#bfabc

One: Back Injury.

“Please, (Y/N). There’s no need for such concern—,” 

You snorted. Gepard currently lay on your florally-patterned couch, his legs propped and an ice pack in between the cushion and his lower back. 

“No way—,” you shook your head. “Natasha taught me a thing or two back in the mines. Would you rather not go to work for a week or not at all, ever again?” You said pointedly. He let out a resigned sigh as you kissed him on the forehead.

“...no more lifting concrete pillars by yourself, ‘kay?” You patted him before rising to make a bowl of porridge in the kitchen.

“...okay,”

Two: Who the Hell is that?

“You’re telling me he’s at gate six?” You asked. 

The Silvermane guard nodded. You’d been eagerly awaiting Gepard’s return from his campaign for ages. And now he was finally here!

You rushed to gate six, nearly bowling over an elderly woman as you ran (oops) when you suddenly slammed into a brick wall—no,

That wasn’t a brick wall. It was a stout man with blonde hair and a beard, about Gepard’s height, funnily enough. You’d have to tell him about this when he got back.

“Whoa—!” You quickly saluted the passing guard. “So sorry, sir! I was just looking for my—by the architects—Gepard???”

You stared at the man—now revealed to be your one and only lover, Gepard. He stared at you quizzically with his stunning blue eyes.

“What in tarnation?” You blurted out. He stood tall and imposing, as per usual, but this time, Gepard had returned with a full fledged beard—sideburns, mustache, the whole package. It shone golden like a lion’s mane, although it was a bit choppy at the edges, like he’d hacked at it with a razor or something similar. 

“Oh gods—Gepard, I’m so sorry! I totally didn’t recognize you!” You apologized hurriedly. “It’s just that—,” 

“Yes… I’m aware,” he sighed. “...I should have cut it before I returned,”

He muttered something about looking like his father before returning his attention to you.

“.You do look pretty good, though,” you chirped out of the blue. Gepard ran a palm over his face.

“...Good to see you too,” he said, raising an eyebrow. You smiled at him brightly.

Three: Dentist

You were exhausted. And for the fourth time that night, you’d been woken up by a strange grinding sound. Yet, no matter where in the room you searched, the source was nowhere to be found.

As you lay, twitching with frustration against your pillow, you heard the sound again. 

You blinked. It almost sounded like it was coming from Gepard?

The next day, when you were eating shaved ice topped with rye bread soda and condensed milk, you had your answer.

“Gah—by the Amber Lord!” Gepard suddenly winced and caressed his jaw tenderly.

“What’s the matter?” You tilted your head. Then, it suddenly clicked.

“Open your mouth,” you demanded.

“Open my—what?” He started. You were in the middle of a restaurant, for Aeons’ sake!

Before he could stop you, you leaned across the table and pried open his mouth.

“Yep. Teeth grinding,” you said matter-of-factly. “Had a friend in the mines who had the same issue—you’re grinding your teeth as you sleep,” you explained.

“I—what?” Gepard blinked in surprise. “My word… no wonder my teeth have been feeling so sensitive recently,” 

He cupped his chin with one hand, a pensive expression crossing his face. “I suppose I should schedule an appointment with the dentist then?”

“Definitely. Before you grind your teeth into dust,” you said through a mouthful of soda iceberg. “So… are you gonna finish that?”

•┈••✦ ❆ ✦••┈•

“Hon, it’s not that big of a deal,” you reassured your husband, who was standing in front of the bathroom mirror with his cheeks puffed like a rabbit. “You don’t look any less handsome with a mouthguard,” you said, slinging your arm over his shoulder. 

You gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before retiring to bed, leaving him frozen stiff in the bathroom as he turned as red as a tomato.

Four: Mr. Cold Feet

You were having a typical day at the flower shop when you noticed a whorl of indigo hair in the rose bushes outside.

You flung open the grilled windows with your galvanized steel watering can still in hand. “Hello? Who’s there?”

The figure, a man dressed in a red jacket and far too many belts, jolted up with a start. “W-who? Well, it’s just good ‘ol Sampo, after all!” He mumbled.

“...why are you in our bushes?” You raised an eyebrow. The man didn’t answer, merely glancing up at you in the window with guilty eyes. Meanwhile, you narrowed yours, reaching for your phone.

“Hi, I’d like to report a suspicious person—,” 

And with that, the man was gone. 

•┈••✦ ❆ ✦••┈•

The next day, the man was back, having obviously not learned his lesson.

“What the hell do you want?” You demanded.

“Shh! Just—just gimme a place to hide! I promise I’ll pay you back, so—,”

“Oh? And who are you hiding from?” You said venomously. “It wouldn’t be… Gepard, would it?”

“Yes, yes—you get it! That big, blonde fellow!” The man—Sampo—pleaded. “So please! Gimme a hand, will you?”

Suddenly, an armored hand yanked him by the collar.

“...oh dear,” he whimpered, before the Silvermane guard captain handcuffed him swiftly and slung him over his shoulder.

Gepard gave you a polite nod as you waved from the windowsill—then proceeded to violently choke on air as you blew him a kiss.

Five: Sick

“(Y/N), are you alright in there?”

Gepard pounded on the bathroom door desperately as he heard you retch. “Y-yup! Good as new in here,” you choked out. You’d caught the flu two days ago and it wasn’t getting any better.

“You certainly don’t sound ‘good as new,’” he pointed out.

No response.

“(Y/N)!” Aeons, why did you have to lock the door? Gepard sighed. He didn’t want to do this, but—

Bang!

The door came off its hinges, sending loose screws clattering to the floor. You were in the midst of wiping your mouth with a rag.

“Gods, Gepard,” you croaked out, exasperated. “I just painted that door!”

“...my sincerest apologies,”

Six: Anniversary 

“...I forgot our anniversary, and by Qlipoth—she was pissed!” A fellow soldier was saying. Gepard suddenly perked his ears at his desk.

Wait, when was your anniversary again? Gepard couldn’t remember.

Right… It was this month. The twenty-seventh? No, the twenty-third? Wait—the twenty-first!

As soon as Gepard figured it out, his heart dropped. The twenty-first was today.

Suddenly, his heart began to race. He was never good with matters of the heart—but maybe you’d been planning it and he hadn’t even realized?? He hadn’t been meaning to go to work, but he had been called in today, and—

Gepard quickly ran back home as fast as his legs could carry him.

“...(Y/N)?” He knocked on the door in rapid succession.

“Eh?” You answered, opening the door. “Gepard, I thought you were at work!” You blinked. “Come in,”

Gepard stepped through the doorway, sweat trickling down his neck. “I am—I just came to the realization that it’s our anniversary today and it unfortunately slipped my mind—I’m truly sorry,” he breathed. “Happy anniversary, dear,” he said, taking your hand gently and pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

Silence.

“Wait… It’s our anniversary?” You suddenly burst out laughing. “Oh, Aeons—I completely forgot! I was just gonna go out for a movie with Vaska—don’t tell me you had something planned!”

He shook his head. You snorted—then eventually devolved into laughter.

“Oh, Gepard! We’re both idiots!” You said between laughs.

Indeed you were.

Seven: The Things You Do

Everywhere you looked in your shared residence, there were traces of your love. You left notes on the kitchen table for Gepard, on days he’d get up so early that you wouldn’t be able to see him. 

Some days, you’d make him breakfast at night so that he could reheat it in the morning before he departed. And on mornings he was particularly noisy, you’d just wear earplugs so he could be as loud and clumsy as he liked, in that bulky armor of his.

And Gepard? He leaves notes on the bathroom mirror. No longer signed G. Landau, but rather, “Your husband, Gepard.” 

He always writes to you on long campaigns, pouring all the love he can’t express in person into his letters.

If you drink coffee, he always leaves the pot on for you so that you have a warm cup in the morning. Some days, you wake up to a tray of breakfast on your bedside table. 

Plus, you noticed you’d been getting injured less often—as he covered the undersides of shelves and cabinets when you’re ducking under them. He always fetches you whatever you need, no questions asked. (Even if he takes forever to text back because of that clunky gauntlet of his.)

And always—when he gets home from work—he always makes sure to give you a tender kiss behind closed doors.

Eight: The End.

A bamboo plant, sitting quaintly on a windowsill. Two bottles of strawberry soda, a flower in each.

A yellow scarf, hung by a hook in the breezeway. 

An unopened packet of porridge on the kitchen counter.

A phonograph, playing soft music in the living room.

A dried bouquet of ball peonies on a desk made of walnut. 

A worn floriography manual, annotated with red and green pen with a loose letter sticking out of it as a bookmark.

And two mugs, each with a toothbrush inside them—two pairs of slippers—two rings—and two figures, dancing on the balcony in the light of the setting sun.

The end.

2025 - Dreaming-of-Mossballs - Do not repost/translate without my permission - NO AI

You’d been feeling awfully smitten as of late. 

Ever since you and Gepard had made it official, it was like a cloud of sparkles had been following you everywhere. Every morning, you woke up with the dumbest of grins on your face—every night, you kicked your pillows off the bed (far too many times for it to be considered acceptable) all while squealing with glee. 

You’d both agreed to keep it on the down low for the sake of your public image, and as to not overwhelm your poor, inexperienced hearts. While the initial excitement had died down a bit, it was replaced with something more… wholesome. More stable. Like a comfortably crackling fireplace instead of an exploding neutron star. Finally, after the Amber Lord knew how long, it was like you two were on the same wavelength. 

On days he wasn’t occupied with military business (and you never minded when he was), he’d call you or send little gifts to your workplace—which made it absolutely crucial you had a pillow nearby to muffle your barely contained screams of happiness. And on your breaks, you’d come up with clever plans of what to do next—such as inviting him over for a horror movie. 

(So you could successfully scare him into your arms, of course.)

“(Y/N),” 

Perhaps you could invite Serval over for lunch on your next day off. There’s no way she’d pass up an opportunity to get more material to tease her little brother with—

“(Y/N)!”

“Whuh?!” Your head immediately shot up.

“Customer!” Vaska called, peeking her head out from the doorway of the storage closet. 

“Oh—,” you hurried over to the counter where a distinguished-looking gentleman stood. His shoulders were as broad as an ox’s—his back—straight as a rod. He had voluminous blonde hair, streaked with grey and white at the roots, as well as a well-groomed beard that grew from his sideburns. 

“Hi, I can help you right here,” you offered. He set a bouquet of marquises on the counter with a loud thunk. “That’ll be 200 shield,”

He handed you the coins and you accidentally caught his gaze. You almost had to take a step back as you realized he had eyes the color of sapphires—you couldn’t help but think that they seemed strikingly familiar.

“This particular item has a mix-and-match offer—buy one, get a different flower bouquet for free! Is there another flower you’d like to pick out?”

He snorted, sending a puff of hot air into your face. “Hah. The marquise is the only acceptable flower,”

“W-well—,” The customer is always right—in terms of taste… you muttered internally as you fetched a pair of shears. 

A few of the other customers were giving you two strange glances, which you thought was odd. What was so special about this old man? They certainly weren’t looking at you, that was for sure, you laughed to yourself.

(Gepard would beg to differ.)

“ —at a common flower shop like this?”

“ —why didn’t he send someone instead?”

You did your best to ignore the whispers as you fastened the bouquet with a gold-colored thread. When you turned back to him, the man had picked up—and was reading—the new “Florist’s Weekly” magazine that your manager had asked (forced) you to produce.

“There you are, sir,” you handed the bouquet to him. But he stood there stiffly, scanning his eyes over the page. Suddenly, he snorted again, causing the nearest patrons to jump.

He turned to you with thinly veiled disgust—though you were sure it wasn’t directed at you. “So… the Silvermane guard captain did an interview for this… flower magazine, did he?”

You nodded, your eyeballs rattling in your head. “Oh yes, he certainly did!” You’d been rather proud about how he’d helped out the Eversummer Florist’s in such a thoughtful way.

“And he did it of his own volition, yes?”

“Erm…” you paused. “He did. Is that odd?” You tilted your head slightly.

The stranger didn’t answer, instead deciding to mutter something about how the captain of the Silvermane guards was a [redacted] and how men these days were getting soft. All you could do was watch, jaw agape, as he strode toward the door with the magazine still in hand.

“Um—sir! You have to pay for that!” You blurted out faster than you could stop yourself. (Printer ink was expensive, after all.)

He turned to look at you—shooting a glare loaded with venom into your eyeballs—before haphazardly tossing some coins onto the counter, which quickly bounced and rolled to the ground before coming to a stop. 

Then, what happened next shocked you.

In a fit of rage, he tore the magazine in half right in front of you. Shreds of paper went everywhere as you gawked at him with your mouth half open. Dropping the tattered magazine to the floor, he spun on his heels and stomped out of the store, leaving a room full of wide-eyed patrons in his wake.

You’d dealt with difficult customers before—but this one was in a whole ‘nother league. Aeons, you hoped you never had to see him again. And if you did, it would be too soon.

•┈••✦ ❆ ✦••┈•

It was too soon.

You’d made a quick stop at the barracks to deliver some flowers and donuts for the guards, courtesy of the rotary club, when you ran into the man again. 

Normally, this was your chance to sneak a glimpse of Gepard at work—running deliveries and such. You’d asked someone if Gepard was in—and he was. Just busy talking to someone, they said. So you decided to wait outside the main office until he had finished up, when you suddenly heard a stern voice.

“I had the misfortune of hearing about a recent interview you did…”

Oh, Qlipoth’s grace! It was him again! You wondered what sort of business he had with Gepard. He’d never mentioned anyone like him before.

“Yes—I was simply repaying a favor,” you heard Gepard reply. “It’s—,”

The unfamiliar man snorted harshly, cutting him off. “What use does a soldier have for flowers? It’s acts like this that bring the Landau family name down, y’hear? I’ve plenty enough trouble dealing with the mess your sister caused as is—so you best get your act together and stop wasting time on such trivial things!” He spat.

You couldn’t see him, but in the silence that followed, you knew Gepard was doing that pained swallow thing he always did whenever he was stressed. 

“I understand…” Gepard said with a resigned sigh as you peeped your head around the corner—then quickly ducked out of sight as the older man stormed out. Then, as soon as the coast was clear, you made your move.

“...heya. Am I interrupting something?” You said as you caught sight of your partner’s knitted brow. 

“(Y/N)—!” He snapped his head up hurriedly from where he was leaning against the desk, his brilliant blue eyes flickering with thinly veiled worry. “Most certainly not. What brings you here today?”

“I came to drop off a little gift for the guards—there’s some doughnuts from the rotary club in the office if you’re hungry,” you said, trotting around his desk to lean on the nearest filing cabinet. “...though I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation with that old guy. What was that about?”

Gepard let out a withering sigh so unlike him that it made you jump.

“That… was my father,” he breathed. “My apologies. I’m sorry you had to hear that,”

“It’s no biggie—it seemed like you had it under control anywa—wait,” your eyes went as wide as teacups. 

“Your father???”

Gepard nodded.

So that explained the resemblance.

Wow… the apple sure did fall far from the tree. If the tree was a grouchy, gnarled old wolfhound, that is.

“...oh! I see,” you responded lamely. “He seems… pleasant. Um. Anywho—has work been going smoothly? No more chainsaws through the fort window, I hope,” you twiddled your thumbs lightly.

Your companion let out a quick burst of air through his nose. “No, no more chainsaws, thankfully. Though Serval’s calls about various outlandish things have grown in frequency,”

You snickered. “Classic. Well, I best get going now, so don’t work yourself too hard, alright?”

Wasting no time padding over, you reached out and took one of his hands, pressing it to your heart before letting it go with a tender smile. A light blush spread across his face—Aeons, how you loved that smitten look he’d get when—

A loud, gruff voice, like bricks being ground down to dust, broke you out of your haze.

“...and just what is this, exactly?”

Oh dear. 

You noticed the footsteps a second too late before the hulking figure of Gepard’s old man reappeared in the doorway.

