#applesyrcusweek2025

Guidelines

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• General, NPC\OC, and NPC/NPC are alright.

• NSFW is welcomed, but please be courteous and tag your work.

• Entries must be tagged under #applesyrcusweek or #applesyrcusweek2025

If you have any questions, please feel free to reach out in our ask box or replies. We hope to see you in July!

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There's a chance that Dawntrail's 7.3 update will be announced in July, so if there happens to be overlap in dates, the event's dates will be moved forward before the update releases. We hope this will not happen, but if it does we'll announce the new dates right away!

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You thought Azem had overstated the beauty of the place, but upon your arrival, you realized how wrong you had been. Green spread as far as the eye could see, undulating like the waves of some terrestrial ocean and broken only by darker patches that marked copses of trees. Clouds glided lazily by, beneath which groups of herbivores grazed and snored upon blades of grass. Somewhere ahead, some sort of avian creature cried as it dove then climbed back up with a mole in its claws. Hermes watched it fly into the distance, where the hills melted into the sweeping heavens. A stolen glance at the man beside you was enough confirmation that this was the perfect decision. Hermes couldn’t take his eyes off his surroundings. Who could, though? Even you were briefly rendered speechless. 

“Marvelous, isn’t it?” you said in his silence. 

“Simply,” he replied. 

Now you peek through the kitchen windows at the orchard behind the cottage. You spot Hermes still picking apples there, reaching for the lower branches and then inspecting every specimen as though his life depends on it. He’s looking for the best of the best. Azem has given you the go-ahead to harvest the entire orchard—which you would rather avoid, to be perfectly honest. Prior to your departure, you had clearly articulated to Hermes that he needed more nourishment than a mere apple can provide, despite how easy it is to obtain and consume or how his own orchard yields plentiful harvest every moon. Yes, you know about his secret picnic spot behind the Cthonic Horns. Whatever he says, it is not a replacement for a proper meal and rest. Weariness lines his face and his shoulders have begun to stoop. If he only lets you, you would take half his burden into your own hands, but you know as well as anyone else that your partner has a tendency to drive himself to exhaustion. That he cannot see it himself frustrates you sometimes, but is that not why you are here? 

The enamel clock rings on the counter. You shake out of your reverie, return to the oven, then open the lid. Sweetness pours out in waves of enticing scents. Wearing your mitts, you take the tray out and set it next to the stove. The surface has hardened to a charming golden brown. You’re tempted to taste it but decide against it, instead placing it on a shelf to cool. 

That is the last of it. You’ve laid out the rest of your lunch on the table: stir fried vegetables, grilled salmon, lamb skewers, green salad with sliced apples and smoked chicken, and a pot of light potato and mushroom soup. A crystal decanter of fresh apple juice sits neatly at the center of the table between two identical mugs adorned with gold-painted leaves. Now all you need to do is collect Hermes. 

You exit the cottage through the back door, then climb the slope up to the orchard at the top of the hill. He’s already set a mat on the slope, where a basket is sitting, already filled to the brim. Upon your approach, he pauses mid-apple picking, a natural smile blooming across his handsome features. 

“Ah, you’re here.” He breaks the apple stem from its branch. “Good timing. Here, try this. I think this is the best one yet.” Wiping the apple on his robe, Hermes then pivots it right to your lips, and you unbiddenly take a bite. Cool sweetness fills your mouth with each crunch of the apple flesh between your teeth. You blink in surprise. It is much sweeter than any you’ve tasted at the Horns. The best of the best, as he says and Azem claims. “Delicious, isn’t it?” His smile is too bright for a piece of apple now in your hand. 

As he walks back to the orchard seeking more of the prime specimens, your gaze inadvertently follows him. Dappled sunlight dances along his dark countenance, his black robe stark against the warm colors of the trees. He has taken off his mask, his face a picture of quiet jubilance as he moves from one tree to the next—checking, inspecting, examining, all with that scrutiny that marks every researcher of Amaurot. And when he finds another sample he’s taken with, his jade-colored eyes will crinkle, and he’ll pick the apple off at the stem and offer it to you again. 

