to him. I wasn't wishing you were someone else. I had a life. A good one. I had Livvy. I had Riley. I had Aliyah. I had you. And for the first time in a really long time, I thought I'd finally made peace with the fact that some people become part of your story and then leave it."

A humorless laugh escaped her as she shook her head. "God, listen to me. I sound like I'm narrating my own disaster."

Her eyes burned, but she kept going.

"The problem is that I thought I was over him. I genuinely thought I was. I spent years teaching myself how to live without him. Years teaching myself that loving someone wasn't enough if they kept leaving. Years learning how to build a future that didn't depend on whether he came back." Her throat tightened. "And then he did."

She looked away for a moment, jaw working as she tried to force the next words out.

"I don't even know how to explain what happened. Nothing happened, not really. There wasn't some grand declaration. There wasn't some moment where everything changed. It was worse than that. It was like my heart recognized him before the rest of me did. Like some part of me I'd buried a long time ago woke up and went, oh. There you are."

The tears finally spilled over and she laughed bitterly as she wiped them away.

"And I hate that. I hate it so much because after everything he put me through, after every time he left, after every time I chose to survive him instead of wait for him, a part of me still loves him. I don't want that to be true, Sebastian. If I could choose anything, I would've chosen for it not to be true."

Her gaze found his again, devastated and exhausted.

"But it is. And the more I've tried to pretend it isn't, the more I've realized I'm being unfair to you. And Aliyah. Because you both deserve someone whose whole heart is in the room, and lately I've been walking around pretending mine is when it isn't."

She swallowed hard and looked down at her hands.

"I love you. That's what makes this so awful. I love you, and I love Aliyah, and I love the life we've built. But ever since Corey came back, I've felt like I'm standing in two different futures at the same time, and I don't know how to keep pretending that's not happening. I don't know how to sit across from the people I love and act like nothing changed when everything inside me did."

Her voice softened then, breaking around the truth she'd been avoiding for weeks.

"I think I was fine until he came back because I never thought I'd have to make this choice. I thought that chapter was over. I thought he'd made it for me when he kept walking away. And now he's here, and he stayed, and I don't know what to do with the fact that some part of me never stopped loving him no matter how hard I tried to move on."

As she spoke, he felt each fracture - each break - that splintered his heart. His mouth went dry and there was a burning in the pit of stomach. Anger, he realized quickly. An anger that was rapidly building with a desperation to fill the cracks in his heart as it broke. "What...?" He rasped out, looking at her with nothing but pain on his face. His brow furrowed as he listened to her words. "Who - who the hell is Corey? What are you talking about? What do you mean, Lorelai?" He questioned. The vampire clenched his jaw tightly to bite back the heated tone in his words.

"Lorelai, I do not understand. What is this? Where is this coming from?" He layered more questions upon their conversation and clenched his fists at his sides. "What are you saying?" The words caught in his throat on their way out.

When Sebastian spoke of the emotional switch vampires possessed, of finally understanding why someone would choose numbness over feeling, something shifted in Kaidan's expression. Not surprise. Understanding. He had seen that temptation destroy people long before Sebastian had been born. He had watched countless immortals convince themselves that severing their pain was the same thing as healing it.

"You think I don't understand why you'd want that right now?" he asked quietly. His voice remained steady, refusing to rise to meet the turmoil pouring from Sebastian. "Because I do. You're standing in the middle of a nightmare, looking at something you can't undo, and every emotion in your body is tearing you apart. Of course numbness sounds appealing."

His gaze drifted briefly toward the woman lying motionless upon the stone before returning to his son.

"But pain doesn't disappear when you stop feeling it. It waits. That's all. It sits in the dark until the day you finally have to face it, and by then it's grown teeth."

The mountain wind stirred through the plaza, carrying the scent of flowers and distant snow from the peaks surrounding Noctaris. Kaidan let the silence settle for a moment before continuing.

"The grief you're feeling right now is awful. It's unbearable. But it's also proof that this mattered. That she mattered." His jaw tightened slightly. "The same heart that's breaking over what happened here is the one that looked at this city tonight and thought it was beautiful. It's the same heart that loves Aliyah. Lorelai. Your family. You don't get to keep those things if you cut away everything that hurts."

For a long moment neither of them spoke. Then Sebastian asked his question.

The defiance vanished from him almost immediately after the words left his mouth, leaving behind only a prince standing beside the body of one of his people, asking how to honor a life he had taken.