Stealing a quick, panicked look at your companion, you mentally shuffled through all your options—should you pretend you were brushing dust off his gloves? Act like you were a random stranger hitting on him? Fake your own death?

When you looked at him again, all the color had drained from Gepard’s face.

You quickly realized just how dire the situation was—everything Gepard had ever told you about his father flashed through your head in rapid succession. 

“Um—!” You tried to interject.

Gepard’s father took one slow, threatening step towards you.

“You never told me you were seeing someone… son,” he said, his voice low and dangerous.

“I—I simply never got the chance—,” Gepard started. His voice came out rushed and almost… fearful.

“This is more than a mere transgression, you know,” he spat. “You’re well aware that all potential suitors and suitresses must be thoroughly reviewed by the Landau family, Gepard. I expected better from you,”

You tried in vain to swallow the lump that had made its home in your throat. Every part of your body screamed at you to move—speak—anything. But your feet were rooted to the ground for fear of what Gepard’s father might do to you—or worse—Gepard. So you kept your mouth shut.

“You are to come home effective immediately to sort out this whole mess, son. Or else,”

In a moment of pure, unbridled intelligence, you blurted,

“Wait!”

A beat of silence. Then both men turned toward you, one sweating buckets, the other on the verge of exploding.

“Wait, what?” Gepard’s father said. You straightened your back. It was now or never.

“I’m (Y/N) (L/N), regional manager of the Eversummer Florist’s,” you said, bowing lightly. “A pleasure to meet you, sir—I apologize if we got off on the wrong foot. We simply wanted to keep our relationship under wraps so he could keep his professional life in tow—we never anticipated that it might offend you,” you interjected. 

Perhaps if you could make a good impression, your life would be spared and you’d be let off with a simple slap on the wrist.

The older man suddenly squinted at you, his crow’s feet becoming more pronounced. “(Y/N) (L/N)... say, I’ve never heard of you before. You’re clearly not from Belobog’s upper society. Where exactly do you hail from?”

You pointed to yourself in surprise. “Oh, me? I come from the underground—,”

Wrong move. 

“You’re seeing UNDERGROUND FILTH??” Gepard’s dad practically exploded, slamming his hands on the desk and sending a flurry of papers into the air. Gepard winced as a sheaf of papers whacked him in the face.

“We’re leaving—now,” he glowered. “I leave you to your own devices for one minute and you’re dismantling everything the Landau family stands for!” He roared, suddenly boxing Gepard on the side of the head. A sickening slap reverberated throughout the room..

You shrank backward, eyes wide in horror as the older man began to drag Gepard out of the room by the ear, whose eyes were squeezed shut in pain. Then—before you could even realize what was happening—your feet moved on their own.

“Stop!” You yelled, grabbing the older (not-so)-gentleman by the forearm and tugging backward as hard as you could. But he shook you off like you were a mere flea and began reaching for Gepard again, who was still cupping his ear from the earlier attack. Not on my watch. 

Thwack. Stars lit up your vision as you stumbled backward into the desk. 

Ow… you were expecting that, but it still hurt like hell, you thought, as you staggered to your feet. Something warm and wet trickled down your lip. 

You wiped your chin with your sleeve, and it came away bright red. Blood.

Gepard’s father froze, sapphire eyes wide in shock—that blow obviously wasn't meant for you.

“Bastard,” you hissed. “You’d hit your own son like that??”

A flash of silver and blonde. Then, having recovered from his shock, Gepard was on him in a flash, teeth gritted and blue eyes blazing with years of built-up anger.

“Don’t you dare lay a hand on them!” Gepard bellowed, locking arms with his father like an arctic bear as he held him in place. With the new opportunity, you yelled into the hallway for help, and a few guards hurriedly came to your rescue, tearing the two Landaus apart—still hissing and spitting like a bunch of wildcats—well. At least one of them was.

You covered your ears as Gepard returned to your side, an exasperated expression on his face as his father yelled various insults at the two of you while the soldiers held him back. With a shaky hand, you reached up and rested it on Gepard’s shoulder, your eyes welling with newfound determination.

Your companion’s father wrestled himself out of the grasps of the soldiers to deal one final blow.

“You are no longer my son,” he growled. “My son is dead! You are no longer a Landau, Gepard! Even if I have to tear your name off the family registry with my bare hands—so get out of my sight,”

Gepard took a step back as if he had been punched in the gut. Your eyes widened with horror.

“That’s enough, Lev—sir,” one guard interjected. “It’s best you get going now, before we decide to press charges for property damage,” she said, eyeing the wreckage of the once-neat room from beneath her visor. They led him out of the room, still huffing and puffing as you and Gepard stood rooted to the ground.

Suddenly, you turned to your companion with a frantic look. “Wait… take you off the family registry—? Gepard, you can’t let that happen! Go and tell him you’ll call it off right now—,” you blurted, pushing him towards the door. Tears began to run down your cheeks. You couldn’t let everything he had worked so hard to build go down the drain like this.

To your surprise, Gepard simply let out a heavy sigh and began to pick up shards of a vase that had fallen over during the spat. 

“Gepard—,” you begged.

He put up a hand to silence you, rising to lay the ceramic pieces on the desk. Then, he looked you dead in the eyes.

“(Y/N)... from the moment I became captain… everything that I’d been working for became mine and mine alone,” Gepard said, a steadfast gleam in his eyes as he faced you. “The Landau family might have helped me to where I am today, but that doesn’t change the fact that the honor I’ve earned is purely my own,”

The blonde-haired man took your hands in his own with a determined gaze. “Even… even if I no longer have the Landau clan to call home… I still have the things I cherish the most. My goal—to protect the people until my last breath and serve the supreme guardian to my utmost ability. And I still have my family—Lynx, Serval—and my friends and co-workers—Bronya, Pela, Dunn—,”

He paused for a moment. “...and you. I still have you,”

You sniffled, as you couldn't help but worry about what all of this might entail.

“...the one person I love and care for with all my heart. This relationship—I’ve never had something I’ve treasured so much—kept so close to my heart. And that is why I cannot simply let it go,”

Gepard drew you into a tight embrace—so tight it bordered on suffocating—as he buried his head into the crook of your neck.

“So thank you… for standing up for me,”

And with that, the tears came in a flurry as you sobbed into his arms. Though you couldn’t see it, you could feel his chest heave with each shuddering breath he took. When he finally let go, questions came spilling out of your mouth like a flood.

“What if—what if he pulls some strings and gets the higher-ups to fire you?? What if this doesn’t work out in the end—and it’s all for nothing??” You blubbered endlessly. He ruffled your hair with a quiet smile as he answered.

“That won’t happen. I’ve lived long enough to be sure of it—and as for our relationship? Even if, in the end, it doesn’t work out… I believe it’s time I forge my own path. And you, (Y/N), helped me finally see that,”

Gepard shook his head slightly, scoffing. “I suppose Serval was right after all,” he muttered. 

“Oh, Gepard,” you cried, bonking your head into his arm. “I love you so, so much,”

Even after all the turmoil his father had just caused… Gepard smiled.

•┈••✦ ❆ ✦••┈•

After the whole ordeal had blown over, you were now sitting awkwardly on a park bench outside.

“...Perhaps Serval would let me crash with her in the meantime?” Gepard asked ruefully.

“That sounds like a disaster waiting to happen,” you said flatly, remembering the many, many times you’d had the displeasure of overhearing them converse. 

You took a sip of your lemonade (you’d got it from a vending machine after scrounging underneath it for spare change) and kicked your feet a little. 

“Um… I know this is sudden, and all… but would you want to stay at my place for the time being?” You asked, a hopeful lilt in your voice. “There’s still a lot of empty space… even after I set up all my belongings…”

Gepard froze, his shoulders going as stiff as the cliffs in the snow plains. His blue eyes flickered to you—then something behind you—then you again. “Would you—would you really permit me to do such a thing?”

“Course!” You said cheerfully. “Even if we weren’t… y’know… more than friends, I’d totally let you,” you kicked back and took a long sip of your lemonade, offering it to Gepard, who politely raised an armored hand to decline. “Maybe in the meantime, your pops—Lev, was his name? —will come to his senses and cool down a bit,”

Gepard snorted lightly. If he ever called his father pops, he wouldn’t get off with anything less than boxed ears.

“So… uh. Why don’t we get your stuff before he throws it out a second-story window?” You suggested.

“...that… would be a good idea,” Gepard choked out.

And so the day ended, with a few bewildered passerby reporting sightings of the captain and an unnamed florist sprinting toward the Landau estate at full speed.

2025 - Dreaming-of-Mossballs - Do not repost/translate without my permission - NO AI

The color orange was beginning to nauseate you.

For twelve hours straight you’d sat on the hardwood floors of the florist’s. It was practically torture— your legs had gone numb from the sheer lack of activity as you tirelessly weaved Solarflower crowns for the upcoming festival. And yet, even with all the blood, sweat, and tears you’d put into making them, you were continents away from reaching your quota.

It wasn’t enough to simply make them and be done. Aeons, you wished that were the case. They had to be exquisite enough to make the townspeople gasp after having missed out on the various festivals for years. But you’d miscalculated a hair in your planning and the flower shipment had been two days behind schedule—landing inconveniently on the night before the grand opening.

The town gardeners had truly outdone themselves as not a single Solarflower had wilted during transportation, (Vaska was very pleased), but with as tight of a ship you were running, there was simply no room for mistakes.

Letting out a grieving sigh that made the closest flowers wither, you wallowed deeply in your regret at planning everything to the second. Now you could only watch as your mistakes came back to bite you with unprecedented ferocity.

As of that morning, baskets and baskets of solarflowers had flooded into your workplace, patiently awaiting to be transformed into beautiful garlands. Every time you turned your head the baskets seemed to multiply. Your stomach turned inside out every time you even so much as glanced at them; they served as a constant reminder of just how much you still had left to do.

‘Weave us!’ They all seemed to chant in unison. You gritted your teeth as you averted your gaze for the umpteenth time.

It wasn’t enough to have a busload of baskets, either. To top it all off, they were stacked to the ceiling with the smoldering flowers. If you squinted hard enough it looked like the entire building was engulfed in flames.

Your unfortunate co-workers had to sweep every ten minutes or else the stray petals would get smushed into the floorboards and stain the wood for an amber era. And to make matters worse, there was hardly enough room for the staff to make their way past each other in order TO sweep. A singular footpath connected the second floor to the storefront, which led to the air being constantly saturated with a chorus of “excuse me’s” and “pardon me’s.”

It had been a long standing tradition for the city to give out flower crowns to the people for the Solwarm festival. The thought that such a staple might be missed during the first festival the city was having in five whole years would be ludicrous!

Panic shook every part of your body, but you forced your fingers to still as you twisted the flower stems together over and over again. Resentment rested in your stomach like a bunch of rocks— it wasn’t particularly geared towards anything, but you were certain it had something to do with your whole situation. Then, you remembered just how much your friends had on their plates and you felt guilty for even acknowledging that you might be upset.

When was the last time you’d felt this terrified? Perhaps it was the day the underworld had shut down and you’d lost your job as everyone was left to fend for themselves. Or perhaps, it was when Gepard had nearly died in front of you?

Now, that would be silly, you thought bitterly. This was an entirely different kind of fear— it clung to your back no matter how much you tried to shake it off. It was the terror of failing the expectations placed upon you— the ones that you had placed on yourself, embarrassingly enough. They felt like glaciers upon your shoulders. You tried in vain to swallow the lump in your throat as you tossed another crown on the pitiful pile in the corner.

From somewhere beside you, a faint sneeze broke the silence. Blinking out of your pollen and anxiety-induced haze, you craned your neck towards the source of the sound. A few orange petals drifted to the floor like embers from a fireplace.

“Vaska?” You croaked, not being able to recall the last time you had caught a glimpse of her trademark hazel hair. Your eyes wandered across the sea of oranges and yellows.

“…Vaska?” You called again. Your jaw had begun to tense unconsciously when she finally interjected.

“Over here,” she chirped as she peeked out from behind a colossal pillar of flowers.

“Oh, thank goodness,” you sighed heavily. “I wasn’t sure where you were,”

Vaska tapped her chin thoughtfully, her green eyes glittering in the sunlight like polished emeralds. She seemed to be far more chipper than you; her back was straight and her head was tilted high. You wished you could borrow some of that confidence.

“Little old me? I was looking for the shears. I sent Eleanor to go find them, but we lost her, too,” she told you.

Your mouth dropped open. “What do you mean, we lost her??”

“It’s exactly what it sounds like,” she replied, shrugging. “She went into the storage closet and I haven’t heard from her in a half hour,”

The absurdity of the whole ordeal made you blink in confusion, and then the blinking gave way to nervous, unnatural laughter that struck a note of worry in Vaska. The vases on the desk nearby began to teeter as you buried your face in your hands, your voice breaking stressfully, your nerves finally catching up to you.

“Whoa. Where did that come from?” Said Vaska, peeling off her gloves and stepping closer to you.

You wiped a few tears out of your eyes. Every limb was stained a brilliant, fiery shade of orange with several splotches smeared unceremoniously on your face.

“So… you’re telling me that we’re two weeks behind schedule, we’ve been working at this for half a day with NO BREAKS and we haven’t made HALF of what we need to, and now— and now we’ve lost Eleanor???” You choked out. Each word made your stomach twist painfully.

Vaska eyed you with concern. “Jeez, are you alright? I’ve never seen you this nervous before,” She patted you on the back gently. You sniffled in response.

“I don’t know, I…” you threw your gloves onto the nearest desk. “I think I’m just tired— shoot! I forgot to trim the cinnamon buns and put the rhododendrons in the microwave!” You blurted.

“Ooookay, (Y/N),” Vaska stated. “You’ve officially lost it. Why don’t we take a break?” She offered.

You turned your bloodshot eyes northward towards the flower columns, now looming over you like fingers on an open hand. It would only take a small disturbance for them to come crashing down on you, burying you before you could take your next breath.

A shiver crept its way up your spine.

“Yeah… let’s do that. Before I go completely bonkers,” you acquiesced. “I thiiink I’m starting to see things,” you admitted.

As soon as you both had made it out of the door of the flower shop with doughnuts wrapped in parchment paper, your legs folded from the exhaustion. You and Vaska plopped down on the stairs with a hefty sigh. There was a brisk chill in the air, along with faint notes from a nearby person playing guitar, the sunlight a warm respite on your faces as you gazed skyward.

After a brief moment of quiet, you said:

“Should we just give up?”

The brown-haired girl turned slowly to gawk at you.

“Give up??” She demanded. Her doughnut fought to stay on her lap as her body teetered in shock.

“Yeah, I mean— the way things are going, it would be impossible to make enough crowns for the opening ceremony tomorrow,” you stated, taking a bite of the airy dessert. “All these days of preparation— organizing forms, buying decor, posting flyers— only to come up short when it really matters,”You sighed, staring down at the dull stone bricks below.

Your eyes were bone dry from keeping them pried open morning and night. “Truth be told, I don’t really know what I was thinking,”

Vaska set her doughnut down on the stairs beside her.

“Well, that’s no way to think!” She asserted. “Er… I get that you’re nervous ‘cause you just got promoted and all and you want to do your best— that’s just the way you are!”

She gripped your hands and held them firmly.

“But,” she continued. “You don’t have to kill yourself over a few flower crowns. Everyone at work looks up to you and they know you’re trying as hard as you can,” Vaska tapped you on the arm playfully. “I would know. I was the exact same way when I first started,”

Your lips curved upwards slightly as you felt your heart begin to beat again. Suddenly, the weight of your head pressed up against Vaska’s shoulder.

“Thanks,” you murmured. “You have no clue how much I needed that,” you confessed.

She let out a hearty chuckle. “Yeah? Well, I wasn’t going to take a defeat speech from someone who hasn’t slept in the last thirty-two hours,” she said while dusting the crumbs off of her face.