Part of you wonders if this has all been Azem’s ruse as no one in their right mind would have any need for such an extensive orchard, let alone one exclusively for apples. But then again, Azem is quite the eccentric amongst Amaurotians. You cannot guess his mind. And does it truly matter? This was the reason why you helped Hermes harvest his first batch and made a pie and juice from it. Now he has a second batch and on the way to filling his third. A wry smile tugs your lips. You finish the apple in your hand and then join him at his side. 

“Look at this,” he says, “have you ever feasted your eyes upon a specimen so perfect, so marvelous in every aspect? The rich red color, the plumpness of its flesh, the way it glints gold under the sun.” Hermes swivels and brings the fruit to the dappled light. Indeed, however he turns it, the apple seems to be layered in gilt. “I must ask Azem how he achieves such magnificent results.”

There it is: the beam that always pulls at your heartstrings—a soft quirk of his lips that instantly erases any signs of fatigue from his face. The way his features contorted into pure rapture the moment the two of you arrived, how the jade of his eyes gleamed as he took in the grazing animals and bountiful trees; extracting him from duty is worth it if it allows you to see his unbridled joy. 

A gentle breeze ruffles Hermes’s hair. You reach up and tuck a stray strand behind his ear. He glances at you and you meet his gaze with a smile. “Lunch is ready. I’ve got lamb skewers, grilled salmon, potato soup. The apple juice from the apples you picked tastes divine, and of course, your apple pie is waiting too—cooling, still, but ready.” That piques his interest and you can’t help but laugh at his childish excitement. 

You mean to let go of his face, but in one swift movement, he has tossed the last apple into his basket and captured your hand.

“Hermes—?” 

His name dies in your throat when a soft sensation presses against the center of your palm.

Time stops. 

You blink once, then twice. Heat rushes to your neck when Hermes looks at you with half-lidded eyes. 

“Thank you,” he whispers. He holds your hand against his cheek and leans against it. 

“What for?”

“For this.” His gaze sweeps over the trees and the firmament and the little cottage with the puffing chimney where his lunch awaits. “For everything. If not for your adamance, I might not have agreed to come on this vacation, averse as I am to leave my work unfinished. But I see you are right. The trip has been worthwhile to replenish the soul.”

One would think the chief overseer of Elpis was a workaholic, and he is, but his ethics come from an earnest love for his creations and the desire to see them thrive. You cannot blame him for his passion, though it would be a tremendous boost if he could only see the pallor of his face or the dark circles under his eyes. For now, it is the only thing you can do to prevent his body from utterly crumbling. The perfect reward: bringing him to the most beautiful place known in Etheirys, recommended by the Traveler himself, where creatures of all shapes and sizes can be seen frolicking in the sea of grass and the high heavens above.

You tug at his hand. “Come, let us get some color back into those cheeks.” 

Hermes trailed behind as the trio stepped out from the halls of the central building and into the open of Anagnorisis once more. Discussions had ended with a desperate plea for more time, time to forestall this choice of stepping into his predecessor's shoes as he left the Star, of continuing this endless cycle. There was a whirlwind sweeping through both his heart and mind alike, one he was all too afraid to lose himself within.

Breathing in the fresh afternoon air, he lingered in silence as the gnawing gale in his chest began to subside. This moment of respite— however brief, was one sorely needed, as for a time at least he could find solace in what was familiar to him. For his sake, for her sake, he must keep his composure.

As if summoned by mere thought, a flurry of blue feathers fluttered towards him, chirping in delight.

"Hermes!"

With a smile, Hermes kneeled down to greet the girl with open arms; arms she happily flew into, "Meteion! I'm glad to see you are feeling better." He wished to thank the familiar for keeping her company as well, but as he turned to do so, he found the air beside her eerily empty, "…Though you appear to be alone now, M'ilque was with you wasn't she?"