Kaidan's gaze settled on the woman. "We learn her name," he said quietly. His voice carried the solemn certainty of ritual rather than command. "We find her family. We tell them the truth. Not a version that protects us. Not a version that makes this easier. The truth." The stars overhead shimmered faintly through the drifting clouds.

"We prepare her according to her wishes if she left them behind. According to her family's traditions if she didn't. At dawn, the pyres are lit beneath the mountains. Her life is spoken aloud so that the Court remembers she existed. So that she becomes more than a tragedy."

His eyes returned to Sebastian. "And if her family hates you for the rest of their lives, they have every right to."

The truth landed hard between them. Kaidan didn't soften it. Didn't try to save him from it. Because grief deserved honesty. "What happened here is terrible," he continued. "It should haunt you. It should matter. But it cannot become the only thing you are."

The city glowed beyond them, beautiful and alive despite the tragedy unfolding in one forgotten plaza. "You asked how we honor our people. We remember them. We carry responsibility for what we've done to them. And then we spend the rest of our lives trying to leave the world better than we found it." For the first time since arriving, Kaidan stepped closer again. Not to comfort him. Not to restrain him. Simply to stand beside him.

"We'll take her home," he said quietly. "We'll tell her family the truth. And when all of this is done, you'll decide what kind of prince you want to be." His gaze lifted toward the stars. "Because kneeling here in her blood won't bring her back." Then he looked at Sebastian again, steady and unwavering. "But what you do tomorrow still belongs to you."

"Help me identify her and her family then. And then... I'm going home." He uttered. He didn't need to voice which 'home' he was referring to, however. It was written all over his face. He couldn't bring himself to look upon his father. There was too much risk that he would see something he couldn't unsee within the male's eyes.

Not the movement itself.

The effort behind it.

The way grief and self-disgust seemed to cling to every inch of him like wet fabric.

His gaze lingered briefly on the blood still staining Sebastian's mouth before lifting to meet those blue eyes.

"So confident?" he echoed quietly.

The corner of his mouth twitched, though there wasn't much humor in it.

"No."

The answer came easily.

"Just experienced."

His eyes drifted toward the dead woman for a moment before returning to Sebastian.

"I've met enough people who enjoy what they are to recognize the difference."

The plaza settled around them once more. Somewhere beyond the gardens, water moved beneath the bridges and distant voices carried through Noctaris' streets. Life continuing despite the tragedy resting between them.

Damien shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

When Sebastian offered his name, he studied him for a second longer.

Not because the name meant anything.

Because it didn't.

Whatever status or title it carried in this city was lost on him.

"Damien."

A simple return.

No flourish.

No recognition.

Just the truth.

His gaze flicked upward briefly toward the stars Sebastian had been staring at.

Then back again.

"You keep saying what they deserved," Damien said after a moment. "What she deserved."

His voice remained calm.

Measured.

"But that's not really what you're angry about, is it?"

A pause.

"You think you're supposed to be better than this."

There was no accusation in the observation.

If anything, it sounded frustratingly sympathetic.

Damien shifted his weight slightly, the leather of his jacket creaking softly.

"Maybe you are."

His eyes settled on Sebastian again.

"Doesn't change the fact that it already happened."

The words hung there for a beat.

Brutal in their simplicity.

"You can spend the next hundred years kneeling beside her convincing yourself you're a monster."

His gaze moved briefly toward the blood-stained stone.

"Or you can figure out what you're going to do with the fact that you're capable of becoming one."

For the first time since entering the plaza, Damien's expression softened slightly.

Not pity.

Understanding.

"The second option's harder."

"I am well-versed in the knowledge of the kind of monster I am. But," Only now did his tone soften. There was a long silence that crept in to fill the void where words momentarily failed him. "I've had myself under control for over a year..."

He didn't look at the body. Not because he was ignoring it, but because Sebastian already was. Every word, every broken breath, every flicker of horror crossing his son's face told Kaidan exactly where his attention remained fixed. Not on the blood itself. Not on the death. On what it meant.

The Night Court was silent around them. The plaza seemed to hold its breath, the stars above impossibly bright against the dark. When Sebastian finally fell quiet, Kaidan stepped forward slowly, deliberately, until he stood beside him rather than across from him. His gaze lifted toward the skyline Sebastian had admired earlier that evening—the bridges, the crystalline peaks, the lights that transformed the city into something that felt plucked from a dream.

"Yes," Kaidan said quietly. "This city is beautiful."