“Okay, whatever,” you snorted. Whacking her lightly on the head, you let out a small laugh. “I’m sure you just want to get back to your book,”

“You’re not wrong,” she said as she shot a sly glance off to the side.

“Ugh,” you groaned, returning to the topic at hand. “Why can’t they just make the crowns themselves? That would make life so much easier,”

“Yeah, why don’t they? I haven’t been to my favorite coffee shop in forever and I’m dying of withdrawal,” Vaska grumbled.

She pondered for a few seconds before speaking. “Why couldn’t we hire some last minute help?”

“I don’t think our budget has any more room,” you mused. “Meg might have us executed,”

“That’s true,” Vaska murmured. “Why don’t we turn it into some kind of activity? That way people can make the crowns themselves?” She planted one arm on her waist thoughtfully.

“Wait… that’s genius!” You gasped. “Why didn’t we think of that earlier?”

Your co-worker smiled as you were filled to the brim with energy once more.

“People love giving gifts that they’ve made,” you thought out loud. “That way, we only need to make enough to attract people to our stand!”

You threw yourself at Vaska with open arms, giving her a warm embrace. “Oh Vaska—,” you sniffled, squeezing her even tighter. “—you’re a lifesaver,”

“I’m merely doing my job as your senior co-worker,” she grinned. Brushing off her tunic, she crumpled up the parchment paper that had held her doughnut, and tossed it into a nearby waste bin. “Now, let’s go see what the others have to say,”

On your way into the foyer, you felt something catch your leg and send you tumbling to the floor. You were clawing your way to your feet using a nearby dresser when you heard a muffled, but familiar voice coming from a pile of flowers close in proximity.

“Help me… Please…” it said weakly.

You and Vaska both exchanged glances.

“…I guess we found Eleanor,” You said.

•┈••✦ ❆ ✦••┈•

“Citizens of Belobog,” a voice rang out across the plaza. “May I have your attention please?”

Every pair of eyes in the vicinity swiveled towards the loudspeaker on top of City Hall and not long after, excited murmurs began to bubble up from the crowd.

“The 7th Council of the Belobog Administrative District is pleased to announce that the Solwarm festival is about to begin!”

Cheers and applause followed from the attendees dotting the square.

Gepard couldn’t recall the last time this many people had gathered to celebrate— during previous years, the festivals had been postponed or cancelled altogether due to the growing threat of invasion.

But today, citizens from all walks of life had arrived, from the underworld and Administrative District alike. Smiling faces replaced where drained and hopeless expressions had once been. And no matter where Gepard turned, he could hear mirthful cheers resounding from every direction.

The young captain moved his gaze from the brochure you’d given him to the citizens scampering about like mice, taking in all of the sights like priceless treasures. As streamers and confetti twirled through the air and multicolored banners waved on high, he felt a smile tug at the corners of his lips.

Some stores were even taking the opportunity to recruit new employees. It gladdened the young noble to see such growth in a city that had once been stagnant with fear.

“So… what would you like to do first, Captain?” A lady with flat purple hair, spectacles, and rather short stature— spoke up. Pela, the intelligence officer of the Guards, straightened her hat elegantly.

“Are you feeling famished? There’s a suncake stall by the monument,” she lightly tapped her chin with her pen. “Or, perhaps we could watch the play on Main Street instead?”

“I’m not feeling peckish, but I appreciate the sentiment,” Gepard replied. Although the captain was turned in her direction, Pela could tell his focus was somewhere far away.

“Well, let me know if anything crosses your mind,” she offered. “I’m just here to make sure you aren’t pushing yourself too hard after your… injury,”

The young noble rubbed the badges on his chest absentmindedly. “Why don’t we stop by the Florist’s first? I heard (Y/N) was running a booth there,”

“Sure, whatever makes you happy, Captain,” Pela said curtly. A smirk crossed her face, but she quickly concealed it by clearing her throat with a serious expression.

Gepard had hardly taken two steps when a young boy of three to six whizzed by him and began banging on his shins with closed, chubby fists.

“Ge tad!” The child babbled. He had brown hair and wore a newsboy’s cap that was on the cusp of falling off of his head.

The captain’s spine went as stiff as an iron pole.

“GE-TAD!!!” He yelled again.

“Little Beck! Why, I oughta—,” said a flabbergasted voice. Firm arms wrapped around the child and drew him back, away from the stunned Gepard.

The boy merely giggled and wrenched himself out of his father’s grasp, bumbling towards the young noble once more with frightening determination.

“So sorry about him, he doesn’t know better,” the father sputtered. His voice sounded familiar, but Gepard couldn’t get a clear look at his face— the man seemed to be avoiding his gaze, covering his eyes with the brim of his hat.

“That’s quite alright,” the captain replied, an air of confusion about him. He stared with wide eyes as the child cooed and wobbled about happily.

“Ethan! What in the name of the Preservation are you doing?!?”A woman, holding three suncakes in one hand and a bouquet of flowers in the other, elbowed her way through the crowd.

“I leave for three minutes and Little Beck is already causing mayhem. Just what am I going to do with you two??” She snapped, pinching the bridge of her nose.

And thus she began chewing her husband out in front of the crowd. Words poured so quickly from her mouth that it made Gepard dizzy with confusion.

While the husband was busy getting scolded, Little Beck toddled off once again. The young captain spotted him wobbling towards the tram line and snapped him up in a panic.

Gepard’s jaw clenched so hard he thought it might snap as he grasped the child by his ribs. Little Beck was so small— so absolutely minuscule— that it made Gepard tremble increasingly with each passing second that he had to hold him.

“Ge-pa!” The little voice came again, ringing like little bells. The boy’s hands reached up towards him, grabbing desperately towards the captain’s towering figure.

Gepard bit his lip, clearly at a loss. Pela stood a few steps behind him with her hands behind her back— her eyes clearly brimming with curiosity.

“Um… what did you say your name was again?” Gepard said, shooting the child a nervous glance. He knew very well what his name was, but the time was passing excruciatingly slow as the parents argued.

“—‘ittol Beck!” The child squeaked.

“Really? That’s quite a strong name,” the captain responded. “I’m sure you’ll be a brave young man when you grow up… so remember to keep eating well, understood?”

The child beamed at him and began to wriggle his entire body like a nest of bees that had just been pelted with a rock. Gepard gulped and set him down hurriedly, lest he drop the kid by accident.

The boy took off towards his parents, who had since stopped arguing and were looking onward with shock plastered on their faces.

Gepard gave them a small wave as Little Beck grabbed both their hands, smiled, and walked off in a different direction— hopping every step of the way.

“You handled that quite well, I think,” Pela’s voice resounded, snapping Gepard out of his stupor. The sunlight reflecting off her glasses made her eyes glint with the guile of a snow fox.

Gepard’s lip curled in embarrassment— so slightly that the change was barely visible— but he thanked her nonetheless.

•┈••✦ ❆ ✦••┈•

“Captain Gepard! It’s really him!” A shout came from beside him that nearly blew Gepard’s eardrums off.

Oh, by the Architects, he sighed to himself. He hadn’t so much as gotten to smell the flowers before someone had spotted him. The captain tilted his head towards the origin of the voice, his eyebrows furrowed slightly.

Wooden crates and window boxes filled with blooming flowers smiled cheerfully at him in the warm sunlight. Folding tables laden with trimmed flowers were being manned by the Eversummer Florist’s staff in their green berets and uniforms— hard at work— but he had yet to find who he was looking for.

He slowly got up from where he was kneeling on the cold stone street. “If you’ll excuse me,” he started, just barely keeping the exhaustion out of his voice. “While I appreciate the support, I’m currently off-duty, so there’s no need to—,”

He was met with a toothless grin from a girl with umber skin and glossy, braided black hair. She wore a white blouse and trousers which suited the rapidly changing weather, and on her arm hung several loops of bright orange flowers.

A few members of her family had begun to crowd around her. Pela, on the other hand, had bumped into Lynx and had swiftly forgotten about her supervising duties, so Gepard was left all alone to deal with the citizens— but he decided could hold himself together for a bit.

It was a trivial price to pay for the privilege of defending Belobog, after all.

Unexpectedly, the girl tentatively strung one of the garlands off of her elbow and presented it to him.

“May I?” She inquired.

The captain blinked at the girl, practically beside himself with confusion. He held out his arms to receive it but she simply pursed her lips and shook her head at him in response.

Finally struck with the realization, he nodded— bowing his head so that she might place the ring of flowers on him. By this point, more and more people had begun to coagulate around him like stones at the bottom of a riverbank.

The girl with braided hair lifted the crown over her head and tentatively placed it on Gepard’s own.

The ring of orange flowers rested comfortably against his temples, giving off a pleasant warmth. Gepard’s skin prickled at the unexpected cheering that followed.

What followed suit was something he could only describe as completely and utterly bizarre. One by one, members of the crowd followed in the little girl’s footsteps, adorning him with wreathes that hung on his figure like vines that complimented the medals on his uniform.

In that moment, all Gepard could do was turn pink as the applause grew to a thundering volume. He gazed at the crowd with astonished blue eyes, shining with so many words he could only leave unspoken, as he hadn’t yet the means to articulate them.

“Woo! It’s our captain!” He heard one person holler.

“Thank you for everything you do, sonny,” came the raspy voice of an elderly woman. His eyes lit up as he recognized the woman whose groceries he had carried few months prior—,

The day he’d met you.

As warmth suddenly flooded his body like liquid sunlight, he knew exactly what he had to do.

Gepard nodded to each and every person gratefully, feeling like his heart was about to burst. All of those nights, camped out in the snowy wastelands, it was all for this.

He wished that these people grinning in front of him may never have to worry again.

“Wow,” your voice rang. “I came to see what all the ruckus was about. Should’ve known it was you, Gepard!”

The moment you said his name, Gepard felt his heart swell twice as large. Your voice reached his ears like a twinkling melody, reminding him of wind chimes swaying after a gentle breeze.

The crowd parted to let you through, their heads craning curiously at the new arrival. Every step you took dripped with confidence as you smiled at him, a smile so warm and inviting. It brought him back to the sound of the hearth crackling warmly in his home when he was younger.

Your eyes shone as you stood, your back straight with your hands tucked neatly behind you. You were concealing something behind your back that made the nearest spectators gasp and whisper, but the captain was far too preoccupied to inquire as to what it was.

The captain willed himself to speak, but everything he wanted to say was crowding into his brain at the exact same time. It felt like an Amber Era had passed since you had last seen each other, making his chest twinge with longing.

Calm yourself, Gepard, he chided himself. You’re a Landau, for Qlipoth’s sake!

No matter how he tried to subdue his beating heart, the blood roaring in his ears was incessant like the gears of an automaton spinning rapidly.

“H— ahem,” he cleared his throat with a clenched fist. “Hello, (Y/N). It’s nice to see you,”

“Hi,” you smiled. “I see you’re finally out of the hospital!”

You tried in vain to keep the tremors out of your voice. The last minute plan you and Vaska had come up with was weighing on your mind, and even more so in your hands as you held the fruits of that decision, carefully, as to not crush the fragile gift.

“That’s correct,” he breathed, lightly scratching at the back of his neck. Something about him reminded you of a field mouse as his eyes darted around.

You wondered, if you made eye contact with him, would he burst into flames?

“Was this your doing? The flower crowns, I mean— I haven’t seen them in years,” he asked. He attempted to swallow the stubborn lump forming in his throat. The crowd, although still present and watching, had faded into a blur of color in his peripheral vision by this point.

“That’s right,” you parroted. “I pulled an all-nighter just to plan this thing!” You chuckled lightly with a momentary glance at the ground. You twined your fingers tightly around the secret hidden behind your back.

“An all-nighter?” Gepard inhaled sharply. “I hope you’ve been getting enough sleep as of late. Rest is important for someone who works as hard as you,” he stated.

He cursed himself internally. Why was the first thing he resorted to a lecture?!?

That’s rich… coming from you, you raised an eyebrow at him.

“I have, I swear—,” you waved a hand dismissively. “—although, maybe not exactly all at once,” you said with a crooked smile.

“BUT—,” you cut in before Gepard could say anything. “I took a Power Nap this morning AND I had a sandwich! I could fight Nanook if I wanted to,” you said with a burst of confidence. But your thumbs betrayed you, twiddling nervously behind your back.

“J-just had a lot going on recently, planning for the festival n’all, you know? Haha…” you muttered.

Gepard sighed.

“Your questionable sleep schedule aside,” he said. “I was wondering, would you like to take a walk around the festivities with me? I understand more than well you’ve been busy with work and the like, but—,”

Pela and Lynx let out two quiet gasps in unison from where they had been eavesdropping.

“I think that sounds lovely,” you answered, lips curling into a smile. “I’ll go tell the others I’m taking my break now,”

Gepard almost broke into song.

“Why don’t we get some food first? Have you eaten yet?” You asked.

You silently slipped whatever you had been holding into your open messenger bag, contemplating its use for a later time. He shook his head “no”.

You made your way to a food stall and snatched two complimentary suncakes, which were piled atop one another in heaping mounds. Covered in parchment paper in a neutral tan color, the smell of the delightful suncakes tickled the captain’s nose.

Gepard took a bite and pleasant warmth spread across his mouth, as bits of the flaky pastry rained down on his collar.

They were just as delicious as he remembered, but he was more interested in seeing how you would react.

The captain glanced down to see you cramming the suncake in your mouth without the slightest bit of abandon. It nearly caused him to take a step backwards in surprise.

“Mmmf!” You said, your mouth stuffed to the brim with dessert. “Thish ish so delicious!”

Taking another huge bite, you shook yourself to make sure it wasn’t a dream, and hummed loudly with delight.

Without another word, Gepard went back to the stall and grabbed two more.

“Thanksh, Gep,” you mumbled. “Haven’t had much to eat all day,”

He blushed slightly at your thanks as you polished off the desserts. Unfortunately, in your quest to demolish the pastries, you’d ended up with crumbs sticking all over your uniform. You licked your lips, which were sticky with sugar.

Dusting off your tunic, you felt a finger tap you lightly on the back. When you spun around, Gepard was there to greet you, holding a foldable wet wipe in between his fingers.

Wow… he’d make a great husband, you thought as you glanced sideways at him while dabbed your cheeks lightly with the wet wipe. A sly smile flickered across your face for a second.

“So, what would you like to see first?” You inquired, sidling up to him casually, your smirk returning.

“Anything is fine, as long as you’re here,” he replied, his eyes seemingly locked onto something in the distance. No matter how much you stared at him, he wouldn’t budge.

“How about we go to your old workplace?” You proposed, seeing if you could elicit a reaction from him.

Cadet school?? Gepard thought, his jaw stiffening. If he ran into any of his old superiors, they’d have a myriad of embarrassing stories that he would never live down.

“Er— could you repeat that?” He asked.

“The History and Culture Musem, of course!” You chirped. “They’re running a stand with limited-time merchandise today!” You said, pointing in the direction of the old building.

“Why, of course,” he blurted, his cheeks turning bright pink. “That’s what I thought you meant,” he said before setting off at a brisk pace, motioning you along.

Gee, he sure is energetic today, you mused as you trotted a few steps behind him.

And so, you visited the museum’s stand and perused the various items it had to offer.

You ended up buying a few trinkets (like a vintage poster of the Engine of Creation), each of which were wrapped safely in tissue paper and placed into gift bags. After that, you ended up touring the various tents nearby which sold things like cutting boards, clothing, antique items— anything you could possibly fathom was being sold there.

Eventually, you made your way to the play being shown in the central plaza. The portable stage lights shone like miniature suns that illuminated the actors and actresses.

The play itself was remarkably well done, but the ending where the lovers ran away from their oppressive parents to live in happiness was slightly overdone, you added internally.

While the cast members were lining up to take their final bow, you thought you heard sniffling from somewhere next to you.

