#halovian!reader

The clash of weapons fills the air, only to be quickly drowned out by the sound of bodies collapsing to the ground.

“Has the bat finally been worn down,” a voice rings out from above, immediately causing all four students to perk and a gruff huff to leave the lips of the esteemed general. “You needed my help this time, not very ‘general’ of you, Vanrouge.”

“Ugh, it’s you,” Lilia responds, eyes focusing on your form above, as he notice his men lower their weapons, their eyes searching the trees above for the voice. The recognisable voice working wonders to silence an army, his army—something even he struggles with from time to time.

With a voice full of taunt, yet underlined with familiarity he opens his mouth to speak, "What are you doing here? Got peckish, birdie?"

‘Birdie’..? Silver recognises that nickname anywhere. He shares a knowing look with the green-haired boy beside him, Sebek responds with a simple nod. Before either could speak up, their attention diverts to a startled Grim. “Wahh?! Let me go! Who are you? I am the Great Grim, how dare you-“

He cuts himself off with a satisfied purr. Yuu’s eyes almost pop out of their sockets. This being—person? Fae?—just got Grim to shut up and purr???

“What kind of direbeast are you, cutie?” Grim’s eyes widen as he recognises the nickname. It’s you! “Mrah! Y-y/n?!”

Your hooded figure lands onto the ground in one swift motion. Adjusting to cradle Grim in your arms, you chuckle as the cat-like beast melts into your arms. “That’s my name! Did Lilia mention me to you and your little human friends?”

Silver and Sebek instinctively straighten their posture, reminding themselves that this dream version of you is not their loving mother/mentor.

The pair and Yuu’s faces contort from seriousness and confusion to a united shock as you pull off your hood.

For the latter, the shock comes from meeting the three pairs of wings that sprouts out from your head, the ones you usually fold into your hair… those beautiful wings that belong to your species of fae, ‘Halovian’? Yuu believes is what Malleus had said.

For the former two, the shock is from meeting your face, your scarless face… The you they know has a sunken, atrophic scar of silver that trails linearly from your brow down to your neck, rimmed by an ashen ring. But this you? Your face is scarless, untouched porcelain painted by nothing but your expressions.

Silver’s thoughts slow down as he took in your recognisable yet foreign face. Your face that softens every time he gifts you a bundle of flowers, your face that scrunches up every time his father peppers it with kisses.

“Like I’d talk about you to anyone, human or otherwise.” Lilia responds with equal snark and mirth, snapping Silver out of his daze. Turning around to face his men he barks out, “You lot! We’re moving back to camp!! Ignore the bird, she’ll be travelling with us.”

“Yes, sir!!!” The general nods at the response and immediate action of his soldiers.

ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🦇་༘࿐

“Y-you, I- Y-you’re Lieutenant General L/n!!” Sebek stutters out as he follows behind Lilia and you, who are trailing the troops. “Oh, no need for titles,” You insist, Grim still sitting comfortably in your arms. “Call me whatever you desire.”

“Anyways, what are you students doing all the way in our Briarland? Here to drag this stuck up bat to that magic school of yours?”

“Like hell I’d go there!” Lilia grunts, “What is a-“ “‘school established by humans going to teach me’, yes I’ve heard your rant, Lilia,” You interrupt him by stretching a wing to shove into his face. “Honestly, I don’t understand how Raverne can put up with your insistant rants about how you despise the humans.”

“Well, mother- I mean Lady L/n, we actually -uhm, are accompanying Sir Vanrouge…” He softly explains, trying not to give so much away. “We’ve been handling the meals at the campground.”

“Oh? Then I must look forward to when we reach the grounds,” You smile to yourself, eyes trailing to the quiet child stood between Silver and Sebek. You believe their name is…Yuu? “Are you alright, dearie? You’ve been on the silent end for quite the while.” Yuu perks up, still in their slight daze, “Oh, I- I just, I just have been watching your wings.” They answer, nervous at being caught.

Your wings shrink slightly at the child’s words, you’ve faced many comments on your wings before. When facing humans, most are not very fond of your wings.

Your lips shrink into a tight smile, as your eyes shift to focus on Grim’s ears. “I’m sorry, lovely. I didn’t mean to put you off…” Lilia throws a worried glance at you, however his hand freezes halfway from reaching your arm.

“HUMAN!! How dare you insinuate such an insult towards Lady Y/n-!!!”