The words carried no accusation. Only truth.

His hands settled loosely behind his back as the mountain wind drifted through the plaza. "And she deserved better than this."

That truth came just as cleanly. Just as honestly.

Kaidan allowed the silence to linger afterward. He didn't rush to soften the statement or bury it beneath comfort. Both things could exist at once. The beauty of the city. The tragedy at their feet.

Finally, he looked at Sebastian. Really looked at him. At the blood staining his chin. At the grief hollowing out his expression. At the tears he wasn't trying to hide.

"You think this hurts because she was one of ours," Kaidan said, his voice calm and steady. "But that's not why."

His gaze never wavered.

"You've killed before. You've fed before. You've hunted before. And for centuries, you never questioned it."

The wind stirred through the flowers surrounding the plaza.

"What I see when I look at you right now isn't the Merciless. It isn't the predator history remembers. I don't see a monster, Sebastian."

His expression softened, not with pity, but with understanding.

"I see a man who finally understands the weight of a life he took."

The words settled heavily between them.

"That pain in your chest—the regret, the horror, the guilt—that isn't proof that you're monstrous. It's proof that this mattered. Monsters don't sit in the aftermath wondering who their victim was. They don't grieve what they've done. They justify it. They blame someone else. They find reasons why it had to happen."

His jaw tightened slightly.

"You haven't done any of those things."

Kaidan's gaze drifted briefly toward the city beyond the plaza. Toward the people sleeping peacefully beneath its lights. Toward the Court Sebastian had inherited by blood and now loved enough to mourn what he'd done within it.

"You said she wasn't livestock. Good. She wasn't. She was a citizen of this Court. A daughter. A friend. Someone with a life that ended here tonight."

The truth was brutal.

Kaidan offered it anyway.

Because lies would help neither of them.

"But you're standing here because you hated what happened. You're standing here because some part of you looked at her and saw a person instead of a meal. That's why this hurts."

For the first time, there was something unmistakably paternal in his voice. Something deeper than kingship. Deeper than authority.

"You were starving, Sebastian. That's not an excuse. It's a fact."

His eyes held his son's.

"You spent months denying what you are. Not managing it. Not controlling it. Denying it."

A faint crease appeared between his brows.

"You weren't being a good vampire. You were trying to be something other than a vampire entirely."

The mountain wind shifted around them.

"Aliyah doesn't love you because you're harmless. Lorelai doesn't love you because you're human. They love you because you're you."

There was no judgment in his voice. Only certainty.

"And if you're going to survive this life, then you need to learn the difference between restraint and self-destruction. One keeps the monster in check. The other starves the man until the monster takes over."

Kaidan finally stepped closer and rested a hand against Sebastian's shoulder. Firm. Steady. Real.

"What happened here is tragic. It should haunt you. It should matter. It should change you."

His eyes darkened slightly.

"But it cannot be allowed to convince you that you are beyond redemption."

The wind swept through the plaza again, carrying the scent of flowers and distant starlight.

"You made a terrible mistake. One with consequences that cannot be undone."

His gaze drifted toward Noctaris once more, toward the city Sebastian had spent the evening admiring.

"But if this city is truly as beautiful as you think it is, then honor her by becoming worthy of protecting it. Honor her by making certain this isn't the lesson you walk away from unchanged."

A long silence followed.

Then Kaidan looked back at him.

"Because kneeling in her blood for the rest of the night won't bring her back."

His hand remained on Sebastian's shoulder.

"But what you do tomorrow? The choices you make after this? The man you decide to become because of this?"

His voice lowered.

"That still belongs to you, son."

The vampire stood there for a few more moments before a humorless scoffing sounded. "You know, there's this... this ability, or what have you, that young vampires have. Allows them to shut off their ability to feel the heightened emotions that vampirism curses us to endure. Not once in the few decades I experienced before my desiccation did I ever understand why someone would want to deprive themselves of such feeling..." Sebastian spoke as if merely explaining a fun fact about himself and the creature he had been transformed into.

The rest of the explanation went unspoken. He understood now. He understood that, for all the intense joy and ecstasy and excitement a vampire's heightened emotions could give them, there was an equal amount of pain and remorse and agony. Two sides of the same coin; a blessing and a curse both. Still, Sebastian shook his head and took in a deep breath. For the briefest of moments, there stood a defiant prince where the disheveled vampire stood. "How do you provide a proper burial for our people?"

The question was little more than a quiet utterance.