"Yes! She wanted to learn more about you and Elpis. So I taught her! About this place. About my power. About your favorite food!" Meteion could hardly contain her excitement, "She's making us apples! Right now. The candied ones!"

Taken aback, Hermes let go as he stood up, "Is that so?" With aether so thin conjuring them wouldn't be possible, which could only mean she'd be making them from scratch.

"I knew letting her wander around unsupervised was a bad idea." Hades sighed as the duo walked over, his arms crossed as they always were, "No matter, with Meteion returned we should continue your evaluation before we lose any more sunlight." He simpered, "Lest you forget, that familiar is in no way associated with us, and what she chooses to do with her time holds no bearing on ours."

Meteion's wings couldn't help but lower, her voice small and quiet, "Is… Is she in trouble?"

Shaking his head, Hermes gently reassured her, "She's alright, my dear. How about you go wait for me by the aetheryte? I'll be with you in just a moment."

In higher spirits, Meteion nodded eagerly before racing down to the plaza, leaving the three of them alone.

"My apologies, but I should attend to this matter." Hermes stated, straightening his mask, "She is a guest of Elpis and was tending to Meteion at my behest, so if something were to happen to her, the fault would be mine alone." A burden I can't bear…

Hades furrowed his brow at the man's insistence, "Surely one of your colleagues could fetch her? She is just preparing a meal, is she not?"

"Come now," Hythlodaeus interposed, "who better to assess the situation than the Chief Overseer of Elpis himself? We'll have plenty of opportunity to observe Hermes' work once he returns," He soothed with a few light pats on the shoulder before leaning close to Hades, a hushness to his voice, "And with her being Azem's creation and all, just when was the last time we've seen Achlys use a stove exactly? If at all?"

Hythlodaeus must've struck a chord as Hades grasped for words before finally conceding, his shoulders sagging in defeat, "Fine, retrieve the familiar yourself if you must— but do be quick."

-

It wasn't long before they arrived, the sweet scent of caramel wafting through the cracked door. There were few facilities in Elpis that housed the proper kitchenware to prepare food — rare that it was for someone to take the time to, rather than expend the feeble aether necessary to create it; it made this all the more curious. Whether Azem's familiar was designed this way or perhaps learned this of her own free will, he wasn't certain, but if given the opportunity he wished to find out.

With no noticeable peril in sight, Hermes slowly pushed open the door and peeked inside. It was a small, quaint chamber, one meant for small gatherings of people, though judging by the dust beginning to gather in the corners, it had not seen use for some time. Nevertheless, Meteion rushed in to cheerfully greet M'ilque whose focus had been fixated on the pot she was stirring— oblivious to their arrival.

"Meteion," She turned towards her with a smile before gazing up towards him, her tail sagging a little, "Hermes, I hope I'm not keeping you from your duties, I would have finished sooner but it took some time to find someone willing to conjure the ingredients I required…"

Hermes dismissed the concern with a shake of his head, walking over to help Meteion with her chair, "When I was told you'd taken to cooking, I wasn't sure what to expect given my fellow colleagues and I's… lack of apparent skill for it." He confessed, his voice lighter, "You however seem rather acquainted with it, so I see my worries were misplaced."

"Is that so?" She questioned quietly, "I've… had much time to practice." Setting the pot to the side to simmer, she slid over to the fresh apples sitting on the cutting board. "Meteion wished to share your favorite treat with me, but no one was willing to make it for her. Whether she was created for that purpose or not matters little to me…"

Arcane entity or living being— the classifications that determined whether a creation was worthy of a purpose in life beyond what they could serve for the further betterment of the Star. Rare, nay, atypical was it that someone thought of them as comparable, let alone equals. Perhaps a viewpoint brought on by the very gray-area she herself seemed to exist within, or perhaps something else— even so the compassion was palatable, refreshing for a change. How strange you are…

"I'm inclined to agree." Hermes spoke carefully, bringing a chair close to sit near Meteion. There was more he wished to say, to explore what thoughts she may have, but not here, not in Meteion's presence. She loved his colleagues dearly; oh how much it would hurt her to learn most did not feel the same. "Thank you for taking the time to make these for her."