“No! I didn’t mean-“ Yuu stumbles on their words, “they’re just so pretty, a-and it’s not something I get to see everyday so… i’m sorry if I insulted you, I swear it’s not my intention!”

“Sebek calm down, it is simply a misunderstanding.” Silver intervenes, his eyes trailing to the surprisingly soft-looking feathers of your wings. “They truly are beautiful, please don’t feel the need to hide them.”

For the rest of the journey, the silver-haired boy notices the way Lilia’s deep-red eyes keep pursuing you. Well, you did say his father was smitten since you were young.

ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🦇་༘࿐

Arriving at the campgrounds, the group meets with a startled Baur. “Lieutenant General! What are you doing here?”

“Hm? Good to see you too, Baur.” You offer him a soft nod and a little wave. “I oversaw our dear General of the Right struggling earlier and decided to help. So now I’m here for my delicious reward!”

Silver places his hand on Yuu’s shoulder as a signal, “Ah, we’ll get cooking right away then.” Sebek eagerly nods as the three start preparing the meal.

“Wait, where’s Grim?” Yuu whispers as they stir the pot, their eyes searching around for their companion. However, the searching comes to a fast halt when their eyes land on a sleeping Grim, ensconced in the comfort of your lap.

“Erk! How dare a direbeast rest upon the Lady Y/n in her prime. The audacity!” Sebek mutters out in frustration.

“Leave it, Sebek.” Silver mediates, he lets out a fond chuckle as he continues to cut up the vegetables. “mother always had a thing for creatures, magical or otherwise.”

ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🦇་༘࿐

“That meal was delicious! Much better than the food made by half the royal kitchen staff if I must say!” You chuckle sitting beside Lilia, while the rest rounds the campfire, Grim being returned to his usual spot perched upon Yuu’s shoulder.

“Enough chit-chat about such insignificant matters. We have a mission to accomplish.” The general clarifies. Baur, however, speaks upon his opposition before the general could go into further detail, “General! I still remain very much opposed to this! How can you allow humans to accompany our troops?!”

“If they ever slow us down, we can just ditch them.” You frown at his words, giving him a light nudge on the side. Yes, indeed you weren’t a fan of Humans yourself, but, discriminating against children? That is where you draw a fine line.

Lilia lightly grumbles in reaction before continuing with his explanation of the mission, “My real worry is Castle Wildrose. The sooner we wrap up this job, the better. I'll use whatever gets it done faster, be it fae or humans”

“You must be worried about the princess still at the castle.” Yuu perks, noticing the slight urgency in the otherwise commanding voice.

“Me? Worried about Maleanor?” He shares a look with you before he burst out into laughter, while you contain your laugh with a simple shake of your head. “It's not Her Highness I'm worried about. It's the castle itself, and OUR hide.” He uses his hand to motion towards himself and you. “The last thing I want is for the princess to destroy the whole castle in a fit of pique while we’re both gone.”

“Our princess is unruly, quick to start fights, selfish, and irascible... Not to mention incredibly spiteful.” His rant continues, and you make no motion to stop him other than a defeated nod at every word that spills from his mouth.

“Mrah! I couldn’t care less about bratty royalty,” Grim starts, a deadpan expression taking over his face. He points towards you and Lilia eagerly, ears twitching in curiosity “So, are you two married??”

“Huh?!” The sudden question startles the both of you, your wings instinctively folding to cover your face. Lilia and you had just recently started courting, but the two of you never announced it and wanted to keep the professional away from the personal. “W-well…”

“You!! How dare you ask such invasive questions! Prefect, please maintain control over your pet!!”

“Mrah?! The Great Grim is no one’s pet!”

“Enough,” Lilia interjects before chaos could ensue, “*Yawn* It's getting light out. I'm going to bed. The rest of you should get some sleep too. We're setting out eastward at noon.”

Baur responds with an obedient nod, “...Yes, sir. I hope you rest well. Night's blessings.”

“Night's blessings.”

As Lilia walks away, you also decide to stand up. “Well, I must agree with the general on this one… I shall also get some rest.”Stretching out your limbs, you give them a little wave with one of your wings before heading off, “Night’s blessings everyone.”

A chorus of ‘Night’s blessings’ trail behind you as you walk away.