The city had enough strange sounds at night that most people learned not to investigate them, and he’d survived this long by understanding when silence was safer than curiosity. But something about the plaza ahead felt wrong in a way that pressed against instinct — too still, too tense, like the entire street was holding its breath around whatever sat at its center.

Then he saw the body.

His steps slowed.

The blood caught moonlight in dark crimson streaks across the stone, and the male kneeling nearby looked carved from the same violence that had left it there. Damien took in the blackened veins beneath his eyes, the blood staining his mouth, the rigid stillness in his posture.

Not triumphant.

Not feral.

Just… wrecked.

“Leave.”

The command landed sharp as broken glass.

Damien’s gaze lifted to him fully then, calm and unreadable beneath the glow of the city lights. For a second, neither of them moved.

Then Damien exhaled softly through his nose.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “You really sound like someone who wants to be alone right now.”

Dry humor. Barely there. More reflex than mockery.

He didn’t come closer immediately, but he didn’t retreat either. One hand slid into the pocket of his jacket while his eyes flicked once toward the dead fae woman and away again — respectful enough not to stare.

“I’m not here to start a fight,” he added after a beat. “And I’m definitely not stupid enough to pretend I didn’t walk into something ugly.”

The wind shifted through the plaza, carrying the metallic scent of blood with it. Damien’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly before his attention returned to the stranger kneeling in it.

“You want honesty?” he asked. “You look less like a predator and more like a man waiting for the guilt to decide what to do with him.”

Another pause.

No fear in him. No condemnation either.

Just recognition.

Damien tilted his head slightly, dark eyes steady beneath the silver wash of moonlight.

“So either tell me to leave again,” he said softly, “or stop looking at the stars like they’re gonna answer for you.”

"These people don't deserve a fate as I delivered upon her. Not from anyone, but especially not... from me." He swallowed hard and forced himself to rise to his feet at last. Finally, he turned and properly faced the man. "Sebastian." He introduced himself with little more than a tilted nod of his head.

Dragonfire and iron.

Ancient hunger dragged across polished stone.

He stepped into the plaza without hurry, black coat stirring faintly in the mountain wind, shadows moving low and quiet around his boots—not aggressive, not alarmed. Watchful. The city had already recognized him. The whispers along the outer streets had thinned into silence the moment Night realized its High Lord was walking toward the disturbance instead of away from it.

His gaze found the body first.

Then Sebastian.

Still kneeling. Still bloodstained. Still staring at the stars like they might hand down a sentence harsher than the one he’d already given himself.

The command to leave hit the plaza sharp enough to send another distant passerby retreating.

Kaidan ignored it.

Of course he did.

He came to a stop several feet away, giving Sebastian the dignity of distance without granting him isolation. Moonlight slipped briefly through the clouds, silvering the blood along the younger male’s jaw, catching against the onyx beneath the dead fae woman like spilled rubies.

For a long moment, Kaidan said nothing.

The city breathed around them. Lanterns flickered softly in nearby archways. Far above, the stars remained mercilessly beautiful.

Then—

“She’s gone,” Kaidan said quietly.

Not accusation. Not comfort.

Truth.

His eyes lingered on the woman only briefly before returning to Sebastian, steady and unreadable.

“And you stayed.”

A beat.

“That matters too.”

The shadows at Kaidan’s heels curled once at the scent of death before settling again, obedient beneath his control. He did not look disgusted. Did not look afraid.

But there was grief in him now—old enough to recognize fresh ruin when it saw it.

“You fed past the point of reason,” Kaidan continued, voice calm as winter midnight. “And when you realized what was happening, panic took the rest.” His gaze sharpened slightly. “You weren’t hunting. You were drowning.”

Another step forward. Careful. Measured.

“You should have come to me before it got this bad.”

No anger in it. Only exhaustion threaded through concern.

The moon disappeared behind clouds again, throwing the plaza back into starlit shadow.

Kaidan looked at the blood soaking into the seams of the black stone and exhaled slowly through his nose.

“Noctaris will survive a stain,” he said at last. “It was built by creatures far crueler than you.”

Then his eyes lifted fully to Sebastian again.

“But if you kneel here long enough convincing yourself you’re a monster, eventually you’ll stop remembering you had a choice at all.”

The words landed hard. Because Kaidan knew exactly what that sounded like from the inside.

He moved closer then—close enough now that the Court itself quieted around them, shadows drawing respectfully back from both prince and High Lord alike.