"Of course." She answered, a small sway in her tail.

With the blade in hand, she carved into the apple swiftly, effortlessly. Hers was a practiced cut, as if she'd done this many times before.

Once they were all in even slices and moved onto a plate, she slowly drizzled the warm syrup over them with a spoon, "Normally I'd leave these to caramelize for a few minutes before serving, but I wouldn't wish to take up any more of your time…" Pouring the rest of the caramel into a bowl, she joined the two of them at the table, setting the dishes down between her and Hermes.

"Oh, oh!" Meteion's wings fluttered at the sight, much to M'ilque's delight, "They're p-perfect! You'll try one too. Yes?" She asked, looking up to Hermes with pleading eyes.

Hermes was uncertain at first, as though there were plenty on the plate, this seemed to be something intended for the two of them— but those worries were soon washed away when M'ilque offered a slice to him, her hand cupped beneath, "I wouldn't mind, I hope they'll be to your liking…"

"Ah," Hermes relaxed, accepting the treat with a smile, "Thank you, M'ilque."

Taking one for herself, she asked Meteion, "Are you ready?" before sinking her teeth into it with Hermes following soon behind. Ripe as the apples were, the juices dripped out and seeped out and into the caramel, leaving the taste overly—

"Sweet! Sweeter than Euanthe's!"

M'ilque licked the remaining syrup from her lips, "Is that so? I thought you may like them that way." She chuckled a little, turning to the ancient, "What of you, Hermes..?"

"It was rather delicious," He beamed, preparing to reach for another, "far better than the ones I've—" Before he could finish with his praise, she'd swiped a napkin from the table and leaned close to wipe the edge of his mouth.

A simple gesture of goodwill, he thought, though the longer her hand lingered on his warming cheek the more he began to wonder. Soft was the gaze that pierced through his mask, one he was more than happy to be confined to for he wasn't sure what expression he was reflecting under it.

"M'ilque?" He spoke after a while.

It was enough to shake her from the trance she'd seemingly fallen under and back away, "…Forgive me," Her ears lowered apologetically, "You just remind me of someone…"

"It's alright,"

Hermes gently reassured her, his heartbeat still drumming ceaselessly within his ears,

"I'll…

…

be more…

…

careful next time…"

…

..

.

.

.

Again.

Amon groaned, his head buried deep into his arms.

Again was he plagued with these dreams—these memories, vivid and real in the moment and slipping through his fingers the next. For as intangible as they were in the waking world they seemed to have been growing clearer in recent days; to his utter disappointment.

Dull, ignore, excise, none of these methods seemed to rid him of them, so what of a different approach? If avoidance availed him not then perhaps indulgence was the answer he sought?

Or perhaps it wasn't as he soon remembered the reason —beyond his busy schedules— that he rarely partook in this act. Dawning his usual colorful attire, he'd been swift in the markets, purchasing what was needed and avoiding any and all potential conversation. He wasn't in the mood for small talk especially if it pertained to this strange project of his.

And there he stood now, hunched over a burner in his lab with a pot he'd found tucked away in some corner, sanitized for this very occasion. This was tedious, boring, his time would be better spent with his studies or reviewing the countless telegrams he'd yet to tend to that day. But instead he was there, maskless and alone stirring a batch of syrup he was uncertain he'd enjoy.

Though not as alone as he'd like, as he'd felt a pair of eyes resting on him for some time. "I know you're here." He raised his head and called out seemingly to no one, "There's no use hiding, you know. Have you come to make light of my misfortunes?"