Your eyes widened to the size of dinner plates when you saw that Gepard— leader of the Silvermane Guards— had tears streaming down his face.

He was hiding his eyes with his bicep, but you could clearly see his Adam’s Apple bobbing as his chest heaved.

“Gepard— are you—,”you trailed off.

Your mind went as blank as a screen as you stared at this titan of a man, who was hunched over with tears dripping messily down his face.

The captain merely stifled a sob at your question.

Without a second thought, you fished deep into your pockets, pulled out a handkerchief (adorned with cheerful yellow roses, of course), and held it out to Gepard. He took it and wiped his tears from his red cheeks frustratedly.

“Er… why don’t we go sit down somewhere?” You suggested, politely averting your gaze from him.

He obliged, and you both trotted over to a nearby bench. Trying your hardest not to show the complete and utter shoc enveloping your whole body, you stared intently at the banners hanging from the streetlights decorated with metallic gold trim.

Although, you couldn’t help but shoot him a concerned glance every once in a while.

You waited a few minutes, occasionally rubbing his back in strained silence, before finally piping up.

“Feeling better now?” You gave him a gentle smile as Gepard lifted his head, those sparkling blue eyes coming into view once more.

“Yes…” the captain sniffled. “My apologies, the play was just so incredibly moving,” he paused for a moment to rub his swollen eyes with his knuckles.

You gave him a reassuring look.

“I’m just glad you liked it that much!” You let out a comforting laugh.

The captain let out a startled grunt as you slapped him heartily on the back. “If you shed tears over it, that means it was good, right?” You added.

Letting out one last sniffle, he bobbed his head curtly and a soft sigh ghosted past your lips.

You had never seen him like this— his underbelly so completely and openly exposed. Part of you felt almost… lucky, if that was the right word. To be able to see the captain of the Silvermane Guards being so vulnerable was quite a wonder to behold.

You were lightly patting his shoulder once more when you suddenly spotted the red and yellow stripes of the shooting gallery stand out of the corner of your eye.

“Um… maybe checking out the shooting range would help take your mind off of things?” You recommended. He agreed, and you led him to the stand by tugging on the sleeve of his uniform, sliding onto the stools in front of the counter.

Placing your bag carefully on the ledge, you had the liberty of sneaking a quick look at your companion. He had since stopped crying and now had his usual stern expression on his face, but if you were peered closely enough, you could see that his eyes were a bit more red than normal.

There was one staff behind the counter, a man in his thirties with dirty blonde hair that tapered down his neck. He had eyes the color of roasted coffee beans and he wore a striped vest (that matched the pattern on the tent to a “T,”) over a white dress shirt. The man looked somewhat surprised to see Gepard there, but he said nothing, simply giving you both a friendly, but almost theatric smile.

“So, what’ll it be today, folks?” He asked, planting his hands on the stained wooden counter. “It’s a lovely day to try your luck!”

“Two games, please!” You told him.

The staff reached under the counter and pulled out two muskets and a box of corks.

As he wiped the muskets with a cloth showily and placed them in your hands, he made a bit of small talk over the lively chatter in the background.

“Are you two lovebirds enjoying the festival?” He inquired. Your heart jumped in your chest as you scrambled to respond.

You simply gave him a nervous laugh, glancing at Gepard, who seemed to be preoccupied with loading the corks into his musket with a frown. “Oh! We really aren’t—,”

“Ah, I see. My mistake,” he said hurriedly.

“I wouldn’t mind, though,” Before you could stop yourself, the words slipped out of your mouth.

Gepard was still inspecting the musket without a hint of suspicion— thank Qlipoth— but the stall owner’s eyebrows rose knowingly. You hurriedly loaded the corks into your musket hoping you could cover up your frankly, impressive blunder.

Oh Aeons, you wanted to throttle yourself right at that counter. But you forced yourself to ready your aim— perhaps that would give you something else to focus on.

“Get ready to eat my dust,” you taunted your companion. From where he was sitting, you could see Gepard’s mouth twitch into a slight smile.

Unfortunately, for all your boasting, your aim turned out to be complete rubbish. You had pointed your barrel at a rectangular box of caramels— it had seemed like a fairly easy target— but the corks kept flying too high or too low.

Gepard, on the other hand, was a force to be reckoned with. With a carefully trained eye from years of military experience, he managed to knock down an envelope of chocolates and two stuffed bear keychains in less than a minute. Your companion turned beet red as the stall owner dropped a few praising comments.

“That aim of yours is incredible!” You grinned, punching him in the arm lightheartedly.

“It’s nothing special, really,” Gepard replied. His ears remained bright pink as he avoided your gaze. “It just takes practice in order to shoot it the right way,”

“Is that so? Then why don’t you show me how it’s done?” You said slyly.

“I’d be happy to,” Gepard responded. He raised a finger to signal the staff to set up another game, and as he got things ready, he slid off his barstool to stand a few steps behind you.

“What would you like to aim for?” He asked. You scanned the shelves and pointed to a red and white bag that seemed easy enough to get.

“Here,” he said. “I suggest you try tilting the barrel up a bit. The corks come out a little slow, so gravity has more time to pull on them. Your shot may end up being too low,”

Gepard hand hovered down the length of your forearm, then clasped your wrist lightly and tilted the barrel a few degrees upwards.

“Now, look straight down the barrel and use it as a guide to where you’re aiming—,” You did as he instructed, channeling all of your focus into your eyes. Every hair on your body stood on end as you squinted intensely at the shelves. “—now shoot,”

Inhaling sharply, you curled your finger inwards and pulled the trigger. The cork whizzed out of the barrel and hit the prize dead center, knocking it off the shelf and sending it tumbling to the ground.

You jumped out of your seat in disbelief at and the manager smiled, depositing the prize, which was a bag of caramel popcorn, directly into your hands.

“I did it!!” You said, waving your arms around in astonishment. “No way!” You flashed him a smile that made his breath freeze in his throat.

“Congratulations,” Gepard said, fighting his enchantment by patting you lightly on the shoulder.

Shoving your hard-earned trophy into your bag, you sped off towards a few other carnival games, with Gepard in tow behind you. You went apple bobbing first— you shoved your head into the basin without abandon, sending water cascading over the sides. Gepard took a more delicate approach, but his bangs kept dipping into the water and sticking to his face. You stifled a laugh as he resurfaced with a spluttering cough.

Next, you decided to enter a rubber duck race. You selected a green duck decorated with white flowers from the various ones lined up at the booth. Gepard chose one that had armor like a knight— its tiny duck eyes could be seen peering out from under its visor.

Out of the hundreds of duck racers in the canal, yours came in 7th, winning you a colorful spinning top, but Gepard’s was less fortunate— his got crowded out by the other ducks and failed to make it past the finish line.

“Cornelius! Surely you won’t lose in such a disgraceful manner!” Gepard had ordered while planting his hands on the railings lining the canal. You had peered up at him, your eyes practically bulging out of your head.

“You named your duck Cornelius?” Your jaw dropped as you locked eyes with him.

Shame was apparent in his blue eyes as he stared back at you, rubbing his temples.

“Yes—,” Gepard replied, averting his gaze. “I thought a strong name might compel him to victory, but it appears I was mistaken,”

“Huh. Why didn’t I think of that?”You pondered, chewing on your bottom lip. As you fished into the canal to grab your lucky duck, you were struck with a bolt of inspiration.

“I hereby dub you… Galaxy Destroyer!” You announced, proudly raising your rubber duck into the air. It looked at you with beady black eyes that seemed to gaze with pride.

Now, it was Gepard’s turn to stare. But his confusion quickly dissipated as the voice of another vendor caught his attention.

“Come one, come all!” A group of students wearing miners uniforms hollered.

“Test your strength with this brand-new machine from the underworld… the Punchatron 3000!”The leader of the group yelled. He stood atop the wooden platform, and you recognized him as Raymond, a fellow miner who you’d gotten into a quarrel with a few times in the past.

Below the platform, a sizeable crowd had already gathered, whispering to each other with excited smiles.

Gepard, on the other hand, was eyeing the main event— a device that looked like nothing the captain had ever seen before.

It looked like one of those antique slot machines, open at the side to reveal rotating gears and hissing pipes. A reel with numbers on it was displayed on its front side while sandbag hung from a bar to the side of it.

“That looks fun. Why don’t we give it a go?” You suggested to Gepard.

You motioned to Raymond with a flick of your hand, narrowing your eyes as you saw a flash of recognition in his. But he wasn’t one to stop you— he simply helped you step up onto the platform while Gepard watched from afar.

You eyed the machine up and down— the handiwork looked shoddy, but you shouldn’t have expected anything exemplary from Raymond, after all.

As you wound your arm in a circle, you took a deep breath and gave the sandbag the best punch you could muster. The bag was launched backward at an incredible speed, but since it was anchored to the pole, it swung wildly in an arc instead.

The numbers on the counting reel spun rapidly at first, and then gradually slowed down to land on a sizable 658. With a self-satisfied smile, you decided that was enough and stepped down. And after a few more people tried their luck, you were able to persuade your companion to try out the machine.

“C’mon,” you had goaded him with a grin. “Show them what the captain of the Silvermane guards can do,”

The crowd erupted into wild cheers as he stepped up to the plate, flexing his armored wrist back and forth. When he reached the machine, he gave his arm one final shake, dispelling any tension left over.

“THAT’S SO HOT,” you heard one female citizen holler above the noise. Laughter erupted from those in closest proximity to the voice.

The captain took one step backwards, wound his arm up with all of his might, and slammed his fist into the sandbag so hard that it blew the hats of the nearest spectators clean off. The numbers on the wheel started spinning and spinning and spinning until the machine suddenly started to tremble, smoke pouring out of its pipes.

A few gears fell off bounced off the pavement— rolling on their sides until they unceremoniously fell flat— and then you heard the telltale hissing sound that something was about to explode. The crowd seemed to have heard it too, as they were shooting each other nervous glances.

“Get down!!” You shouted at the people around you through cupped hands.

Gepard raised his arms in front of his face in a protective stance and braced himself, as the entire crowd covered their heads with their hands. You heard the sizzling and hissing intensify— and then, as quick as it had started— it stopped.

The relief that the crowd felt was papable. As the tension finally dissipated, the employees rounded up every last one of the spectators and sent them off. Then, they took the machine off of the stage and placed it onto a nearby metal cart with wheels.

“I think that’s enough action for today,” you said, resting a hand on the captain’s shoulder, who was pinching the bridge of his nose so hard you thought it might leave a mark.

“Oh dear,” You remarked. “I was hoping to relieve you some of your headaches, not cause more of them!” You said, exasperated. You fiddled with your hands, feeling yourself wilt slightly.

“No need to fret about it,” the captain replied as he turned back towards you. “I’m simply feeling a bit of guilt about damaging their hard work, that’s all,”

His blue eyes shone with remorse, but the rest of his features remained frozen.

“Oh, are you talking about the machine?” You asked, your eyes brightening again.

“Don’t worry about it. Underworld stuff is usually held together by a few screws and a dream… just think of it like you’re doing quality testing!” you smiled, occupying yourself by brushing the wrinkles out of your tunic.

When you looked back up at him, the captain didn’t seem to be too convinced.

“Well,” you continued. “When you slip and fall, it’s like you’re quality testing gravity, right?”

The captain scratched his head.

“That’s… quite a peculiar way of putting it,” Gepard replied, raising an eyebrow.

You stuck your tongue out at him.

•┈••✦ ❆ ✦••┈•

When you returned to the stall, Vaska was sitting on the steps by the Eversummer Florist’s entrance. She shot you a triumphant smile as she saw you approaching and hurriedly set down her book on the nearest table.

How’d it go? She mouthed silently as the two of you grew closer. You shot her an inconspicuous thumbs-up from behind your back, running your fingers over the zipper of your bag like a ritual.

Now was your time to act on the plan you and Vaska had made. The whole day had built towards this very moment! You kept rehearsing what you were going to say, over and over like a mantra. You felt like exactly like a tiny garden snake poised to strike. But you unexpectedly made eye contact with Vaska, and all your resolve went out the window.

She looked at you.

You looked back at her.

She blinked.

You couldn’t take it anymore. You sprinted towards her just in time to feel your stomach turn inside-out. But you were practically beaming as you collided— she grasped you by the hands and started hopping up and down excitedly— so quickly that her eyeballs were beginning to shake.

“Did you do it?? Did you ask him—,” she whispered with gleaming eyes.

“No, no! That’s not what I’m doing!” You hissed indignantly. “I’m just giving him a gift for being my… friend,” you fibbed.

You slapped your palm over your forehead. Even a child wouldn’t believe that!

You had to clamp your cheeks with your hands before another cheesy smile made its way to your face. Your body felt lighter than a bunch of balloons, about to lift off at any moment.

Clearing your throat, you explained it to her. “I kept getting nervous… so I couldn’t,” you glanced at your shoes shamefully.

“What’s the matter? It’s just a gift, right?” She asked.

“Yes. But also, no,” you groaned. “What do I do?!?”

Vaska opened her mouth to respond, but eyes suddenly flicked into the distance. “Oh, look. He’s leaving,”

“WHAT???” You blurted, whirling around. Gepard, who was still standing in the exact same spot, looked at you quizzically. A clumsy bumblebee smacked into his left pant thigh before veering off to look for another flower.

You had to cover your mouth to keep yourself from bursting out laughing.

“You’re the worst liar in Belobog,” you sputtered as you turned to face her again. “I cannot believe you just did that!”

You shoved the bag of caramel popcorn you had been holding into her hands teasingly. “Fine. I’ll show you,” you declared, pounding a fist to your chest.

You spun on your heels and strode confidently towards him but truthfully, you were anything but confident. Your heart was ricocheting off of every organ in your body, making you feel sick with nervousness.

There were so, so many people around. You squeezed your eyes shut, ordering yourself to only think of them as Solarflowers.

Gepard was studying the bamboo display you had set up with great interest, his gaze focused intently.

SOLARFLOWERS. They’re all just Solarflowers, you scolded yourself.

As the passerby faded into blobs of color, you breathed a sigh of relief, your eyes focusing in on him— his blonde hair shone like strands of gold in the sunlight.

Well, here I go, you thought, swallowing thickly with one last burst of self-encouragement.

You quickly undid the zipper on your bag and fished into the cavity.

Aeons, oh Aeons, please let it be there, you prayed.

Gepard, his eyes now trained on the window boxes on display, was none the wiser. A few pots of ball peonies sat nearby that hadn’t quite bloomed yet, but you decided it was sufficient.

Mission secret confession, here goes, you thought.

He turned around slowly when you called his name; it felt like liquid sugar rolling off your tongue.

Your feet stood rooted to the ground below you as you held it out to him, it being a bouquet of baby pink ball peonies— carefully tied together with a blue satin bow. The pink flowers had reminded you of Gepard’s face whenever he’d get flustered.

“I got— I mean, I made you something,” you said.

Fuck, you whispered internally as you began to sweat.

You placed the bouquet into his outstretched hand— this time, it was the one without the armor. It took him a second to fully grasp it, his body seemingly frozen in disbelief.

“I heard a rumor that most soldiers only receive flowers at their funerals,” you started. “I wanted to change that… so I made you a bouquet!”Cocking your head at him, you grinned, your smile lighting up your face.

Suddenly forgetting how to form words, Gepard opened and closed his mouth repeatedly. He’d lost count of just how many times you’d robbed him of his ability to speak within an hour.

When he finally drew the bouquet in towards his chest, you reached out— still smiling brightly— and placed your hand on his own. It rested there for a moment, feeling the worn leather of his gloves on your finger pads. The passerby murmured excitedly at the sight.

“It’s alight if you don’t know what to say,” you reassured him. “As long as you like them, I’ll be happy,” you said, shifting your weight from your heels to your toes. You placed your hands behind your back once more as you looked him in the eyes.

Blush appeared rapidly on Gepard’s face as he stuttered, his heart wedged directly in his throat.