“You feel sick because you still know this was wrong,” Kaidan said, lower now. “Hold onto that. Do not romanticize it. Do not bury it. And do not let shame make decisions for you tonight.”

A pause.

Then, quieter still:

“Look at me, Sebastián.”

Not a command sharpened by power. A request weighted by trust.

“You are not beyond return because you failed once.”

"She didn't even have time to fight back." Sebastian uttered softly. Brokenly. "I've hunted before. I've terrorized colonies until their cobblestones ran slick with crimson. I did not become known as 'The Merciless' in supernatural history books for being some docile creature." Sebastian continued. "I... relished in it. Flourished."

He slowly shook his head and tore his gaze away from the body. Blue eyes red with recent tears settled themselves upon his father. "This?" The word was soft. "This was different. She wasn't just some... some meal; some fattened up livestock or some turnip in a field." His breath escaped him in ragged gasps. "She was... ours. Our people. I am supposed to be their prince and yet I descended upon her no better than some foul creature from the wastes beyond your Court's borders."

When his father spoke of not coming to him, Sebastian shook his head once more. "I had it under control. I... Aliyah and Lorelai... for them, I restrained myself. I kept my feeding to a minimum. I forced myself to deny the vein as often as I could. 'I could do that', I told myself. 'I could do that for them. I could play the good vampire.'" He scoffed at himself. Silence rushed to fill the absence of his voice for a moment. "This city was so beautiful..."

“Well, First Mate,” she said solemnly, like this was a formal introduction and she’d been briefed in advance, “that’s a very important title. Means you’re in charge when the captain makes questionable snack decisions.”

She leaned back slightly on her heels, giving Livvy space but staying at her level. “And I think being remembered as a crab is better than being remembered as the guy who forgot the pastries. Just saying.”

Her gaze flicked up to Sebastian at that, amused but measuring in the quiet way she did — the way he never fully stopped tracking Livvy’s position, even mid-joke. The way his body angled instinctively toward her. Not possessive. Protective. Different thing.

“Twins?” Indi echoed lightly. “Yeah, okay. That tracks. You’ve got that ‘one wrong move and I’m getting a very calm but terrifying lecture’ look.”

Livvy’s awe over pirate-Sebastian earned a faint tilt of Indi’s head. “Pirates are historically misunderstood,” she informed her seriously. “Also very committed to dramatic entrances. I respect it.”

Her fingers brushed one of the sun charms again before she actually picked it up this time, letting it catch the light. For a second, something in her expression softened — nostalgia without a place to land.

“You’re right, though,” she added quietly, more to Sebastian now. “City almost feels normal out here.”

A small pause.

“Almost.”

An eyebrow arched at the woman's remark about pirates. "We are tragically misunderstood, thank you for that." The vampire offered, "As for dramatic entrances - why should we not announce ourselves in a more amusing way than simply showing up?" A grin played at his lips at that. He let out a sigh as she continued speaking. "Normalcy is few and far between these days. I think I will take it however it chooses to develop."

She pretended not to.

Because this wasn’t the place for old conversations. Not with her daughter perched like royalty above them, not with sugar in the air and music trying its best to make everything lighter.

“Reformed pirate?” Rory echoed dryly, one brow lifting. “Bold branding. I’m going to need documentation. Background checks. Possibly references.”

Livvy gasped dramatically. “Boat!”

Rory reached up to squeeze Livvy’s ankle gently. “We are not acquiring maritime assets today,” she informed her solemnly. “We can barely commit to a houseplant.”

Her eyes slid back to Sebastian as his tone softened.

Charcuterie board.

She blinked once. “You fed my three-year-old a charcuterie board.”

There was a beat of silence.

“…Okay, honestly, that’s kind of impressive.” Her mouth twitched despite herself. “Was it at least mostly cheese and not the kind of meat that costs more than my rent?”

She shifted a little closer—not crowding, just inside the orbit they’d always shared with Livvy between them.

“And sugar and vibes,” Rory repeated, exhaling through her nose. “I knew it. That’s your entire parenting philosophy.”

Her hand lingered for a second at Livvy’s calf before she dropped it, grounding herself instead by tucking her hands into her back pockets.

“You’re having fun?” she asked Livvy again, softer.

“Yes!” Livvy declared. “Auditing!”

“Of course you are,” Rory murmured fondly.

Then, quieter—just for him, but not heavy:

“Thanks,” she said. Not dramatic. Not loaded. Just true. “For keeping her steady.”