“So… no one’s answered my question!” Grim exclaims in quiet frustration by the lack of answer to his question. Lowering his voice, Baur gives in to the direbeasts curiousity, “what I am about to tell you must not be talked about, understand?”

He continues after all four nod, “from what I’ve heard, Lady Y/n and the General have started courting recently. Though it’s quite hard to tell as I believe they’re keeping their work and personal relationships separate.”

“Anyways, that’s enough! The four of you should get some rest.” Baur suggests, he too feeling the weariness of fatigue.

“Yes, thank you, sir Zigvolt.” Silver responds his head already nodding off to sleep.

ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🦇་༘࿐

The sound of a charm could be heard in the hallway of castle Wildrose before a collection of troops appear, “Rgh... Confound it... Teleportation magic definitely hurts more when you're wounded.”

You place a supporting hand onto Lilia’s shoulder, “once we see Maleanor, I’ll rush to grab a healing potion from my workroom. Just a bit longer, bat.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I heard you the first time…” he grunts out, accepting your support.

“Are you okay?” Yuu worries, their eyes tracing Lilia’s pained expression. “It's nothing for you to be concerned about. Now—“ he is cut off by the sound of a voice… is that singing?

“Really, now. Is this any time for singing? Has she any regard for the rest of us?” He huffs out, showing his annoyed look to you, as he barks out to the soldiers. “Come on, you lot!”

*creak*

“Lady Maleanor, are you safe?-“

 *thunder*

“YOU’RE LATE, LILIA!!” A thunderous voice responds, a significant contrast to the soothing voice from earlier.

Multiple purple bolts of lightening rain down from above, nearly being dodged by all the troops. “Woah!” You swiftly avoid one that came scarily close to your body.

“My egg and I are in dire peril, yet you've been out gallivanting at your leisure!

Fools!

Idiots!

USELESS OAFS!”

“Lady Maleanor, I extend my deepest apologies for our tardiness. I can vouch for General Vanrouge, so please, do calm down!-” you nearly get hit by a bolt.

“And you!!” She faces you, her anger apparent albeit her lightening strikes lessen in frequency. “I sent you out to simply deliver a message to the Queen with direct orders to return immediately!” You take a wary step forwards.

“Where have you been?!? Do you know how wor-” she clears her throat, lowering her staff to stop the lightening attacks and turns her attention back to her egg.

‘Phew this is going to be a long journey…’ Yuu can already sense the arduousness of it all.

ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🦇་༘࿐

Anaxa doesn’t curse. He hisses, like steam beneath cracking stone.

“Did I not explicitly say, do not engage the arcanum juggernaut alone?” he snaps, striding over with the rage of a dying star and the precision of a surgeon.

You try to sit up. “I was… fine until the explosion.”

“Ah yes,” he mutters, kneeling beside you, his gloved fingers glowing faintly gold as they hover over your wound. “Because explosions, I hear, are famously gentle to brittle-boned divines with wings made of hope and denial.”

You laugh—wince—then laugh again.

“Mockery and martyrdom,” he says, dryly amused now. “Tell me, were you also planning to sermonize while bleeding out?”

You glance at his solemn face, and something flickers behind his eye. His palm hovers over your chest, your halo flickers uncertainly above.

“You fascinate me,” he says suddenly, voice lowered. “A being born of sky, dipped in prophecy, yet somehow you break like chalk on the first draft of history. That fragility…” He frowns. “It enrages me. Because I fear it.”

Your breath catches. “Why?”

“Because I can’t predict you. Can’t control it. And it means I might lose you before I finish understanding why your soul sounds like a song I’ve never heard before.”

And with that, he lifts you gently—not like glass, but like truth: weightless, dangerous, and deserving of reverence.

You flutter down from the ridge, landing beside Mydei in a half-collapse of feathers and grace. Your wing twitches. Your knees buckle.

He’s at your side in a flash.

“Not again,” he murmurs, voice soft but grave. “This is the third time you’ve dropped like a sparrow from the sky.”

You grin despite the blood on your lip. “But I made the shot.”

His eyes narrow, flickering with both pride and quiet exhaustion. “Yes. And nearly died again doing it.”

You flop dramatically against a nearby stone. “Halovians don’t die. We ascend.”

“Halovians bleed,” he growls, tearing fabric to wrap your shoulder. “You bleed more than any warrior I’ve fought beside. Even with your psychic shields. You're all mind and light, and not enough armor.”