“(Y/N)… actually, I—,” he started, before the shockwaves of a large explosion shook the ground beneath you.

He stopped short, both of you looking around with confusion on your faces.

Looking up, you spotted a few brass cogs shooting through the air, leaving trails of smoke behind them and startling the nearby birds into flight.

“Oh shit,” you blurted. “You should probably get going,”

“What in Qlipoth’s— what? Why should I—?” Gepard began.

“They might charge you for damages!” You ordered him as you pushed him hurriedly towards a trolley that had stopped to pick up a group of passengers.

“What would be wrong with that? I was at fault, so I may as well pay them back,” he stated, finally registering what you had said.

“NO,” you said firmly. Words of confusion tumbled out of his mouth as you shoved him roughly in between the metal folding doors. “I know that guy— he’ll sue your pants clean off,” you argued, blocking his exit out the door by spreading your arms in front of it.

“Anyhow, here’s the trolley fare. Take it easy!” You said, patting him heartily on the shoulder.

The doors closed in front of you, leaving the captain of the Silvermane guards with a bewildered expression.

“Thankyouforspendingtimewith—,” he rushed. But the bell on the trolley rang with a mocking “ding,” and the vehicle started to depart at a pace he could only describe as excruciatingly slow.

Gepard pressed his free hand up against the glass, though he knew it was in vain. He let out a withering sigh and gave in, lifting the flower bouquet up towards his face.

Burying his nose in the petals, he breathed inward, long and slow. The scent of the flowers was mild, but it seemed to have a tender sweetness only he could smell at that very moment. He finally returned his gaze to the plaza, watching you wave energetically as your figure shrunk into the distance.

Hah. Strait-laced as ever, you thought to yourself as the trolley wobbled its way towards the upper levels of the Administrative District. You stuffed your hands in your pockets and threw your weight to your right side as you watched, an expression of amusement on your face.

“Uh… (Y/N)?” Pela said, trotting up from somewhere behind you. She held a bundle of pinwheels in her arms. “Where did Gepard run off to?”

“O-oh?” Your lips went stiff as you guiltily pulled your hands back out of your pockets. “Um… about that…”

•┈••✦ ❆ ✦••┈•

“Master Gepard, may I come in?” One of the housekeepers— Andrea— called while rapping his knuckles on the thick wooden door.

Gepard, who was scrabbling something down hurriedly on a sheet of parchment, quickly gave him permission to enter. The glint of his brass fountain pen shone a dull yellow in the lamplight.

He only uses that pen for important things, the housekeeper mused to himself. I wonder what it could be?

But Andrea simply clamped his mouth shut and resigned himself to his duties. He fluttered from corner to corner of the room, dusting off various picture frames, heirlooms, and bookshelves.

Once he got to the windows, he took out a spray bottle from his bag, but he was halted by his employer.

“Ah— no harsh cleaners in here, please,” Gepard interrupted. “I apologize, as I should have specified earlier. At least until I can properly open the windows, does that make sense?”

The housekeeper nodded curtly and slipped the cleaner back into his bag.

That was odd… the young master had never requested any changes to his cleaning regimen before, Andrea pondered.

It all began to click once he spotted the vase of pastel pink flowers resting quietly in a vase.

“Young master Gepard,” Andrea interjected, startled. “Pardon my intrusion… but is there a chance you have a secret admirer?”

The young noble looked up with his eyebrows knitted.

“…secret? No, why do you ask?” Gepard said, looking quite puzzled.

“Erm,” the housekeeper trailed off. “You do know, of course, that I’m referencing the flowers?” He said.

“Oh, no,” Gepard responded with a small smile that he quickly buried. “Those are from a friend,”

Now, Andrea was even more confused. The captain shifted one paper from one stack to another, tapping them lightly to align their edges.

“Are you sure about that?” Before Andrea could stop himself, the words tumbled out of his mouth.

“I’m not sure what you mean by that,” Gepard responded. He looked at the housekeeper, baffled. Andrea had never been one to pry into other peoples’ business.

“Nothing, sir. Please ignore my transgression,” Andrea said curtly, returning to his work with a nervous cough. The housekeeper sighed. Some poor soul had given the captain a heartfelt gift and he was as clueless as a bear cub in an avalanche.

“I suppose you are going to thank them, then?” Andrea continued briskly, picking up an inkwell and wiping it with a damp cloth.

“Of course,” the captain said matter-of-factly. Andrea wasn’t sure if his eyes were playing tricks on him, but he could almost spot a light blush on the his master’s cheeks.

Once his duties were complete, the housekeeper whisked out of the room as quickly as he had come. Gepard paused for a moment to spare a quick glance at the flower arrangement.

He’d never seen Andrea act that way before. Perhaps there was something he was missing?

Prodding at the furthest reaches of his mind, Gepard searched for an answer. He recalled a conversation you had once had, although the details were quite fuzzy (he was too busy staring at your face)— but hadn’t you said something about how when gifted, flowers could have special meanings?

He quickly slid open a drawer to his left, where the floriography manual you had lended him was resting snugly. It was surrounded on all sides with packing paper to keep it safe.

As he flipped through it, he scanned through each page, annotated thoroughly with handwritten notes— certain sentences were underlined or circled for extra emphasis, for example.

Flipping open to the page about ball peonies, he examined the page up and down for anything that stood out. Skimming over the description, he read:

Ball Peony:

A highly prized flower that has a narrow blooming period.

Can be identified by its pink petals and jagged oval leaves that have an opposite alternating pattern.

Grows best in slightly acidic soil and full sun for a minimum of 6h/day.

Represents patience, great achievements, moments of eternity, and undying love.

Gepard smiled. He couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that such admirable values were embodied in a delicate flower such as this one.

His eyes traveled down a little further, where a diagram of a ball peony and a caption in tiny text was. The caption read;

The Ball Peony is a treasure among flowers, blooming once a year for less than a month. When the flower blooms, its beauty is unparalleled, deserving enough of its high value.

There is an unwritten tradition in Belobog — if lovers propose in front of the flowering Ball Peonies, their love will be everlasting.

Recipients: Lovers.

The word “lovers” was circled several times in bright green ink.

Wait. That meant—

There was absolutely no mistake about it.

The captain’s entire body went rigid and then it began to tremble, starting with the tips of his fingers. His eyes went wide, wider than all the moons, his pulse thundering in his chest. His heart shook in his rib cage as it attempted to escape.

All of these feelings cascaded upon him at once. One hand found its way clamped on his mouth, while the other gripped the manual precariously. And out of the blue, a gleeful smile spread across his face like a crack in the ice.

He set the book down, and as he gripped the edges of his desk to steady himself, he felt his cheeks become flushed with heat that quickly but gradually spread to the rest of his body.

Gepard— a member of the Landau family with years of experience under his belt— had absolutely no idea what he was going to do with himself.

2025 - Dreaming-of-Mossballs - Do not repost/translate without my permission - NO AI

After a long and fairly uninteresting day of military reconnaissance, Gepard—the captain of the Silvermane Guards—descended the stairs of Qlipoth Fort. From afar, it looked like he was in no particular hurry, but if you were one of the lucky few to be close to him, you’d notice that he was—in fact—walking as fast as he could without drawing attention to himself. 

He felt his heart thrumming in his chest. Earlier that day, as he was leaving Serval’s workshop for the fourth time that week (Earthwork had exploded rather violently the month prior—but that was besides the point), he’d run across a peculiar group of women huddled around a folding table, muttering to each other in hushed whispers. The table was covered in a navy satin cloth, dotted with tiny gold specks that resembled little stars. When they’d spotted him, one of them had pushed up her glasses and scurried towards him with a stack of flyers in hand. 

“You…” the bespectacled woman had murmured. “I seem to sense a mysterious energy coming from you… you strange, blonde man,”

The others nodded vigorously, exchanging peculiar glances. 

Gepard tilted his head. He’d never considered himself, well, strange before. He thought he was a rather typical law-abiding Belobogian—sure, his standing was less commonplace, but—

“I’m Maureen, from the Splendiferous Society of Astrologists,” she spread her arms wide in a dramatic gesture. “You’ve been wondering about your purpose, haven’t you?” 

“Well, no—,” he started. Just what in Belobog was she talking about?

“Then, the secrets of the universe, perhaps?” The woman took a step forward, letting him know that she had zero intent of backing down. He wondered if the uncomfortable expression on his face was evident.

“Your future?” She pried. He shook his head quickly as he tried to inch himself away somewhere he wouldn't be heckled as much.

“Then… how about your love life? There must be something,” she’d tried again. 

Gepard’s back made contact with the rough brick wall behind him as he swallowed heavily. “Dear citizen, I—,”

“Well, lucky for you, the moons are at perigee! It’s the perfect time for you to figure all of this out and more!” She’d suddenly shouted, sending her mop of hair flying in all different directions. Several passersby turned their heads before quickly averting their gazes, like this was a typical occurrence every Tuesday afternoon.

“Fifteen percent off at the Belobog Observatory! Thirty for couples!” One of the seated members called to him— but it seemed more like an order than an offer. And with that, the woman had shoved a flyer in his hand and scrambled back to the booth as fast as she came. 

The young noble had stared at her with a dumbfounded expression. In all his years, he’d never seen a marketing tactic so incredibly… bizarre. (Well, there was the time Serval had made him dress up as a giant arctic bear cub to sell tickets for her music show.)

Tucking the strange encounter away in his brain, he stared at the flyer, which advertised the first anniversary of the Belobog Observatory. He’d heard about it before—during a conversation down an alleyway with you, in fact. (Yes, it was in 2024, but that was besides the point—I mean, what?)

An idea flickered to life in his brain. The two of you still had yet to go on your first real date… perhaps it would make a lovely destination for your first outing?

Wasting no time, Gepard had unlocked his phone and dialed you, feeling his fingers tremble with every letter. The photo of the two of you at the Everwinter Monument greeted him on his home screen—he’d asked Pela to change it for him after their last meeting together. No matter the weather, it always brought a small smile to his usually pensive face. 

[“Hellooo, Gepard?”] you’d chirped. The background noise of the florist’s could easily be heard behind you. He felt his pulse jump to about five thousand beats per minute—it always did that whenever he heard your voice. 

Think about paperwork… think about boring, endless paperwork—

“(Y/N),” he’d said, cupping his hand around the phone to block any noise from the plaza that might sneak in. “It’s good to hear your voice,”

[“You flatter me. So… what can I help you with?”] He could almost hear the smile creeping into your face from the other side of town. 

“The observatory downtown seems to be having a sale—fifteen percent off per person,” Gepard said, glancing at the flyer. “And they have a special deal… thirty percent off for… couples,” he added.

Couples. The word felt almost foreign on his tongue. He’d tried to wipe his sweaty palms on his pants, but to no avail, as he was wearing a glove on one hand and metal armor on the other. 

Aeons above, he’d scolded himself. 

[“Oh, really? That sounds super! How long’s it going for?”]

“Until next week, it appears. Are you free anytime before then?” He inquired. “I’ve just about ended work for today,”

[“Yes, today, actually! How does—,”] your voice suddenly grew dimmer. [“ —oh dear. Please don’t eat those—,”]

The young noble heard a scrabbling sound on the other side as you rushed to stop whoever it was from snacking on the flowers you had on display. A distant bark could be heard.

[“Ahem. Pardon the interruption—how does three o’clock sound?”] You’d asked. 

“Splendid. I’ll meet you at the Everwinter Monument at 3 o'clock sharp,”

[“Cool! Um, so… is this a date, then?”] You said offhandedly. [Y’know—just curious, that’s all…”]

“Yes,” Gepard smiled lightly. “It’s a date,”

•┈••✦ ❆ ✦••┈•

And now, here he was, changed out of his uniform and into a freshly ironed peacoat—paired with the fuzzy scarf you’d crocheted for him while he was away on campaign. The young captain watched with barely disguised restlessness as you made your way up the street with a bright smile on your face.

“Afternoon,” Gepard said, and you tipped your beret in response with a grin. 

“You’re wearing the scarf I made you!” You pointed at him with an excited index finger. 

Aeons, your smile made him almost giddy with joy. He offered you his arm, and you took it gratefully as he led you to the observatory’s entrance. (Oh, by the Amber Lord, he hoped you couldn’t hear his heart racing like an engine.)

The young noble hated to admit it, but he was nervous. He could discuss military strategy for who knows how long—but stars? He knew next to nothing about them, apart from how to use them to determine his position while on campaign.

As the doors opened, you were greeted with a ceiling painted with swirling stars and galaxies that looked almost alive. A tingle ran down his spine as Gepard felt the leather of your gloves curl around his forearm while you scanned the artwork overhead with an expression of pure awe. Hall ways upon hallways fanned out from the main hall, each with different displays, charts, or gadgets. He even spotted an antique telescope that looked like it had been manufactured during Belobog’s previous era.

“Wow… it’s so pretty,” you gasped, twisting your torso to narrowly avoid the other guests. There were a myriad of people at the observatory—families, couples—and even a group of children on a field trip who were chattering like sparrows. 

Gepard nodded. It was pretty, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that his chest was being crushed under the weight of his—nervousness? Anticipation? He wasn’t sure in the slightest.

It was terrifying.

To make matters worse, as you approached the admissions gate, you pressed yourself even closer to him with a casual yawn. When he tried to steal an inconspicuous downward glance at you, the young noble was met with a mischievous glint in your eyes.

“...really gotta sell the idea we’re dating, right?” You grinned at him, examining his face closely for any change in expression.

Yes… the idea that we’re dating.

“Certainly…” he paused. “It’s… thirty percent off, after all,”

You quickly burst into a fit of laughter. “Did—did the captain of the Silvermane Guards just crack a joke? Is it my birthday or something?” You said while giving him a playful nudge that made him tense like a spring.

Gepard could only stiffen as a blush crept up his cheeks like ivy. Oh Aeons, Gepard. Keep it together, he scolded himself. His father would be off his rocker if he saw him at that very moment.

“Good morning, two tickets for the, um… co—coup—ahem. COUPLES’—,” he choked. 

“Couples’ event, please!” You said with your most charming smile while pushing past him ever-so-slightly.

“Ahem. Yes, that’s what I was going to say,” the young noble said with a bashful glance around the room (very conspicuously searching for people who might be sticking their noses where they didn’t belong).

“Ah, yes. Two couples’ tickets. Right this way, please,” the attendant said, motioning you towards a side area sectioned off by velvet ropes that screamed romance. 

The partitioned area was filled to the brim with lovesick couples, ranging from giggling university students to elderly couples leaning on each other in comfortable silence. One staff member fastened a waxy, colored band of paper around your wrists in a kind of makeshift bracelet.

“I feel like I’m a livestock being tagged by its owners,” you muttered under your breath while lifting up your wrist to study it. 

Within no time at all, the tour guide quieted everyone down, and the date officially began.

“Hello, lovebirds of Belobog!” the guide announced with a mischievous wink. “Let’s get this show on the road, shall we?”

You couldn’t help but gag reflexively at the comment after all your years in the mines (romance was always the butt of every joke within your mining crew) before clearing your throat and staring up at Gepard with bug-like eyes. 

Meanwhile, the captain looked like he was trying very hard not to breathe the wrong way lest he explode into a million pieces—his shoulders were tensed, fists clenched tightly at his sides. 

“Oi—,” you started. “Are you—,”

“But before we begin,” the announcer’s voice easily trampled over your own. “We’d like to give a big thank-you to our sponsors, the Belobog Technology Division and the SSOA, the Splendiferous Society of Astrologists! Now, if you please, follow me into this room on the left side of the hallway here,”

Sighing, you followed suit as the crowd began to move. As you entered, what greeted you was a vast circular room with an arched ceiling, furnished with reclining seats arranged around a central pit. The guide quickly instructed the audience members (yourself included) to find their seats before the lights faded out around you. 