Her gaze held his for half a second longer than necessary before she deliberately lightened it.

“Alright, pirate,” Rory added, tone returning to playful compliance officer mode. “We’re adding fruit to the manifest before this turns into a sugar-fueled coup.”

"Oh it was delicious - little cheese cubes; red and white grapes; and those adorable little apple slices. Quite fun." He mused. "Everyone needs sugars and... what did you call them, vibes? I'm not entirely certain that I follow, but as long as she is happy - then I have been happy." He responded.

The expression of gratitude softened the smile on his face and he nodded once. "Of course, Lorelai." He offered back in turn. Clearing his throat softly, he composed himself once more as she gave them a new itinerary. "You shall hear no complaints from this pirate - fruit is ever important; whether it be for healthier eating or staving off scurvy."

“Pegasus,” he repeated, approving. “Solid choice. Flight and attitude. Covers your bases.”

He stepped a little closer as Sebastian fastened the chain, making sure Livvy didn’t decide the next logical step was to swan-dive off his shoulders in celebration. When she popped back up high again, Beckham’s mouth twitched.

“Beckham,” he replied easily. “And that’s a strong name you’ve got there, Livvy.”

He tipped his head up toward her, tone conspiratorial.

“Pegasus charm means you’re officially responsible for sky patrol now. You cool with that?”

Livvy beamed like she’d just been handed jurisdiction over the clouds.

Beckham shifted the strap of his canvas bag higher on his shoulder, grease-dark smudges catching the light as he tucked one hand back into his pocket.

“And yeah,” he added, glancing back at Sebastian with a knowing half-smile, “I’m not anti-wooden-dragon. I’m just pro-strategy. You start with charm. Build goodwill. Then you deploy candy negotiations once pastries are secured.”

His gaze drifted briefly down the boulevard where the beignet vendor was dusting another batch in powdered sugar.

“Speaking of,” he said lightly, “you two already hit the pastry objective, or am I about to watch First Mate Livvy escalate this operation?”

"Negotiation tactics. I see. That is wise." Sebastian nodded a few times with a soft humming. He glanced down the path at the question and shook his head lightly. "No, actually. We were just about to figure out our destination for further sustenance." He responded. "I'll make a call as captain of this operation that we are in dire need of something coated in that delectable powdery sugar." Sebastian declared with every bit the same enthusiasm as Livvy listening in from above.

"Pleasure, Beckham." Sebastian nodded once, "Do you have little ones of your own? I'm afraid I cannot lay claim to this one myself - she is one of my girlfriends' daughter. A surprisingly welcome bonus to our relationship." He explained with a softer smile at the realization just how welcome it had truly been.

livvy squealed in delight at the sight of her, immediately reaching down toward her with grabby hands. aliyah leaned in close enough to kiss livvy’s fingers, then looked up at sebastian through her lashes — slow. deliberate. “i heard something about ‘convincing her mother you fed her responsibly,’” she said sweetly. “should i be concerned that the word convincing was doing most of the work in that sentence?” she reached up, adjusting livvy’s balance with an easy, practiced touch — fingers brushing sebastian’s wrist in the process. not accidental. never accidental.

“also,” she added, glancing at the sun charms livvy was lunging for, “if she leaves here with candy before noon, i will absolutely tell everyone it was your idea. loudly. and repeatedly.” her eyes flicked back to him, mischief bright and unapologetic. “you look domestic,” she said, tilting her head as if studying a rare species. “it’s unsettling. attractive. but unsettling.” she stepped closer, close enough that her shoulder brushed his side. “mission parameters, huh?” she murmured, voice dropping just a fraction. “pastries, fruit, toy reconnaissance.” a beat. “where exactly in that plan did you account for running into me?” her fingers trailed lightly down his arm before she pulled back just enough to grin at him. “because if you didn’t budget for distraction,” she added, playful and entirely too pleased with herself, “that sounds like a tactical oversight.” and then — softer, but no less teasing — “also, if you’re first mate, what does that make me?”

"Yeah! We ate 'fun cake' for breakfast!" The child chimed excitedly. Sebastian could only laugh. "Funnel cake. And it had fruit topping, so it was basically a pancake, but better." He clarified now to Aliyah. He shifted himself to set Livvy down, watching as she wandered nearby to look at a few shiny objects, and turned half of his attention back to Aliyah.