“Wouldn’t exactly match the vibe,” you whisper, voice waning. “Halo, feathers, choir energy…”

Mydei lifts your chin gently. “Then I’ll be your armor. Even if you hate hiding behind others. Even if you tell me not to.”

You blink. “You’re not scared of me?”

He smiles faintly. “You terrify me. Not for your power. But because you’re fragile… and you keep throwing yourself into storms like you’ve never seen rain before.”

You feel tears build.

“Next time,” he whispers, lifting you onto his back like you weigh nothing, “you fly behind me. And stay behind me, songbird.”

You are unconscious for exactly three seconds after the explosion.

Then you blink awake—to see Phainon hovering over you, white hair dusted with ash, his face absolutely wrecked with concern.

“Oh my stars,” he breathes. “Are your wings bent? Are they crumpled? Your halo’s flickering! That’s not supposed to flicker, is it?”

You wheeze. “They just… clipped me. I’m—”

“You’re not fine,” he says, scooping you up and running fast. “You fell like a dropped porcelain plate. I thought—” He bites off the rest, clearly shaken. “You psychic types need a ‘do not poke’ sticker on your forehead.”

“Maybe a ‘caution: glass soul’ sign?”

“You're laughing again,” he says, scandalized. “How are you laughing?”

You reach up, brushing a soot-smudge from his cheek. “Because you’re cute when you panic.”

He flushes, nearly trips, then keeps running. “I panic because I like you, featherbrain!”

There’s a long pause as you rest against his chest, halo now steadier.

“I don’t care if you’re fragile,” he murmurs. “But I need you to let me help. You're made of light and high notes and cosmic static, and I’m… I’m just a sword. But I can cut through the dark for you.”

You press your head to his shoulder. “Then I’ll be your guiding flame.”

Phainon smiles through the tears he’ll never admit were there. “Deal. But if you faint mid-sentence again, I will wrap you in bubble wrap.”

Halovians were born to entrance: your halo shimmered faintly behind your head, feathers faintly rustling as your voice carried a resonance that soothed or unsettled depending on your intent. You cloaked your obsession well, weaving it into warmth, into companionship. Phainon never saw the strings you wound around him, because he was too busy binding himself with guilt.

“Sometimes,” he confessed one night by the campfire, “I wonder if my flame is meant to burn the world, not save it.” His cyan eyes dimmed, reflecting the coals.

You leaned closer, brushing his arm lightly with your fingers. The gesture was simple, almost accidental—but through your soft telepathy, you planted reassurance deep in his chest. No one else sees you like I do. No one else knows the truth of your burden.

His breath hitched, as though the thought were his own.

Phainon was kind, almost unbearably so. His laughter came easily, his compassion boundless—but every smile carried sorrow beneath it. And you loved him for it. Loved it so much that you began steering his path, gently, carefully. You whispered doubt into his ear about comrades who questioned his resolve. You magnified his reliance on you, until your presence was as vital as his Coreflame.

And he thanked you for it.

When battles ended, his hand would linger on yours, gratitude in his gaze. When the others cheered his victories, he searched only for your nod. Your manipulations wove a reality where you were the sole anchor keeping him afloat.

But obsession is a dangerous fire.

The night he almost broke was the night you nearly lost him. The Strife Titan had driven him to his knees, his sword cracked, his armor scorched. You wove your telepathy like a net around him, amplifying every ounce of his will, feeding it with your own. Rise. Rise for me.

He rose. He burned. He survived.

Later, when the others slept, he cornered you. His voice was ragged. “I heard you. In the battlefield. You were there—in my head.” His eyes searched yours, torn between awe and fear.

You tilted your head, halo glimmering faintly. “I was only reminding you of what you already knew, Phainon. You’re not allowed to fall. Not yet.”

Silence stretched. Then, slowly, he pressed his forehead to yours. His Coreflame mark burned faintly against his throat, and for a moment, you felt his soul’s warmth flicker against your own.

You smiled. He thought it was affection. He never realized it was triumph.

Because now, his survival was no longer his choice. It was yours.

Anaxa was dangerous, but so were you. That was why you adored him.

The Demised Scholar carried the weight of heresies and broken dreams in every word he spoke. His sharp tongue lashed at prophets and tyrants alike, but when you came near, his voice softened. Not by choice—Halovians could tune minds as easily as harps—but because you made it so.

