miko

That was how your year of grueling work began.

You declared one of the rooms in his mansion completely off-limits to everyone, especially Sylus. The twins had tried to peek in exactly once and very quickly learned that curiosity could, in fact, be a dangerous habit. And that you can be scarier than Sylus.

Sylus, to his credit, kept his promise. He only watched the charges roll in on his bank account with a faintly amused expression and let you do your thing.

You knew N109 was no place for plants. The environment was too harsh, the sunlight was nonexistent. But you wanted to give him something soft anyway. Something alive. Something that could grow in the middle of all that steel and darkness.

You spent an absurd amount of his money, argued with suppliers, ordered special equipment, canceled it, reordered it, then spent days testing conditions and making adjustments. Slowly, painfully, you transformed the room into a technological marvel – greenhouse, packed with advanced systems to regulate temperature, humidity, light, and airflow. It still wasn’t exactly what you had first imagined. Your original idea had been much bigger. But one year simply had not been enough time to make your dream as grand as you wanted it to be. Still, you kept going after every failed attempt. Every wilted sprout. Every adjustment that made things worse before they got better.

And now, a week before his birthday, you stood in front of the door with your hand gripping the handle, heart thudding painfully against your ribs.

You took a deep breath and looked up at him with an embarrassed little smile.

“It… was supposed to be bigger,” you admitted. “But I ran out of time.”

Sylus’s expression softened almost immediately, though the corner of his mouth still hinted at amusement.

Then, remembering something, you stepped back and pulled a strip of black fabric from behind your back.

“Here. Cover your eyes.”

With an amused smirk, Sylus lowered his head so you could tie the fabric around his eyes.

“Do you trust me?” you asked quietly, trying to sound casual despite how hard your heart was beating.

“I always trust you.”

That alone made your chest ache.

Once you were sure he couldn’t see a thing, you opened the door and carefully guided him inside.

The room smelled different immediately. Not like the rest of the mansion. Not like polished metal, expensive cologne, gunpowder. And certainly not like N109. This room smelled faintly of damp earth, fresh leaves, and something floral. You led him forward, one careful step at a time, until you reached the corner of the room. Then you stopped.

Your fingers tightened around his sleeve. You exhaled slowly.

“It’s not exactly what I planned,” you admitted, suddenly painfully aware of how small your voice sounded. “But… it’s something.”

You hesitated, then added, “You can take the cloth off now.”

Sylus did so slowly.

For a moment, he said nothing.

You watched his expression carefully, dread and hope twisting together in your chest as you waited for his reaction.

The corner of the room had been turned into a tiny flower field. Not a literal field, of course, but enough to give the illusion of one. A carefully arranged patch of rich dark soil and layered planters, all stretching out in rows of deep red daturas. Their blooms opened toward the artificial light above them like small, dangerous stars.

You watched Sylus’s face carefully as he stared at it.

At first, there was only silence. Then his red eyes moved slowly across the room, taking in every detail: the flowers, the lighting, the care with which everything had been arranged, the fact that you had clearly spent months making sure this would work. His expression changed little by little. The amusement faded first. then the surprise. Then something quieter, softer, almost reverent flashed on his face. His gaze returned to the flowers, and for a moment he looked completely still.

You swallowed.

“I know it’s not huge,” you said quickly, suddenly afraid he would think it was too small, too much work for too little result, too humble for his birthday. “And I know it’s not like the original idea. I wanted more space, more color, more…well, everything, really. But the environment here made everything harder than I thought, and some of the plants didn’t survive the first few tries, and…”

Sylus turned to you. You stopped talking.

He stepped closer, slowly, as if afraid that any sudden movement might break the moment.

“You did this for me?” he asked quietly.

There was no teasing in his voice now. No smugness. No faint grin.

You nodded, suddenly shy.

“I wanted you to have something that belonged to you. Something alive.” Your voice wavered a little. “N109 can be so cold sometimes. I thought… maybe this would make it feel a little less cold and lonely.”

He looked at you for a long moment. Then his eyes drifted back to the flowers. Something unreadable flickered across his face.

“You spent a year on this.”

You tried to shrug, though your throat felt tight.

“Yeah. More or less.”

Sylus’s hand lifted, hovering near one of the blooms.

“These are daturas,” he said softly, as if remembering a long forgotten dream.

You nodded, a little relieved that he recognized them.

“Red ones. I thought they suited you.”

A faint smile touched his mouth.

“They do.”

The words were so quiet you almost missed them. Then he looked back at you, and this time there was no hiding the emotion in his gaze. It was warmer than usual.

“You made a garden in my house,” he said, almost as if he still could not believe it.

“A tiny one.”

“Still a garden.”

You gave a small, helpless laugh.

“I know it’s not perfect.”

Sylus stepped closer until there was barely any space left between you.

His hand came up to your face, knuckles brushing your cheek with devastating gentleness.

“It is perfect,” he said.