"Domestic? Oh, that simply won't do. I have a reputation to uphold." He argued playfully and shook his head a few times for emphasis. As she questioned their 'mission parameters' however, he smiled once more. His eyes couldn't help themselves but to trail the soft touch down his arm. "You are always a welcome unexpected encounter." He mused. "And isn't it obvious? Every pirate captain needs a lovely queen at his side." He reached for her hand and brought her knuckles to his lips for a gentle kiss.

She slowed when she clocked the tiny human on Sebastian’s shoulders. Hard to miss, honestly. Kids drew attention the way neon signs did in a city like this — bright, fragile, precious. Indi hovered a few steps back at first, not wanting to startle anyone, eyes flicking automatically to the way Sebastian’s hand steadied Livvy’s ankle. Reflexes like that told you things about people.

The vendor’s laugh made Indi’s mouth twitch, something soft and unguarded for once. She stepped closer to the stall, gaze landing on the sun-shaped charms Livvy had almost toppled herself over.

“Inspector’s got good taste,” Indi said quietly, crouching a little so she was closer to Livvy’s eye level without crowding her space. “Those are the ones that don’t get bored of being shiny.”

She glanced up at Sebastian then, offering him a small, wry look. “For the record, you’re doing pretty well on the ‘not getting murdered by relatives’ front. The bar is low, but you cleared it.”

Her attention drifted back to the stall, fingers brushing one of the braided wire rings without picking it up. “Markets almost make the city feel like it remembers how to be… nice. For a minute.”

"You underestimate her relatives, I assure you." Sebastian chuckled, though his tone with joking. "Her mother and aunt are two scary ladies when they want to be. Twins at that, so it's even worse." He remarked. He tilted his head back as Livvy wandered back over to them. "Hi. I'm Livvy. I'm the First Mate." She introduced herself and for a moment Sebastian swore she had aged twelve years. "This is Sebastian - like the crab. He was a pirate!" She spoke with awe. Sebastian let out a low laugh and hung his head slightly. "I am not sure how I feel being remembered because of a crab..."

The market noise faded into background static the second she spotted Livvy’s curls bobbing above the crowd on Sebastian’s shoulders. Relief hit first. Then that familiar, complicated mix of gratitude and mild terror that came with letting anyone else be this trusted with her kid.

She threaded through the stalls, shouldering past the smell of frying sugar and citrus she absolutely did not trust to be local, and came up beside them just as Livvy lunged for the sun charms.

“Hey—whoa, okay, First Mate, that’s how we faceplant and become a cautionary tale,” Rory said, reaching up to steady Livvy’s wrist with practiced ease. Her eyes flicked to Sebastian, dry but fond. “I leave you two alone for five minutes and you’re already negotiating international charm theft.”

Livvy squealed. “Mama! Candy!”

Rory sighed like a woman who had lost this particular war years ago. “Of course candy. Because nutrition is a suggestion and you are a menace.” She tipped her head toward the vendor with an apologetic smile. “She’s unionized. I don’t win these negotiations.”

She stepped closer, hand resting briefly at the small of Sebastian’s back as she peered at the trinkets Livvy was grabbing for. “Okay, inspector,” Rory murmured, tone low and amused. “Report so far? Pastries acquired? Fruit successfully not dropped on the ground?”

Then she looked up at Livvy, softening instantly. “You having a good adventure, bug?”

Livvy nodded furiously. “Sebastian says I’m auditing!”

Rory snorted. “Yeah, well, I’m the compliance department. And I’m here to make sure he didn’t feed you nothing but sugar and vibes.”

Her gaze lifted to Sebastian again, warm but sharp at the edges in that Rory way. “Did you at least pretend to be responsible before I showed up?”

"International charm theft is just the start! After all, who better than to learn the art of grand larceny from that a... reformed pirate?" Sebastian announced and Livvy giggled eagerly. "I want to go on Sebastian's boat!" She insisted. Sebastian laughed softly and carefully shook his head so as not to jostle her from where she sat. "Unfortunately, sweet Livvy, Sebastian doesn't have a boat anymore. That was a long time ago." He explained lightly and turned back to Lorelai.

"Do not worry." He spoke, tone softer and less joking now. "She consumed a healthy portion of a small charcuterie board one of the other vendors was selling. Then she was given sugar and vibes." He assured.

He clocked Sebastian first—hard not to, with a tiny commander perched on his shoulders issuing orders like she owned the place.

The corner of Beckham’s mouth tipped up. He slowed, stopping a few steps back so he didn’t spook Livvy into trying to launch herself like a heroic idiot.