Now, the room was nearly pitch-black. All you could hear were the low whispers of a group behind you, the rustling of someone going through their bag, and the sound of your own heartbeat. Gepard was nothing but a silhouette against the domed ceiling—when suddenly, the starry sky seemed to rise up from the ground around you, spinning until the little points of light slowed to a halt.

None of the audience could help the gasps that escaped their lips as they stared at the mural of the night sky above. The projector whirred and hummed, doing its humble duty without need for recognition. 

“Wow,” you leaned toward Gepard slightly, keeping your voice hushed. “It’s so pretty…” 

“It really is,” he agreed, tilting his head a little to get a better view of the scene.

The announcer gave a few quick tidbits on how the observatory association had stumbled upon this particular projector and restored it, along with a bit of history about when it was made.

“Admittedly, this isn’t quite the best approximation we have of the night sky, as it’s been hundreds of years since this projector was made. Still, it’s the best we’ll get for a while, and it’s good to appreciate what we have!”

The tour guide pressed a button on the control panel, and the tiny pinpoints of light began to spin again as they gave various facts about the constellations and nearby celestial bodies. But the room was so warm and cozy—it would lull you to sleep if you weren’t careful. You yawned, letting out a sleepy noise when you noticed Gepard’s silhouette—evidently staring at you.

You nearly choked mid-yawn. You couldn’t see his clear blue eyes in the dark, but you sure as hell could feel them.

“Uh… Gepard?” You whispered, ducking your head a little . “Do you need something?”

The shadow that was Gepard flinched slightly, as if you’d bitten him. “Er—no, I don’t need anything—but thank you,”

A few minutes later, you caught him staring at you again. You cleared your throat. 

“Ahem. Captain… is something the matter?” 

“Ah—er—,” He swallowed heavily, before leaning toward you to whisper. You could feel the warmth of his breath on your forehead as he kept his voice low.

“I was wondering,” he paused. “If I could hold your hand—I-I mean—if you’d let me—of course,”

The ending note of his question sounded slightly higher than the rest, as if his airway had pinched off halfway through. You opened your mouth. Then closed it. Then opened it again.

Oh, how you wished you could see his face right now.

“It’s alright if you aren’t comfortable with it, I just figured I’d offer,” he whispered in your ear, as not to alert the other patrons. You tried vehemently to ignore the tingle it sent up your spine as your heart thundered so hard it hurt.

You searched his silhouette desperately for wherever his eyes might be as you scrambled for words to say, before you replied—barely a whisper.

“You… you don’t even have to ask,” you smiled. He couldn’t quite make out your expression, but he could hear the way you felt deep in his bones just from your voice.

Gepard couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t do anything but hold his breath as he reached out tentatively with one pinkie, searching for where your hand might be. He just about jumped out of his seat as he felt his hand brush warm leather. Something twitched under his fingers before curling around them—your own. Wrapped snugly around his knuckles, it was like they were made for each other—chiseled out of the same stone.

At this point, the young noble’s brain went completely into overdrive.

The guide was saying something, but it felt as if he was on a whole other planet by now as he looked at you, completely and utterly stupefied. 

“Heh. Warm, isn’t it?” You chuffed. The projection floated softly around you two, like you were the only two people on Jarilo-VI.

“Yes…” he replied breathlessly. “Very,”

You sat there for a bit, admiring the stars with a hidden smile. 

BONUS:

“How’s the scarf? I hope it’s not too itchy,” you said, plopping down on the bench with two Strawberry Svarog sodas in hand. 

After the main event, the showing at the observatory, the attendant had set you loose to explore the building—Gepard was able to geek out over old military technology and you were able to geek out over Gepard. You’d taken turns peering through antique telescopes and enjoy some space-themed treats at the cafe.

“Not in the slightest. It’s actually quite comfortable,” your companion replied, nestling his face into the bright yellow scarf. “You chose a good yarn to make it out of. I wear it on my days off occasionally,”

“R-really?” You were taken aback. “That’s good—I’m really glad you like it!” 

You quickly stomped out a vision of the captain wearing a cheerful yellow scarf while ordering his soldiers around, taking a sip of your soda to ground yourself.

Gepard turned his head nonchalantly, as if gazing at the scenery around you, but you could clearly make out the tips of his ears, which were bright red.

Oh, wow.

He was just too cute.

2025 - Dreaming-of-Mossballs - Do not repost/translate without my permission - NO AI

More often than not, you found yourself humming Serval’s songs whenever you had a free moment.

In your defense, they were really catchy (although whenever you attended one of her concerts, you rarely left with your hearing intact.)

Your plants were sitting plaintively on the windowsill, waiting to be watered. The flowerpots, housing a rhododendron, a spider plant, and a peace lily, were doing quite well after being relocated from your old studio. The new apartment had plenty of natural light for them to bask in, and they were looking quite happy as of late— but the sky was looking awfully dark today. The weather was unusually warm recently. Maybe that had something to do with it?

Was it nighttime already? You thought. No, the clock only read 4:30. Were the batteries dead? Also no.

The air felt heavy and stifling, as if a giant bear was crushing you under its weight. Though you figured, since the sky itself was doing you no harm, you had no reason to worry about it.

You emptied the contents of your tin watering can into the soil that the spider plant resided in when suddenly, your apartment was filled with a light pattering noise. You looked up from your task to see strange, round droplets of water appearing on your window.

“What in the—,” you started. Where was all of this water coming from?

The sound coming from outside muffled, oddly enough, and unlike any sound you had ever heard before. It was akin to the sound of a hundred oversized termites wearing woolen boots trampling all over your house.

You indignantly stuck your head outside your door. What right did the sky have to be doing this? You demanded to know as you shook your fist angrily at the clouds, when out of the blue, a blazing flash of light lit up your vision.

You stood in your doorway, dumbfounded, as fat droplets of water rolled off the awning and splattered on the crown of your head and ran down your cheeks.

It was cold. Unpleasantly so, you grumbled as you wiped your cheeks with the back of your hand.

And that’s when a sound like the earth was cracking open ripped through the air.

“EEYAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!,” you screamed as you nearly jumped two whole feet into the air. You slammed the door without a second thought, rattling the pots on the windowsill. “What on Jarilo-VI was that??” You shouted, your heart racing

You pressed your back up against the door as you tried in vain to catch your breath.

What was happening? Were you going to die? It would be really ironic if you met your end on the surface after a lifetime of surviving mining accidents, you mused, when another ground-shaking boom shook the floor beneath you.

At that moment, all reason left you as you scrambled to your feet, jettisoning towards the nearest coffee table to duck under it. You gathered all your flowerpots in your arms too— hardly noticing as the wet soil spilled over the rims and onto your tunic.

You crouched under the table with your hands over your head, your breaths escaping you in quick, painful bouts. But the sound of the water droplets didn’t let up, growing louder and louder until they drowned out your thoughts.

In a brief flash of intellect, you drew your phone out of your pocket with trembling hands and dialed the one man you knew who could always save the day—

And that’s when everything went dark. The lightbulbs in your lamps went dark and even the mechanical sounds of your refrigerator went silent.

This was it. The end of the world had finally come, you concluded as you crouched under the table, the room frigidly silent.

You wondered if your neighbors were okay. You wondered if Gepard was okay. You hoped that if he found you dead, the florists would hold a nice funeral for you and turn you into fertilizer.

“We’re sorry, your call could not be completed as dialed,” the automated voice from your phone said. It was the only thing you could hear in your apartment— the rest of the building was dead silent.

You were a hair’s breadth away from snapping the device over your knee.

The thunder didn’t stop. You rose on wobbly knees to search for the nearest flashlight in your drawers, but it was nowhere to be seen. Were you really going to meet your end here, in the dark and surrounded by nothing but your plants? The mere thought made your heart twist painfully.

You couldn’t find your flashlight. All you could do was yank the nearest blanket off of your couch and drape it over yourself, curling inwards as your heart hammered in your chest.

Breathe, you commanded yourself. Stay calm. It’s what Gepard would have wanted you to do.

You had no idea how long you were waiting there. All of the clocks had been frozen and you wanted to conserve what little phone battery you had left. So you stayed there, curled up with a blanket that was beginning to feel oppressively hot inside from the heated air you exhaled. You could only listen for the sounds of someone coming to rescue you.

You strained your ears— wait, was that the sound of boots?

Yes, it definitely was. And it was growing louder, too. Part of you didn’t want to get your hopes up— perhaps it was someone else seeking shelter from the weather. But that gait… it seemed incredibly familiar…

Your questions were soon to be answered as your door was flung open with so much force, the door handle made an indentation in the drywall.

“(Y/N), are you here?” A male voice echoed throughout the room.

You flung the blanket off of you only to be met with blinding lights from the street. Squinting hard, you could vaguely make out the outline of Gepard, the captain of the Silvermane guards, standing in your doorway.

You could have fainted right then and there.

It was certainly an odd sight— you’d gathered up the majority of the flowerpots on the ground floor and huddled them under the table. There was a watering can lying sideways on the hardwood floor, and you were hiding under the table with a cotton blanket thrown over your head. He approached you tentatively, not paying attention to the fact his boots were leaving muddy scuff marks all over the floor.

“We heard reports of an outage,” Gepard began. “Is everything all right?”

He lowered himself to his knees, resting one hand on the table as he looked down at you.

You scuffled towards him at a breakneck pace, ignoring the burning sensation from your knees scraping against the floor.

“I thought I was going to die,” you nearly sobbed as you buried your blanket-wrapped self in his arms. At that moment, you didn’t care in the slightest that someone could be watching. You wriggled up to him, determined to press your entire body up against him all at once as you hiccuped and sniffled.

Gepard couldn’t help but think you looked a lot like a caterpillar as you smushed yourself into his chest, but you could see that his face was entirely pink as he turned to face the other men.

“Go ahead and restore the power— I’ll be with you in a moment,” he said, clenching his fists at a loss for what to do.

The other guards nodded and headed out, wheeling the generator and other equipment away as the rain lashed at them in sheets, and Gepard returned his gaze to you.

You frowned at him indignantly like an unhappy bagworm as he held you in his arms, comfortably but securely. He occasionally rubbed your head as you let loose a whirlwind of complaints.

“Do you have any idea how worried I was??” You blurted. “What was that?? Why did sky do that? Is it going to happen again?” You grumbled.

The young noble gazed down at you with a perplexed expression.

“Rain… it was raining,” he answered. “It happens when it gets warm on the surface sometimes. It’s a type of weather,”

Weird, you thought.

“What about the noises??” You demanded. “And the lights?”

“The flashes of light were lightning, and the noise that followed after was thunder,” Gepard replied. “Those are types of phenomena tend to occur during storms,”

The power was beginning to come on again— the lightbulbs in your house buzzed for a short moment and then flickered to life, illuminating the room once more.

“I am so mad right now. The sky has no right to be doing that,” you muttered. The tears had dried from your face, and you were beginning to feel more embarrassed than angry now.

But Gepard didn’t say anything. He simply picked you up, laid you on the couch, and made his way to the kitchen.

“Where do you keep your mugs?” He asked.

“Top left cabinet by the sink,” you responded, wiggling your feet to settle into the cushions.

He took a cup off of the shelf and placed it right side up, filling it with milk. Next, he added a sprinkling of cinnamon and honey, and stirred it quickly with a tea spoon. Then, he popped it into the microwave, or fancy hot box, as you called it, and pulled it out once the timer rang.

Gepard quickly wrapped the mug in a tea towel and handed it to you. Your fingertips lightly grazed his gauntlet as you exchanged glances, feeling your cheeks warm with affection. The rain had finally begun to let up.

You thanked him as you lifted the cup to your lips and took a sip. It was sweet and comforting with warmth that spread throughout your entire body.

You thanked him quietly as he tidied up your foyer and got ready to leave as quickly as he came.

“I apologize for tracking mud in your house, but I’ll be back to clean it up after we restore power back to your block,” he said. “Take care,”

“Thanks for checking on me,” you murmured. You hurriedly got up off of the couch and twined one of your hands with his, pressing it to your right cheek. “Don’t worry about the mud— I’ll take care of it. Just stay safe out there, okay?”

Gepard nodded and went on his way. You watched longingly as his figure shrank into the distance. The horizon was gray and bleak.

“Blasted sky water,” you said.

2025 - Dreaming-of-Mossballs - Do not repost/translate without my permission - NO AI

“A little to the left, please… waitwaitwait slow down—!” You gasped, your breaths labored.

“YEOW—!” You shrieked as the heavy box caught on your pinkie, squashing it beyond repair. Gepard quickly ran to your aid with a panicked look.

“My apologies, (Y/N), I should have been more careful—,” he stammered, caressing your pinkie gently. You could feel your heartbeat through the digit as it throbbed. 

You sighed. “Maybe we should take a break for the time being… nothing good’ll happen if we keep trying to brute force this whole thing,” you suggested. Gepard nodded, his blonde hair shining in the sunlight that filtered in through your apartment window as he fetched you an ice pack.

A few months had passed since your big spat with Gepard’s dad. To your dismay, he hadn’t let up in his insistence to disown Gepard, so you opted to move some more of your partner’s belongings in instead for a more permanent arrangement. (Yes… that was it. It wasn’t like he was moving in or anything… right?)

Meanwhile, Gepard was in the middle of a rare break between deployments as he got his life resituated. On occasion, the phone would ring and he’d pick up, greeted by the hushed but worried voice of his mother on the other end. She’d give him intermittent updates on how the old man was doing and whether or not he’d torn the whole house down in his rage yet.

But as for the rest of it, Gepard kept it under wraps—quiet murmurs behind closed doors. You were curious, of course, but you opted to mind your own business and support him in the way he was most comfortable with.

Your lover had quickly adjusted to your cozy abode, filling up the once-blank space that was most of the apartment. You noticed it everywhere you looked. Where it once was bare hardwood, now a quaint home office lay, a small but formal pine desk stacked with books and an inkwell greeted you now when you walked through the door. Once an empty countertop in the bathroom—now a resting place for two mugs with toothbrushes and a straight razor with shaving cream.

Sometimes, you wondered if the change in scenery was too abrupt for Gepard’s taste. But time and time again, he proved that he could make any place home, even if he had to sleep on a florally patterned pull-out couch in the living room. 

If he had any complaints, Gepard never showed signs of having them. He kept himself busy day in and day out—reading military strategy guides, cooking, or brewing coffee in the mornings. 

You threw your head back on the couch with a groan, holding your injured pinkie with your other hand as he walked to the kitchen for the hundredth time that day.

“Care for some tea?” He asked, sitting down beside you. You nodded. He placed a steaming mug of honey tea and a plate of cake on the coffee table, next to where his bamboo plant and yellow scarf lay for the time being.

Music from the phonograph wafted through the apartment as you sipped your honey tea, flipping through your old photography manual absentmindedly. The sun filtered through the windows, casting a warm glow on your faces—not to mention—the air from the radiator made the silk curtains look as if they were breathing. It made you feel as if you were living inside a painting.

After a while, you got up, your pinkie having forgiven you for the earlier incident. 

“Hey, Gep? I’m gonna put the flowerpots out on the balcony. Wanna come with?” You said, dusting the cake crumbs off your lap. 

He nodded, knowing full well there was nothing he could do to help, but he wanted to be beside you anyway.

You both padded up the creaky stairs as dust from the dust mote floated by you. Swinging the doors to the balcony open, you breathed in deeply, relishing the breeze on your face. 

Gepard, in his slacks and collared shirt, gave you a sidelong glance as he watched you take it all in—leaning over the railing to look down at the street below.

“Sure is nice, innit?” You asked, turning towards him with a grin.

“...it is,”

A minute passed like that, the two of you leaning on the balcony as the wind ruffled your hair before he asked a question that made your heart stop,

“(Y/N)...” Gepard started, turning towards you with an unreadable expression on his face.

“Yes?” 

“May I… kiss you?”

Your jaw dropped open.