“You’re too quiet,” he said once, aqua eyes narrowing, magenta pupils burning like coals. “Most who linger near me can’t resist arguing. You just…listen.”

You tilted your head, halo flickering in a delicate pulse. “I hear the music in your words. Why would I interrupt?”

That earned a rare laugh, dry and bitter.

You knew what he didn’t: you weren’t listening, you were memorizing. Cataloguing every wound, every vulnerability. You wrapped your obsession in silk, presenting it as admiration. When he raged against the gods, you whispered agreement, fueling his fire. When grief pulled him under, you cloaked his thoughts with your own, feeding him resolve.

To Anaxa, you were the one soul who understood him.

The truth was darker. You wanted to be the only one.

It wasn’t difficult. His peers already despised him, wary of his experiments and defiance. You nudged his paranoia with gentle suggestions: that colleagues mocked him in secret, that students whispered betrayal. He grew more isolated, but leaned closer to you, relying on your presence as his single tether.

One night, deep in his laboratory, surrounded by failed constructs of soul and flame, he confessed. “I think I killed her.” His voice cracked. “My sister. I wasn’t there when the Black Tide came. If I hadn’t chased knowledge, she would’ve lived.”

You touched his hand, letting your feathers brush his ear in a gesture that was half comfort, half claim. “She lives through you. Through your work. Through what you will become.”

His gaze snapped to yours. For the first time, he didn’t see a student, an admirer, a companion. He saw salvation.

And you smiled, because you had rewritten his grief into devotion.

When he attempted his final, forbidden transformation—seeking to merge soul with divinity—you were there, whispering steady guidance through your telepathy. Others might call it manipulation. You called it love.

If he survived, he would belong to you.

If he died, his legacy would still be yours to carry.

Either way, Anaxa could never escape you.

Aventurine was a gambler. And you? You never played fair.

He noticed you the way he noticed all things—calculating odds, weighing risks. A Halovian in Penacony was already a spectacle: your halo shimmered faint gold, your voice carrying an undertone that bent hearts without them realizing. To him, you were a curiosity. To you, he was obsession incarnate.

You played the long game. He thrived on risk, on chaos, but you fed his addiction subtly. A word here, a nudge there—telepathic pulses that made him crave your company the way he craved the roll of dice.

“You’ve got tells, you know,” he teased one evening, lounging across a velvet couch. His eyes gleamed under his glasses. “Every time you want something, your halo flickers. Just a little.”

You feigned a laugh, masking the deliberate pulse you’d trained into your gestures. “And what is it I want, Aventurine?”

His grin widened. “Me, obviously.”

He thought it was a joke. He didn’t realize how true it was.

Unlike others, Aventurine was hard to corner. He thrived on unpredictability, making every relationship a gamble. But you loved that. You mirrored his moves, reflecting charm with charm, danger with danger. Where he bluffed, you called. Where he tested, you raised. It became a dance of risk, except the odds were always yours—because your voice, your halo, your obsession tilted the balance.

He started seeking you out. At games, negotiations, walks under Penacony’s neon sky—he wanted your presence, your perspective. He thought it was fascination. It was dependency.

One night, when a gamble went sour and enemies cornered him, you intervened. Not openly—you whispered fear into their minds, subtle threads of Halovian telepathy that made them doubt, hesitate, retreat. Aventurine never saw it, only the aftermath.

“You’re lucky,” you told him, smiling.

But he shook his head, staring at you with unsettling intensity. “No. That wasn’t luck. That was you.”

The air thickened. For a heartbeat, you feared he’d uncovered everything. Then, his smile curved again, softer this time. “Guess I’ve found my greatest gamble.”

And he meant it.

You’d become his risk, his thrill, his obsession—and he never realized it was the other way around. Every choice he made now bent toward you, every calculation included your presence.

He was a gambler. But you had already stacked the deck.

And when the game ended, it would be you collecting all the winnings.

You sighed, rubbing your face with a tired hand, the flutter of your halo—gentle and bright—flickering faintly in the early morning light. You had been up late studying, and sleep had barely been enough to recharge your energy.

Just as you pushed yourself out of bed, a soft, familiar voice echoed from behind you, smooth and calm, with an unmistakable edge of mischief.