“Inspector looks thorough,” Beckham said dryly, nodding at the sun charms she was reaching for. “You passed the first audit. Barely.”

His gaze flicked to Sebastian’s hand steadying Livvy’s calf, the automatic gentleness of it. Something in Beckham’s expression softened—recognition more than sentiment.

“Careful,” he added, voice light. “That stall’s a gateway drug. One minute it’s ‘just a charm,’ next thing you know she’s negotiating for a wooden dragon and three sticks of mystery candy.”

He tipped his chin toward Livvy, keeping his tone pitched friendly and low so she could hear it without feeling called out.

“Hey, Captain,” Beckham said. “You see anything shiny worth putting on the official pastry-funding report?”

"Oh, that's perfect." Sebastian hummed and cupped the charm with his fingertips. "We'll take this one." He spoke then to the stall vendor and negotiated the fee. A few moments later, he turned and laced the chain around Livvy's neck and hoisted her back onto his shoulders. "I'm Sebastian." The vampire turned to the male now. "I'm Livvy!" The little girl chimed in shortly afterwards.

When he stepped closer, she didn’t retreat. She shifted just enough to meet him where he stood, warmth steady, controlled, never overwhelming. A queen’s fire, banked low.

“You are not untethered,” she said gently, and there was no argument in it—only certainty. “You never were. Even when the world told you otherwise.”

Her gaze softened, gold deepening to something richer, more human. “Lineage is not only blood or throne or title. It is memory. It is instinct. It is the way a shadow recognizes its own shape when it finally sees light.” A faint breath. “You carry more than fragments. You carry continuity.”

She tipped her head, studying him not as a ruler would a subject, but as a keeper of histories meeting a living chapter she hadn’t known she’d been missing.

“You don’t need to know why parts of him live in you,” Reina continued. “They simply do. And they always did—waiting for the right moment to surface.” Her eyes flicked, briefly, to the darkened street, then back. “The Court leaves marks. So does love. Neither fade easily.”

At his admission—of piracy, of abandonment, of a life shaped by chance—something resolute settled in her expression. Not anger. Not pity. Recognition again.

“Chance did not make you,” she said quietly. “Survival did. Choice did. And restraint.” A small, approving curve touched her mouth. “You learned control without a teacher. That alone tells me much.”

She closed the distance the rest of the way, stopping well within the circle of lamplight, where the gold in her eyes reflected softly in his.

“You are not late to yourself, Sebastian,” Reina said. “You arrived when you were able to stand and ask the right questions.” A pause, then—warmer—“And you are not alone in learning the answers.”

Her hand lifted, not to touch him, but to rest lightly over her own heart—a dragon’s sign of acknowledgment.

“If you wish to understand what you are,” she offered, “I will not rush you. The Night Court will not demand you choose a shape before you know it fits.” A beat. “And I will not let you carry this alone.”

Her smile finally came—small, real, steady as a hearth at dusk.

“Welcome to the beginning,” Reina said softly. “We’ll take it one step at a time.”

“Then… I will not turn from it,” he said quietly. “Nor from you, if you would walk this road beside me.” He released a small, measured breath. “This past year has left me with endless questions gnawing at the edges of my being. Those of the modern world; those of the new world we find ourselves in now; those of a life I never knew I was meant to have. If they are to be named at last, I would rather they be spoken in the company of one who understands the weight of such memory.”

His gaze lingered on her hand at her heart, something solemn and almost startled passing through his expression. “I was taught, in rough ways, to endure what was given and ask little in return. Companionship was… seldom offered freely.” The faintest curve touched his mouth - not humor, but humility. “What restraint I have was borne from necessity - the need to blend into a society that had become my sustenance; the need to walk among the people of these two cities four centuries later.”

Sebastian shifted then, not away, but subtly nearer; enough that the lamplight caught both of them fully. “If what I carry is indeed legacy and continuity,” he went on, voice low and steadying, “then I would learn how to honor it without haste. I have no wish to don a name or mantle before I know its measure - nor to shame those who bore it before me through ignorance.” His eyes lifted to hers again, earnest and unguarded. “I would rather remain a memory to Kaidan and to the Night than bring upon him a reopened wound without reward.”

At last, he exhaled, the sound easing from his chest as though some long-held vigil had ended. “Lead, where you must,” Sebastian said softly. “Stay, where you can.” Then, with a quiet resolve, “And I will do the rest - step by step, as you have promised.”