“Oh—sure! Um. On the cheek or—,”

“On the lips,”

You paused, your heart hammering in your chest before you wrapped your fingers around his reassuringly.

“...okay,”

He cupped one of his hands around your face and pulled you close, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. You tasted like the tea he’d made you earlier.

You pulled away, giving Gepard a look as if he’d just given you his heart made of gold. He paused, his eyes flickering to your lips again.

“Can we… do that more often?” He asked.

“Yes,” you threw your head back and laughed, your arms locked around his neck tightly. 

Gepard wouldn’t have traded that moment for all the stars in the Belobog sky.

BONUS:

“...I wish he’d stop sending you these stupid letters,” you muttered as you opened Gepard’s P.O box at the Silvermane guard headquarters.

“Me too,” Gepard sighed wistfully, tying up the pile of angry letters his father had sent him up with twine before handing it to the nearest guard.

“Wait—I have an idea,” you said, taking the pile from the poor, unassuming silvermane officer.

Thirty minutes, you stood in a back alleyway with a basin and a gallon of gasoline, along with a lighter.

“You’re certain this won’t—,” Gepard started.

You didn’t let him finish. “Oh, I’m certain. Light the match, dearest,”

He paused. “...if you say so,”

“Oh, I know so,” you said, leaning an arm on his shoulder. He dropped the match and the stack of papers went up in flames, each letter curling into ash.

You jumped as someone suddenly tapped you on the shoulder. You whirled around. 

Goddamnit, Franz!

“Uh… sorry to be a bother. But I believe some of the Silvermane guard tax reports may have slipped in there—,” 

Gepard’s eyes went wide. “They WHAT???”

You sighed. You were in for a long night.

2025 - Dreaming-of-Mossballs - Do not repost/translate without my permission - NO AI

It was dark. It was dusty. And your nose was running.

As you sat in a metal folding chair, with a metal folding table to match and a singular lightbulb dangling from a wire over your head, you wondered if the people of Belobog were normally this high-strung. 

The woman across from you had her hands folded tightly, her back as straight as an arrow.

“So…” you began, pressing the button on the audio recorder you’d brought. “What makes you like flowers so much?” 

The brown-haired woman flinched. “I… I like their smells. And the way they look,”

“Anything else?” You scratched down a few notes hastily before returning to look at her.

“I–I—I like giving them to people I care about,” she stuttered, slumping a little in her chair as she stared at the concrete floor below them.

“Really? Me too!” You slammed your hands on the table vigorously, rattling the little equipment that sat there.

“Gah! P-please don’t hurt me!” She trembled. 

You sighed. When your boss had suggested to you that writing an editorial about flowers would be a good idea, you hadn’t thought it would be this difficult. Maybe it was something about your face, or the way you spoke, or the dark, musty-smelling room. (It wasn’t your fault the only room you could rent for interviews was in the basement of the library!)

“Oh—sorry,” you rubbed your neck sheepishly as you sat back down. “I just… flowers are really cool and it makes me happy you appreciate them too!” 

“Uh huh…” she mumbled. “I–is that all?”

You nodded. “Yes. That concludes the interview. Thank you for coming in today!” You called as she got up to leave. 

“WAIT!” You suddenly shouted, making the hair on her neck stand on end. 

“W-what…?”

“Would you like a coupon? Twenty-five percent off your next purchase!” You stuck a half-crumpled coupon from your pocket out to her.

“Um… I think I’m good, thanks” she muttered, and slunk off.

As soon as she was gone, you slumped over with a groan. Aeons, dealing with the public was harder than you thought it would be. Only a few people had come in so far, and one of them was just trying to find out where the Tale of the Winterlands club was meeting.

You were so entrenched in your misery, you barely heard the basement door creak open. But when it was followed by heavy steps, you jolted back in position and put on your best customer service voice.

“Hello! Are you here for the—,”

Your jaw dropped open.

“...(Y/N)?”

“Gepard???” You rose from your chair, sending it skidding behind you with a screech. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh… I heard the florists’ was conducting interviews here,” the blonde-haired man pulled at his collar absentmindedly. “I figured that since you’ve been helping me out so much that I’d come and help you, albeit indirectly. Although, I admit—I wasn’t quite expecting you to be the one conducting the interview though,”

Your eyes widened. “Oh, jeez! I really appreciate that—um, here. Why don’t you have a seat?” You motioned to the rusty metal folding chair on the opposite side of the table.

Once you finally sat down is when you realized just how awkward it was, sitting across from the captain of the Silvermane Guards in a dark room. It was almost like you were interrogating him—although given his position, he was the one who was more likely to be interrogating you.

No, I certainly did not verbally harass Vaska into buying me a cupcake from the corner store! What a dreadful accusation!

“Ahem… let’s get started, shall we?” You cleared your throat, folding your hands in a faux-professional manner. You pressed the record button on the tape recorder before asking: “Name and age?”

“Gepard Landau, thirty-two,”

You nodded, jotting down a short note. “Line of work?”

“Silvermane Guard captain,” 

You nodded in mock surprise. “Ahh, I see! It’s quite unusual for someone of your caliber to show up here. You must reaaally like flowers,” you grinned. 

He grunted, a slight blush on his cheeks. It wasn’t just the flowers that he liked.

“So, what draws you the most to flowers? Or… plants in general,” you nodded, remembering that he’d started off with a shrimpy bamboo plant.

“Well,” the young noble said. “I originally took them on as a challenge to expand my skillset. I specialize in military strategy, so it was quite a big deviation from my usual routine—altjhough, if I’m being honest…”

You raised an eyebrow. “Yes? Be honest, we don’t judge here,”

“Initialy, all of my attempts ended in disaster. But after I received guidance from a… close friend of mine—,” he blushed lightly. “They set me off on the right path, and suddenly, it wasn’t so difficult anymore,”

A few moments of silence passed between you two, nothing but the quiet whirring of the audio recorder could be heard.

“I–I see!” You cleared your throat, wiping away the sickeningly sweet expression that was certainly melting its way onto your face at that very moment. “How nice—erm… do flowers have any special meaning to you?”

“They certainly do,” Gepard responded. “As a soldier doing my daily duties, I see flowers exchanged for a myriad of reasons—whether it be to express gratitude, affection, or even an apology. To me, flowers represent the thoughts and feelings of people and Belobog—and for that reason, they deserve to be recognized. Same with the lovely people that tend to them,”

Oh dear. Oh dear oh dear oh dear. Heat was rising to your face fast. 

“W-well then, captain. Any closing notes?” You sputtered.

“None, thank you,”

“Well then, I thank you for your time!” You waved cheerfully, before turning the audio recorder off with a click.

Stretching as you rose from your seat, you shot him a bright smile. “I think I’ve got all the material I need for today, thanks so much!” 

Gepard nodded, watching you intently as you packed up the recorder in your crossbody bag. “It’s no trouble at all. Consider it repayment for all the favors you’ve done me,” 

Your heart felt like it was melting into liquid gold as you looked into his eyes, glimmering like sapphires in the low light. 

For all the favors I’ve done for him?

You laughed. “Fine then. Bend down a moment, will you?”

The young captain complied, a puzzled expression flickering across his face before he felt the warmth of your arms wrap around him—a comfortable weight settling around his neck. He drew in a sharp breath, hardly daring to move as parts of his heart he’d never felt before stirred for the first time in his life.

2025 - Dreaming-of-Mossballs - Do not repost/translate without my permission - NO AI

Captain… my darling captain, wherever could you be?

Your voice rang as clear as the bells that tolled to announce the passing hours in the plaza. Gepard tried in vain to smother the idiotic grin that spread across his face—but to no avail. His partner, a lovely florist from downtown, flung their arms over his shoulders.

You smirked as you spotted the light blush that rose from his neck to his cheeks. 

“Serval said you’ve been working hard lately, so I figured you could use a break from cooking,” you smiled, motioning to the oven. “I made you a nice meat pie. Should clear your gut right out,” you winked.

His gaze flickered from you to the table, set lovingly with a checkerboard blue tablecloth and a few tea candles. It smelled delicious—nice and filling and homey.

“That’s… awfully generous of you, (Y/N),” he’d said, awestruck. “You really did all this?” The young noble had reached up gingerly to place his hand on your cheek. He already knew the answer.

“Sure did,” you said gleefully. His blue eyes shone with something he couldn’t quite name. 

“Had I known you were planning something so special, I would have brought some flowers or—,”

“Nonsense!” You shook your head. “You already do so much just by taking time off of work to spend time with me, ya hear? Just sit back and relax, okay?” 

You’d pulled out the chair by his place at the table dramatically, a silly grin on your face. He’d sat down and dug in as you kissed him on his cheek— typically, this sort of affection was only reserved for certain occasions in his family. 

He felt his heart swell. It was then when he’d realized that this was where his soul would lie.

Protecting you and Belobog— that would be his life’s goal. Now and forever. 

•┈••✦ ❆ ✦••┈•

That dream again…

Gepard rubbed his tired eyes. That dream would show up with every scrap of sleep he managed to get. But the sleep he did get never offered him any respite.

Oh, how he wished it were that easy—to slip away, deep into his dreams. Where the city walls were still intact—where there was enough warmth to go around for everyone—and where the citizens would nurse cups of tea while watching children play with glee in the plaza.

But as it stood, there was no room for wishful thinking. 

The young noble awoke on the frigid stone streets, surrounded by nothing but wreckage from ruined buildings and barricades ensnared in wire. 

He shook off the fog of drowsiness that weighed heavy on his mind, hoisting himself to his feet. His joints were stiff—they always were. From somewhere to his left, he could hear the hacking cough of a soldier in the medical tents. 

Pneumonia was all too common nowadays—due to the smoke and dust kicked up by the explosives they used. Frostbite too. With the critical shortage of Geomarrow, the citizens had only the small campfires that dotted the refugee camps to keep warm. He rubbed the unkempt stubble that dotted his chin as he yawned, his jaw creaking painfully. He hadn’t looked at himself in a mirror for months— though he was almost certain he looked like a wreck.

The captain strolled quietly by a group of soldiers, who were scraping the blood off the streets with rusty shovels, leaving the piles of crimson-stained frost pushed up against the walls and out of the way. Though for some strange reason, no matter how far he went, the smell of iron never seemed to leave Gepard’s nose.

Each day, soldiers and citizens alike battled the encroaching cold with what few shreds of hope they had left, though the walls did little to deter the howling winds that seemed to cut through their very bones.

The city that had once been the pride of the Architects had fallen. At first it was a catastrophe—the massive Fragmentum attack that had left you as one of the many bodies with a cloth draped over their face—and then it slowly dulled to a whimper as it was buried quietly under ice and snow.

Gepard was more than aware that Belobog had been treading this line for a while—for seven hundred years, in fact—but the end seemed to have come so abruptly. And now, Jarilo-VI was taking its last breath.

And so, here he stood: in line with his fellow soldiers, their faces sunken and devoid of life, waiting to get their rations for the day. Golden light began to seep over the horizon. It was a rare sight—the blizzard rarely let up enough for them to see the sun. He couldn't help but think, did the other soldiers watch the sunrise thinking that it may be their last?

Gepard couldn't afford to have such thoughts—no matter what, he had to keep going. Though some part of him whispered, that perhaps it wouldn't be for long.

“Cap’n Gepard—,” the food distributor said as he finally made it to the front of the line. He was a gruff-looking man with a scraggly brown beard, but his eyes were kind. “ —we happened to have some extra wheat biscuits— you want ‘em?”

The captain shook his head. “...I’m afraid I will have to decline your offer— though that does not mean your generosity will go unnoticed,” he replied, holding out his battered tin can for the man to ladle some stew into, but the man was insistent.

“Please, sir,” the bearded man said. “With all due respect, we won’t let you leave without them. You… I think that you of all people, sir, would deserve them most,”

Gepard felt his chest twist painfully. For what? For giving his men false hope and leading them to their deaths? 

He felt sick. He was no better than anyone else struggling against the cold. 

The captain was quickly snapped back to reality by the expectant looks of the cooks. He felt a pang in his heart—what right did he have to be having these thoughts? He was supposed to be a leader, for Qlipoth’s sake. He quickly stamped the doubts out of his head and forced himself to nod, a large lump forming in his throat.

“...alright,” 

Gepard took the extra baggie with a barely repressed sigh, clasping the can of stew in his other hand. The warmth pricked slightly at his fingertips.

He quickly made his way to a spot on the outskirts of the closest tent city, where a small green tent stood. The glow of lamplight was just barely visible through the flaps as he pushed them aside. A small figure was huddled in the corner, wrapped head to toe in blankets next to a tattered children’s book.

“Little Beck?” Gepard called. “I brought you something,” he said, fastening the clasps of the fabric door behind him.

The figure hardly stirred—only a small shift in the blankets suggested that the boy was alive.

“...have you eaten yet?” The captain inquired, kneeling so that he could get a better look at him. The boy’s eyes were dull and grey like marble. 

The blonde-haired man gingerly set down the bag of wheat biscuits beside the boy, who simply stared straight ahead towards the shadows cast by the flickering lamplight. With one last glance, Gepard turned to leave. 

He still remembered the day he’d rescued Little Beck, who was crouching over the bodies of his parents that were so frozen solid that they couldn't be pried apart. He could still hear the gut-wrenching screams of a boy who’d lost his family too soon—still feel his tiny fists banging on his breastplate as Gepard had slung him over his shoulder and carried him far, far away.

As he left, he heard the boy say something—so quiet it was nearly a whisper.

“...I want my mommy and daddy…”

His back still turned, Gepard didn’t respond. He didn’t quite have the words to.

As he made his way past the trenches and makeshift forts, he would meet the gazes of each and every soldier. Some were reverent. Others, disappointed. Gepard was more than used to this by now. It didn’t matter anymore what they thought of him—he was required to see his duty through to the end either way.

But as he walked, guilt tugged at his heartstrings. He’d wanted to say something to the boy. Truly, he did. But it felt wrong to give him any hope at all—lest he be let down again by this cruel world. 

“How are the cannons?” Gepard said, resting his metal gauntlet on one of the barrels. A row of cannons was lined up by the rampart, ready to fire at a moment's notice. They stood poised, aiming at the battleground—the wasteland that used to be the plaza where the annual festivals were held. “Not too clogged with soot, I hope?”

“We’re running low on ammo again, but that’s no surprise to anyone,” one soldier muttered from behind his visor. His companion quickly silenced him with a jab of her elbow. 

Gepard sighed, holding a hand up to pacify them. “I understand—I’ll make sure to report it back to the commander. Is there anything else I should be aware of?”

The soldiers shook their heads, exchanging nervous glances as they folded their hands behind their backs. “No, sir,”

“Alright. Continue as you were,” said Gepard, giving them a curt nod as they resumed their duties. He stopped by a few other areas before making his way over to the commander’s tent. A few minutes passed before a soldier peeped their head out of the tent and motioned at him to enter.

“Commander Bronya is ready to see you,” the man said timidly. The silver-haired woman stood with her back towards him, her brow furrowed. Gepard could clearly see the dark circles under her eyes in the candlelight.

“Captain. I’m glad you could make it,” Bronya’s voice rang as she turned. “Any status reports?” 

She swept towards him with the grace and poise of a snow leopard—even in these trying times, strength and determination still shone in her eyes.

“Likewise, commander,” he said, before replying, “And no. Nothing out of the ordinary, thankfully,”

“No updates on the situation at the western border?” She said, tilting her head at him.

“Unfortunately, no. The stakes are still… dire,” he murmured. “But we mustn't lose hope just yet. There’s still work to be done and battles to be fought,” he replied steadfastly.

The young noble paused for a moment before asking, “Has Cocoli—I mean, the Supreme Guardian issued any new orders?”

Bronya shook her head, her ringlets of hair bouncing. “I’m afraid not. I… I can’t seem to get through to her right now,” she admitted. 