"My little songbird," Jing Yuan's deep voice coiled around you like a warm breeze. His presence was as calming as it was overwhelming, and in an instant, you felt strong hands pulling you back into the softness of the bed, a feather-light touch brushing against your ear. "Where do you think you're going?"

You tried to stifle a laugh, though the tension in your chest remained. "But, dear… I have to study for my test…!" you protested, feeling the weight of your responsibilities bear down on you once more. "I can't just… stay here."

Jing Yuan smirked, the gleam of his eyes twinkling as he nestled into the soft feathers that cascaded from behind your head. His arms wrapped around you effortlessly, holding you close as his warmth enveloped you, and the air around him seemed to hum with an unspoken understanding.

"There's no need to study when you can stay in bed and cuddle me," he murmured, his voice like a lullaby that made your heart skip a beat. His tone was calm, but there was a subtle, unspoken authority in his words—like he knew exactly how to make you forget everything else in the world. "You can rest and trust that everything will be alright. Besides, you've already proven yourself more than capable."

Your heart fluttered, your halo flickering like a tiny star in response to his words. It was hard to argue with him, especially when his presence was so undeniably comforting. Despite your nerves about the test, his embrace melted away your anxieties, replacing them with something far more precious: peace.

"Jing Yuan," you sighed, the words more a gentle surrender than a plea. You leaned back against his chest, allowing yourself to relax for just a moment, letting the worries fade into the background. "I don’t know how you do it. But... I could stay here forever."

He chuckled softly, his breath warm against your skin. "Good," he whispered, pressing a light kiss to your temple. "Then stay with me for a little longer. Let me take care of you, my little songbird."

For a long moment, you remained nestled in his embrace, the outside world forgotten. The weight of exams and responsibilities no longer seemed so heavy. With Jing Yuan by your side, even the most daunting challenges could be faced with a calm heart and a steady mind.

And for now, that was enough.

You were an enigma to most: the aloof, forgotten third sibling of the famed Halovian siblings, Robin and Sunday. While they basked in the admiration of the Harmony’s followers, you had chosen to walk a quieter path. But tonight, you had been summoned—no, dragged—into this farce of an evening by your so-called peers, tasked with reining in the unpredictable Aventurine.

“I’ll admit,” Aventurine began, his eyes glinting like a gamble already won, “when they told me one of the Halovians was coming, I expected someone… friendlier.” He leaned forward, resting his chin on his knuckles, the ever-present smirk curling his lips. “Instead, they sent you.”

You didn’t flinch, though his words pricked at you like needles. Instead, you tilted your head, letting the subtle radiance of your halo shimmer as you replied, your voice cool and measured. “And I expected a professional. Instead, I find a jester playing at being a strategist.”

His laugh was as rich as the wine in his glass, cutting through the tension like a blade. “A sharp tongue, paired with sharp feathers. Careful—you might find yourself clipped if you’re not careful.”

Your wings stiffened behind you, feathers catching the dim light as your gaze hardened. “I didn’t come here to exchange barbs, Aventurine. Let’s discuss what you’ve done to land yourself in Penacony’s debt crisis.”

His grin widened. “Ah, straight to business. Very Halovian of you.” He waved a dismissive hand, his jewelry clinking softly. “But where’s the fun in that? A game is far more enlightening than a lecture, don’t you think?”

You opened your mouth to retort, but his words had already cast their spell. Before you could stop him, he produced a deck of ornate cards, shuffling them with practiced ease. “One game. High stakes. Winner gets to dictate the terms of this little arrangement. What do you say?”

You frowned, folding your arms. “I don’t gamble.”

“Everyone gambles,” he said smoothly, sliding the deck across the table toward you. “Some just call it diplomacy.”

Against your better judgment, you took the deck. The moment your fingers touched the cool, embossed cards, you felt a flicker of something—an unspoken challenge, laced with something deeper. You knew what this was: a test of wit, of will. And, perhaps, something more.

The game was tense, your every move met with Aventurine’s sly commentary. Yet, as the rounds passed, you found yourself matching him, move for move, wit for wit. The faintest hint of respect flickered in his eyes, though his smile never wavered.

“You’re good,” he murmured, breaking the silence as he leaned back in his chair, studying you with an intensity that made your wings flutter. “Better than I expected.”

“And you’re insufferable,” you replied, though there was a faint curve to your lips now, a warmth you hadn’t intended to show.

He chuckled, tipping his hat. “High praise, coming from you.”