After a few long beats of silence the air stirred around him, and there coalesced a being from the darkness,

"I would never do such a thing, I thought this was rather sweet of you…"

An Ascian, she called herself; Azem for a title and M'ilque for a name. It hadn't be long since he'd first found her lurking around in his labs— thanks to Noah informing him of a strange new admirer keeping to the shadows, yet nothing seemed to dissuade her from returning. Not a threat of violence, nor a promise of turning her into a subject of his (if anything, she seemed rather flustered by the proposal) and so she remained— coming and going as she pleases; nary without a word sometimes.

Deep-down, despite these misgivings he tells himself he harbors towards the miqo'te, he found himself enjoying her company more often than not.

"Sweet of me?" He scoffed in disbelief, I must be losing my edge. Turning down the heat of the burner, he tapped the spatula a few times against the rim of the pot before setting it aside, "This is merely an experiment like all the rest, I wouldn't think too differently of it."

Her head tilted curiously, "Is that so?" She questioned, disappearing from his side to re-coalesce on the empty counter, "These are candied apples, are they not? I've heard you muse of them in the past…"

Wonderful. "Of course you have." He set the cutting board beside her, beginning to carve slices out of the apples. Years of practice on subjects of the more lively variety had given him a precise hand; a hand that helped glide through this with ease. It wasn't long before he was pouring the caramel sauce over the slices with a spoon— an awfully inefficient process he thought, but if he'd hoped to recreate what haunted him so thoroughly then it was best to follow those steps to a tee.

M'ilque was quiet, her discolored eyes following his hands every movement. Was such a thing so fascinating to her? Or was she simply a bit peckish? He supposed it mattered not, as regardless of reasoning all experiments needed a willing test subject, and whom better than the one who insisted on being there?

"Here." He offered the plate to her, the slices placed neatly around the surface to form the perfect spiral, "Even if I wanted to, I could not finish all of these alone."

M'ilque was taken aback, her gaze slowly falling from him and onto the dish, "I have no need to eat, I do so very rarely these days…"

Amon's sigh was a weary one. Of all things to protest. "That corpse of yours you cling onto must still retain a sense of taste, albeit dull." Plucking an apple from the plate he held it up to her lips; inviting her to bite. "So why not indulge your cravings every once and a while?"

When worded in such a way she appeared more welcoming of the idea, her ears fluttering low as she drew closer, "If that's what you wish..." She bared her fangs as she sunk them into the treat in his hand. How strangely intimate...

After a few moments she pulled away from him, a delighted flicker in her ears, "These are rather good, would you mind if I had another?"

Amon raised a brow, they didn't seem poisonous at least, "Fond of sweets are you?" He teased, setting the platter down, "Be my guest, as I've said, I cannot finish these alone." And no sooner had the words left his mouth did she pierce one of the poor slices with one of the talons of her glove; something he couldn't help but chuckle at.

Taking an apple for himself he leaned onto the counter, chewing slowly. It was good, his measurements had been correct and there wasn't a flake of burnt caramel to be found— and yet the taste wasn't the same; it could not compare to the one left lingering on his tongue every night. Even so, as his mind was quick to write this off as another failure of his, his gaze fell onto the person before him. This too was like a dream wasn't it? Enjoying these in the company of another? In her company? It was different but oh so familiar, though if they'd met before wouldn't she remember this too? Would such a thing even be possible?

"…Sorry," M'ilque's remorseful voice shattered his thoughts, leaving Amon befuddled at what the sudden apology was for before noticing the once full plate was left with nothing but crumbs, "I may have indulged too much."

Amon's confusion soon morphed into a thunderous laugh, one hardly covered by his hand, "I suppose this is of my own doing, I did insist you feed yourself as you pleased."

M'ilque met his gaze, her head on her shoulder, "I suppose so…" She smiled sheepishly, "Though I'm not sure if they'll be as good as yours, I'll make some for you as an apology…"