Your breath caught.

“It’s mine,” he continued, voice low and full of something that made your heart skip a beat. “Because you made it for me.”

He pressed his forehead briefly to yours, hand still cradling your cheek.

“Thank you,” he murmured. “For this… for all of it.”

And suddenly, all the exhaustion, all the failed attempts, all the long nights and stubborn frustration felt worth it. Because the look in his eyes told you everything you needed to know.

The datura flowers swayed in the warm wind, brushing against his little claws. Here, kneeling in the soft grass, he summoned the magic that resided in him. It flowed out of him—a little frantic, a little harsh—and it encircled the crimson blooms. But, as much as he tried to be gentle, the electric, red sparks of his power acted as a poison instead of an elixir. And the petals crumbled to dust.

A pained gasp escaped him, but, immediately, a comforting hand rested on his back.

His mother shushed him gently. "It's alright, my sweet boy. Let's try again."

Her hand encased his, and she started to hum a tune that settled his distress. He took a deep breath before attempting it again on a different flower, letting her power guide him this time. He watched with bated breath as the petals glowed, becoming more saturated with extended life. Little buds sprouted in the surrounding soil, too.

"See?" she said with her deep, melodic voice. "It just takes some practice, my little dragon. Now, why don't you pick some for me to take back home."

As Stayrus obeyed his mother's wish—doing his best to avoid ripping the fragile flowers with his claws—he caught his reflection in the still water nearby. Soft cheeks littered with scales creeping up from his neck. Small, black horns sticking out of silver hair. And those piercing, red eyes that stared back at him with sorrow—for his appearance was the reason why he had to be hidden.

Silver waves of hair appeared beside him.

"Stayrus," he heard the soft rumble come deep from his mother's chest. She held his chin, making him face her. "Look at me."

When he did, he avoided her gaze at first. Draconic symbols littered her body in the form of jewelry, clothes, and ink. Various blades were sheathed on her hips and thighs. And then, finally, he looked up at her, meeting her soft, violet eyes.

"You know what I see when I look at you?" she said. "I see my precious boy with eyes that shine brighter than the most finely-cut rubies. And these things?" She brushed her fingers against his scales and horns. "They make you strong."

Her hand moved down to his chest, where it rested to the side of the gemstone embedded in his skin. Right on top of his heart. "And this? It beats with love. It doesn't matter what the rest of the world thinks. You, my dragon, have the strength to love."

She ran her fingers through his hair before placing a kiss on his forehead. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "And love will always persevere, longer than anything else. In life—or death. Understand?"

He gave her a tentative nod.

"Good. Now come on," she said, having them both stand. "Let's go home."

Stayrus jolted awake to the sound of shouting in the distance. Moments later, his mother was in front of him, grabbing him. Frantic.

She urged him to come with her, and her fierce grip on him didn't leave any room for disobedience. Not like he would, too confused and too terrified to understand what was happening. And as she lifted up the entrance to the secret compartment under the floor, settling him in there, all he could do was look up at her with wide, glassy eyes.

Her expression wasn't much different than how he felt. "I need to keep them away from you, so I need you to stay here, alright? Do not leave under any circumstance. No matter what happens. Understood?"

He barely nodded before she was leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead, tears mixing in. With shaky breath, she said, "I love you, my little dragon. My sweet Stayrus. More than anything—always remember that."

She pulled away, shutting the compartment door just as he managed a broken whisper. "…Mama?"

Nothing.

The space was dark and cramped, and Stayrus pulled his knees to his chest. Breaths came out fast, chest shuddering. And his little tail wrapped around himself as a poor imitation of a hug.

He stayed like that for what must have been hours.

And eventually, as much as he wanted to obey his mother, he just couldn't any longer. So, he climbed out into their silent, eerie house. "…Mama?" he whispered into the night.

No response.

Quietly, he snuck outside. At the lack of shouting and fighting, he took cautious steps through the trees.

"Mama?" he called out.

Only the wind answered, so he kept moving until he stepped on something. He looked down, and a shocked gasp escaped him at the sight of his mother's dragon necklace broken into pieces. But that fearful feeling didn't compare to the one that choked him as he looked back up.

To see his mother's body laying on the ground near the water.

"Mama!" he cried out, sprinting to her.

He knelt down next to her still form, and sobs started to tumble out of him upon seeing her neck slit. Blood everywhere. He reached out, attempting to shake her awake despite knowing it was fruitless. "Mama…Mama…" he whispered in between cries.

The snap of a branch behind him was the only thing that could pull his gaze away. And there stood two men, bloodied, with crazed expressions. "There he is," one of them said, and they raised their weapons.

They did this, was all he could think. They killed Mama.

The sudden crack in his heart released something inside him. It funneled his fury into power, and with an anguished cry, red electric tendrils appeared around the men, making quick work of them before they even realized what was happening. And as their bodies succumbed to his power, it almost felt like…he was absorbing something of theirs. It tasted like a bitter concoction of fear and hatred. A need to eradicate.