It was true—Gepard couldn’t remember the last time the commander’s mother had made a public appearance.

The silver-haired girl pressed her index finger to her temple as if something were bothering her. "I think it would be best if we stop disturbing her from now on,” she swallowed thickly. 

He couldn’t imagine the pain she must be feeling—her own mother no longer responded to her pleas for help.

Lady Bronya let out a heavy sigh before continuing— her expression looked as if she had swallowed a lime as she began: “Gepard…” she started. “Truth be told, reconnaissance wasn’t exactly why I called you here today. I—I called you here because everyone is worried about you,”

Gepard blinked in surprise. "I—I beg your pardon?" He asked.”Worried about me?”

“Pela, Lynx, Serval—even I've noticed. Your head… it doesn’t quite seem to be quite in it lately,” she paused, her voice strained. “Perhaps there’s something we can do to ease your burden?” 

“No, no,” he shook his head. The last thing he wanted was some poor officer to be saddled with more work—the work he was supposed to be doing. “I assure you that won’t be necessary—but I'll be sure to step up my performance from now on,” Gepard reassured her, feeling rather embarrassed that his performance was so poor that she had noticed it.

“I swear—these Landaus…” He heard Bronya mutter quietly under her breath. “Unfortunately, that’s exactly the problem. You’ve been working yourself far too hard. I hear reports about how every night, you refuse to sleep and insist on poring over maps for hours until sunrise,”

She paused. “I understand that you care deeply about the success and well-being of your soldiers, but going every night without sleep? That simply isn’t sustainable,” she said firmly.

The commander eyed him intently. There was something in his expression she couldn’t quite decipher.

“Gepard?”

“Hm?” He looked up.

“Something’s been bothering you, hasn’t it?” She took a step from behind the makeshift crates that served as her desk. “Besides not getting enough sleep, I mean,”

The captain was silent for a moment. “Perhaps. I haven’t been able to put my finger on it, unfortunately,” he sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. It had lost all the shine it had once had.

“Recently, I’ve been having this dream. (Y/N) is there, and every time I wake up, I just—,” 

He swallowed. Bronya nodded. No wonder he didn’t want to sleep.

“It must be hard,” she started. “Seeing someone you were so close to every time you sleep, only to realize that they aren’t there in the morning. I’m truly sorry for your loss,” she said softly. Gepard lowered his head slightly.

“It’s not just the fatigue,” he admitted. “It’s the guilt, too—,”

The guilt over not being able to protect them. The shame he felt—it should have been him instead. But, was he even allowed to feel such things? He should have felt grateful for being alive—the realization made him feel even more guilty. He sighed.

Bronya nodded again. She knew exactly how he felt. “I understand. I apologize—I must have brought back some unpleasant feelings,” she blurted. She’d lost her fair share of loved ones as well, but the captain just shook his head.

“Just please know this, Gepard,” she pleaded. “We’re here to support you. The people—the citizens of Belobog— they need you. For their sake, we must remain strong,” she said, her voice contorting painfully. She felt like a monster for even suggesting such a thing. This time was hard for everyone—he should be allowed to grieve, too.

“Please, for the sake of everyone you love—please let us know if there is anything we can do to help,” she felt her chest tightening as she stared deep into his eyes, filled with sorrow. He looks so… tired. So… fragile.

“(Y/N)... (Y/N) wouldn’t have wanted this for you,” she said, her eyes brimming with worry. 

For you to be so sad, she whispered internally as she looked at his downcast fac. For you to feel so… guilty. 

Oh, how she wished you were here.

The young noble flinched. The fact that it was true made him feel even worse. He turned away from her, defeated.

“...I know,” he admitted, before opening the doors to face the howling wind outside.

•┈••✦ ❆ ✦••┈•

Gepard was rudely awoken once more by a lump of snow—blown by the wind—slamming into the back of his neck. 

He glanced around worriedly—had he fallen asleep standing up? He immediately felt an avalanche of shame crash over him.

He was still holding Earthwork (his barrier device) with a grip so firm it turned his knuckles white, as if it could be ripped from him at any moment. He looked upwards at the top of the wall where the snow had come from, only to spot soldiers running about with panicked voices. His skin pricked with alarm as he heard his title.

“—the captain. Where is the captain?” One person said.

“—a monster by the north tower—,”

“—not enough time—we’re screwed!” Another blurted.

The captain sprang to his feet, slinging the device over his back before taking off in a feverish sprint toward the camps. What were they talking about?? He whirled around a corner—nearly knocking over a soldier that had come to fetch him.

“Captain!” the soldier huffed. “There’s been a breach of the western barrier—!”

Gepard’s eyes widened in horror. The western barrier—that’s where the refugee camps were.

A soft hiss escaped his lips. Aeons, this was bad.  “Send for squads four and six—tell them to meet me by the gate,” he commanded, briskly pointing a finger in the air. His heart raced. They hadn’t ordered an evacuation yet—how could he have forgotten such a simple detail?? His brain must have been addled with sleep.

“—and call for an evacuation to the north block!” He called to the soldier, who was already running for the ramparts. They nearly fell head over heels trying to make it there in time.

In less than a minute, the captain made it to the western wall, frost spraying in his wake as soldiers began to fall in-step behind him. He immediately motioned to the grenadiers to fire at the most imminent threat—a line of automaton spiders geared straight toward the tent blocks. 

Thundering explosions shook the ground as the enemy spiders exploded, each robot causing the next one to blow up in rapid succession. A wall of smoke and fire rose from their remains as sparks showered the soldiers from all directions. Gepard winced, shielding his face from the blasts. 

From the smoke clouds came the Fragmentum monsters, their wretched screeches filling the air. He heard a scream to his right—a foot soldier had been swept off his feet and slammed into a wall, his torso twisted at a horrific angle. There was a good chance he was still alive—at least for now. 

The sight made him sick to his stomach—but he charged forward nonetheless, shouting orders over the sounds of clashing metal and the explosions that made his ears ring—when, over the curtain walls of the west block, he spotted something that shook him to his very core.

Grizzlies. A horde of them.

Covered from head to toe in Fragmentum constructs that resembled gnarled roots, their swiveling spotlights landed right on the soldiers, temporarily blinding them. Each automaton let out a low rumble as its gears turned. The one at the front of the pack turned on its axles and let out a groan that made Gepard’s blood run cold—shedding bits of what looked like rust onto the ground.

As some of the debris was swept up by the wind and landed on the soldiers’ skin, it became apparent that it was not rust—as rust didn’t melt and trickle down your face and taste like blood.

Gepard’s stomach churned. His mind flashed back to the frosted blood scraped into piles by the encampment.

“Captain—we’ve got a problem!” A soldier shouted in front of him, their voice tinged with desperation. From this distance, the captain could clearly witness the fact that their knees were shaking.

“Automaton Grizzlies at 3 o’clock! Get moving!” The young noble bellowed toward his fellow soldiers—ifyou could even call those things Grizzlies. The machines marched forward mechanically, swinging at the platoon of soldiers. Their limbs were blunt—meant for excavation and bulldozing—meaning anyone unlucky enough would have their organs pulverized and be left to bleed from the inside out. 

More and more automatons began to flood past their borders as the guards did their best to evacuate citizens,, all while holding off the monsters. The odds were starting to look rather grim. Gepard had to act, and quickly.

“We have to regroup—Dunn! Mind your left!” Gepard shouted to his underclassman as a fire-type fragmentum creature brought down the axe on his fellow subordinate. 

The soldiers hurriedly coalesced into something akin to a semicircle as they fended off the oncoming hordes. The sounds of battle were everywhere—men fell like timber, one after another amidst the screeches of monsters and the clanging of metal. First it was Michel—then Sven—just who else would be slaughtered amongst this chaos? He wondered. 

Had Qlipoth truly forsaken them?

As Gepard gazed out across the desperate battlefield, he had a flash of ingenuity—a decisive act that would end the battle for good. Turning to the few remaining soldiers, he issued an order with a grim expression on his face. It was their last hope to avoid total annihilation. 

The soldiers nodded to each other as they listened closely to his words. The captain couldn’t see their faces beneath their visors—he could only imagine the kinds of expressions they were making as their gazes were fixed on him.

Then suddenly, they nodded and turned in the other direction. Dunn, the lieutenant, stayed a moment longer, his arms falling limply to his sides before gingerly placing one hand over his heart.

And with that, Gepard took off running straight into the horde of monsters.

The captain’s boots thudded on stone as he ran, his navy cape tattered from countless battles fluttering behind him. His shielding device left thin valleys of frost from where it scraped along the street. The wind stung his eyes and nose as he dove headfirst into the fray, dodging and feinting and evading the attacks of the monsters. He was nothing but a white and blue streak as he darted across the battlefield.

Just like old times, he thought to himself. He couldn’t help but remember scraps of his glory days, when he’d first been promoted to captain. He’d ripped the blade clean off of a Direwolf as the other cadets had watched in awe—but there was no honor to be earned in battle anymore. 

He gripped the limb of the automaton before twisting it brutally as wires snapped loose and sent sparks flying everywhere. Wasting no time at all, he dismounted from the machine to slam his barrier device into another one. The captain could feel the blood rushing in his ears and the frost stinging his skin as he fought tooth and nail to buy more time.

Gepard peered up at the ramparts for a moment where the cannons were lined up. They were ready.

With a final burst of effort, he kicked his barrier device as far away from him as he could before racing to the spot—a clearing just below an unstable building that was missing a few of its main supports. The machines swiveled towards him, their engines rumbling menacingly.

The anxious soldiers manning the cannons were nearly scared out of their wits by Bronya, who was parting the crowd of guards with great ferocity. She’d come rushing from her tent as soon as she heard the commotion.

“Just what in the—what on Jarilo-VI is going on??” She demanded, her eyes flickering around wildly. “Does he have a death wish??” The tiny yellow dot that was the captain seemed to be holding his own out there, so why were the cannons pointed—

She froze, bile rising in her throat, remembering his expression during their earlier conversation.

The commander watched in horror as he picked up a halberd from a nearby weapons rack and hurled it at the closest automaton before waving his arms to draw its attention.

Bronya’s eyes widened—the unsteady building—the fact that he wasn’t retreating—she knew exactly what he was trying to do. She could see his gaze darting around each of the monsters, ensuring that they were focused on him and at an appropriate distance. And he kept dodging and weaving—making sure they were just two steps behind him as he led them right where he wanted.

She gripped the wall tightly as each breath made her chest shudder. Tears that she hadn’t even noticed froze as they rolled down her cheeks—

Why? Just, why?

How could he just leave them like this? He would surely be a hero—but his sisters—was it really the best course of action? 

But she’d seen it in his eyes, just hours prior. The captain of the Silvermane Guards no longer had any will left in him.

She hardened her gaze as she lifted her chin. If… if this was what he truly wanted… then so be it. She circled behind the artillery unit, her head held high.

And then, she saw it. A flick of the cape. The smallest signal.

With tears in her eyes and a heart as heavy as lead, she raised her hand and gave the order.

“Fire,” she said, dropping her hand like the blade of a guillotine.

She saw him dive one last time, luring the monster right where he wanted it and standing his ground—his tired eyes glimmered with something she couldn't quite understand, and likely never would.

The monster raised its limb, ready to crush the captain—who seemed so fragile and weak at that moment. The young noble felt his knees give out from under him as he fell, letting out a sigh filled with years of pain and longing that could finally escape his body. 

He looked the creature dead in the “eyes” before shutting one final time.

The last thing Bronya saw was a flash of blonde hair—and then he was gone. Debris from the building cascaded over him as dust shot up in large plumes. The monsters stood no chance—they were smothered almost immediately. The air was filled with a thundering roar, and then—silence.

No words were spoken as the soldiers gazed upon the final resting place of their beloved captain. Then, one by one, they each pressed their hand to their temple in a final salute. 

For all he had done for them throughout the years. For protecting their families with such dedication. It was only fit he got the end he desired.

Farewell, captain.

•┈••✦ ❆ ✦••┈•

“...have you searched the eastern wall yet?” Franz asked. 

The sky was dull and grey, but at least the blizzard had let up for a moment, so they could search for Captain Gepard’s remains.

“Yep. I’m just finishing up here,” Karl replied, trying his best to ignore the group of women standing by in long winter coats—one was tall with long blonde hair, another short with a knitted hat. The third one had glasses and neat purple hair. 

Their scrutinizing gazes made it nearly impossible to ignore them. He turned in their direction, gathering the courage to look the tallest one in the eye—but he couldn’t help the lump that formed in his stomach as her piercing blue eyes searched him.

“Miss Serval…” he started. “U-um… if we—if we do find him, are you sure you want to be present? It might be a bit hard to stomach, after all,” 

He swallowed heavily as the eldest Landau sibling nodded. “I’m certain. Please pay us no mind—I’m simply doing my filial duty,” she said, her expression betraying nothing.

Karl could tell that there was more to it than that, but he kept his mouth shut.

“Ah—,” Franz stopped abruptly, rising to his feet.

“Find something?” Karl trotted over toward him. His heart was pounding with something he couldn’t name.

“I did… I’m not sure what it is yet, though,” the other soldier said. Karl leaned in and saw what Franz had witnessed—it was a glint of polished silver (albeit its shine had been dulled by a thick coating of dust) underneath the rubble. 

The soldiers froze, and Franz let out a strangled gasp before dropping to his knees, pushing away the debris frantically. Karl gritted his teeth. If they really had found the captain, it might be too much for them to handle.

They pushed aside the rocks to find nothing more than Gepard’s arm armor—its owner was nowhere to be seen. 

Karl breathed a sigh of relief. He was grateful that they didn’t have to face his broken body—though at this point, it was simply a fact of life. Thankfully, this memento would be sufficient enough to give him a proper send-off without having to pull a mutilated corpse from the rubble.

The soldiers rose to their feet, Karl cradling the crumpled gauntlet in his arms. 

“Let’s take this back to the camp,” Franz said. “The rubble is too unstable. Besides… I think the captain deserves some rest,” 

Karl nodded before gathering the attention of the women. “Do you want to do the honors, or would you rather we do it?” He inquired.

“I’ll—we’ll do it,” Serval choked out, taking the gauntlet from his hands. They followed silently behind them as they carried what was left of their brother to the designated graveyard, a clearing with man-made stone formations that served as graves. Most of them were unmarked.

The eldest Landau gingerly kneeled by a rock formation that Lynx had made earlier, the gauntlet in hand. Pela and Lynx gathered around her. She reached out with trembling fingers, tracing a hand over the makeshift grave they had made for him.

The two soldiers exchanged looks. Even after all he’d done for them, they couldn’t even give him a proper burial.

Serval stared at the gauntlet for a moment, gazing at her reflection, warped and distorted by the crushed metal. She couldn’t help the wave of emotions that flooded through her as she gripped it tightly to her chest.

“Geppie,” she said softly. “My little baby brother…”

Lynx placed a gloved hand on her shoulder.

“—Why’d you have to go and do this to your big sis?” she whispered.

Serval began to cry, pressing her cheek against the cold metal. The tears that fell from her eyes didn’t make it to the ground before they froze solid. She looked at Lynx, her blue eyes wet with grief, before Lynx broke down too, crumpling into her sister’s embrace like a wounded baby bear. Their shoulders heaved in unison as they held each other, anguished sobs escaping from their lips.

Pela watched from afar, occasionally reaching out to rub their backs—but she couldn’t hide her own tears that fell.

After some time, their cries slowed to a halt. Serval and Lynx placed the gauntlet by the rest of the unmarked graves, rising to their feet and brushing off their coats. Their eyes were red with exhaustion.

As they walked back to camp, Serval stopped in her tracks for a moment to look at the lifeless sky. As she gazed up at it, her cheeks red and her hair unkempt, she whispered one last goodbye:

Goodnight, my foolish little brother. 

Sleep well.

2025 - Dreaming-of-Mossballs - Do not repost/translate without my permission - NO AI