As the hours stretched on, the game became less about the cards and more about the dance between you. His charm was relentless, his words weaving a web that you couldn’t quite escape, even as you countered him with your own measured grace.

Finally, as the last card was played, Aventurine leaned forward, his smile softer now, almost genuine. “A draw. How fitting.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re telling me this was all for nothing?”

“Not for nothing,” he said, his voice low. For the first time, his gaze lacked its usual playful edge. “I learned something tonight.”

You tilted your head, curious despite yourself. “And what’s that?”

“That even the most unshakable Halovian can falter.” His smile returned, though it was tinged with something deeper now. “And that, my dear, makes you far more interesting than your siblings.”

Your halo flickered, betraying the sudden rush of emotion his words stirred. You quickly smoothed your expression, rising from your seat. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he called after you, his voice lilting, “you’re already planning our next game.”

You paused, wings twitching, but you didn’t look back. Perhaps, just this once, he was right.

He stood in the middle of the Averardo Vault's restricted lab—uninvited, unwelcome, yet entirely calm. His shadowy phantoms flickered along the vault’s marble floor, disrupting the faint hum of the Reserved Terminals. You stood across the room with your arms folded, halo dim and fixed, feathers stiff with alarm.

“I thought the Ghost Hounds were mercenaries, not burglars,” you said, your voice silk-wrapped steel.

Calcharo tilted his head, unreadable. His tacet mark glowed faintly across his brow, subtle but present. “I’m not here for the Vault’s credits. I’m here for you.”

A scoff escaped your lips. “Flattered. Try again.”

“I need someone who can detect a poison that doesn’t exist. You’re the only one who can do it.”

You were a Montelli and a Halovian—two titles that carried weight, both in Penacony and Rinascita. But more than that, you were an alchemist of poisons, a forensic mind sharper than a diamond blade. Still, his sudden appearance made your aura pulse defensively. Your halo flickered for caution.

“You think storming into my lab would convince me?”

“No,” he said coolly. “But if I wanted to fight, you’d be dead already.”

Working together was hell.

Calcharo was infuriatingly precise, sharp-eyed, and impossible to distract. He didn't fall for your charm or telepathic nudges. Most didn’t realize how hard that was for a Halovian. People bent under your gaze, under the weight of your thoughts dancing across their minds.

But Calcharo only scowled and muttered, “Stay out of my head.”

In return, you jabbed at his pride. “Ever thought your resonance is unstable because you keep stuffing your emotions in a bottle and calling it ‘control’?”

You didn’t miss the way his jaw clenched.

Still, days turned into weeks. The more you worked, the more the cracks showed. You caught him once, standing by a window in the Montelli Quarter, watching a group of children play with echo lanterns. His tacet mark was dim, his expression distant—almost soft.

He spoke without turning. “You think I’m a monster, don’t you?”

“I think you’re a man who clawed out of the Lawless Zone and built something that matters,” you answered honestly. “But you're still acting like you're in the mud.”

That was the first time he looked at you like he truly saw you. Like he realized your beauty wasn't in your halo or your voice—but in your insight, your wit, the venom you knew how to weaponize and control.

Later that night, you saved his life—your antidote barely outpacing the slow-acting neurotoxin slipped into his wine at a Montelli masquerade.

“You trusted me to spot it,” you whispered, hands trembling as you injected the last vial into his neck.

He blinked slowly, rasping, “Didn’t trust you. I knew you’d hate losing more than you’d hate helping me.”

You laughed, breathless. “Fair enough.”

It didn’t happen all at once.

It was in the way you bickered over data samples and mission strategies. The way he moved to shield you from an enemy blast without thinking. The moment your fingers brushed, accidentally-on-purpose, as you passed him a file. Or the time he found you meditating by the coiled energy streams of your halo, his silent presence a comfort rather than a threat.

“I hated you,” you admitted once, in the safe dark of a hideout post-mission. “The way you stormed in like you owned my space. Like I was just another tool.”

“I did too,” he said, voice gravel-low. “You reminded me of everything I thought I couldn't have. Peace. A future. People who don't lie.”

You reached for him then—not with telepathy, not with power. Just your hand, warm against his.

“Then stop running from it.”

He leaned in, forehead against yours, tacet mark glowing faint under your halo’s light.

In that moment, thorns met radiance. And instead of cutting each other down, they found a way to bloom.