Then, his right eye started to burn.

He gasped, clutching his face. The feeling spread throughout his face, like the blood under his skin had become lava. He crawled over to the water, hoping that his reflection would give him answers—and he was right to think so. His eye glowed a bright red. Fierce. Unsettling.

Just like everything else about him.

Self-hatred bubbled to the surface, coming out as ugly tears, and he reached his claws up to his face, digging in. Drawing blood. Breathing heavily, he peered through his claws and the red dripping across his eyes to look back into the water. And he couldn't handle what he saw any longer.

He fumbled around, searching for his mother's blade. Once he found it, he grasped it tightly. He take a deep, shaky breath before bringing it up to his horn. Placing the blade right at base where it met his skin.

And started to cut.

Wails echoed through the dark forest. The sound of pure agony tainted the roots of trees, the blooming flowers, every living thing. And as the last cut was made, the horn fell into the water, staining the water with blood. Despite the pain, he couldn't falter. So, he moved onto the next one, repeating the process. His reflection became muddled. Tainted. Red.

He had naively hoped that discarding these parts of him would have helped, but his eye only grew brighter as the other horn was removed. Then, a fiery hot pain blossomed in his back. Sharp.

He writhed, body spasming helplessly. Something was happening. Something he wouldn't come back from. His cries turned into something deeper, a voice that didn't sound like his, as what could only be described as a broken roar ripped out of his throat.

All while two wings sprouted from his back. Red electric pulses flitting through the air frantically.

He collapsed on the ground, eyes fluttering shut, voice small as he managed one final whisper.

"Mama…"

Sylus woke up with a strangled gasp. With his hand gripping the gun under his pillow, he forced himself to breathe deeply through his nose. He started to sit up, body uncharacteristically trembling, and he pulled the gun out from underneath the pillow. With practiced ease, he ejected the magazine into his palm, noting it was fully loaded before sticking it back in. He pulled back to check the chamber and sat it down on the nightstand once satisfied.

By now, he was use to the memories appearing. New information that he methodically filed away into different parts of his mind. But this one carried a heavier weight than they usually did. His body was drenched in a cold sweat, his stomach turned with nausea, and his heart was racing like it was currently being hunted down by wanderers.

There was no possibility of him falling back to sleep, so with a tired sigh, he slipped out of bed and headed to the bathroom.

The cold water from the sink jolted his nerves back into reality as he splashed it on his face. "Fuck," he muttered under his breath, rubbing his hands across his face. When he looked up into the mirror, he caught his own gaze, tinted with exhaustion. He didn't have horns or scales—but his eyes were the same. An unnatural, bright crimson.

He left the bathroom, immediately making his way to his liquor cabinet to pull out a bottle of whiskey. He poured the amber liquid in a glass and brought it to his lips. The strong taste lingered on his tongue before he swallowed, embracing the burn. He took a deep breath before closing his eyes.

Logically, he knew he had a mother at some point. Albeit, many, many millennia ago. He just never stopped to think about what happened to her, but now…

Now it was all he could think about. With the scent of blood and grief still in the air.

And like an angelic light shining down a tunnel of despair, his phone went off, signaling a text message from a certain Miss Hunter. It brought a small smile to his face.

Kitten: Look! I found your long lost twin at the cat cafe today <3

Attached to the message was a photo of a fluffy, white cat with soft red eyes.

Sylus: is that so?

Kitten: Yep! He was all grumpy at first, but then all it took was some pets and then he wouldn't leave me alone. Would stare at me with those cute little eyes every time I tried to leave!

A huff of air escaped him. Those cute little eyes—the words dislodged something in his chest. Like the pain had been forced away to make way for something else. Something lighter.

Kitten: also, I hope I didn't accidentally wake you

Sylus: you didnt

Three dots popped up, but then they vanished. A few seconds later, his phone started to ring. He swiped to answer without question.

"Is there a reason why you're awake at like…noon?"

He sighed softly. "I just…couldn't sleep."

"Oh…"

He could easily imagine the way her brows must have been furrowing, worry etching onto her features.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

The instinctual lie sat heavy on his tongue, so instead, he said, "I am now."

He wondered if that made her shoulders relax back to how they were.

"Good, because I needed to ask you something."

"Hm? Ask away, sweetie."

He heard her take a deep breath. "So. I found out about a flower festival happening soon, and I wondered if you wanted to come with me? There's a chance they might have daturas, so I thought maybe…" she trailed off.

Sylus' breath hitched. An emotion blooming in his chest that he couldn't place.

"Of course, obviously we don't have to if you're busy or something—"

He cut off her rambling with a weighted, "I want to."

"Oh, really? Great! It's next week, and…"

Her voice flowed through him, light and carefree, like a balm for his soul. And soon, the memory's grip on his heart faded, making room for kind, loving hands to take its place.