Before I realized who it was, the shadow was already beside me. My body tensed instinctively, a bead of cold sweat slipping down the curve of my back. The hall's lanterns burned low, their light smearing across the stone like faint bruises. Turning, I caught the familiar outline of Kayda. Even as I recognized her, I didn't relax. My pulse still hammered, a reminder of habits too deeply carved to fade.
"Where have you been? I've been searching for you for hours," she said, her tone clipped with annoyance, but her eyes carried something softer. A flicker I couldn't quite name.
"That's my line," I answered flatly, though my shoulders eased a fraction. "I've been walking around this mansion looking for you for three hours."
Her brows shot up, disbelief flashing across her face. "Don't tell me—"
"I think we've just been circling each other. Both of us searched, never meeting." My words fell deadpan, but the absurdity almost dragged a twitch from my lips. I held back a smirk that almost escaped.
Kayda stared for a moment, then a breath escaped her, breaking into a laugh. "Ha… that's ridiculous. And kind of intriguing. Imagine us chasing shadows of each other this whole time."
Her laugh carried a lightness I hadn't expected. Her laugh caused the corners of her eyes to crease in a way that almost felt… dangerous. I fought not to stare too long. "Glad you seem amused," I said, though my expression stayed blank, my tone flat. Inside, it wasn't flat. Inside, I felt a little hurt that she could laugh so easily while my chest was still a battlefield of broken glass.
Her eyes softened. "So? Why were you searching for me?"
The question sank into me, heavier than it should. I swallowed, searching for words. "I… just wanted to talk to you, I guess. But why were you looking for me?"
Her smile was effortless, and it stung more than I cared to admit. That smile—it was too natural, too open, like the world hadn't carved lines into her the way it had with me. I looked away, fighting the tug in my chest. I still need to get used to that smile—it's dangerous. Dangerous because it made me want to believe in things I had no right to.
"I told you before. I'd help you with magic whenever I had the time," she reminded me, voice steady.
"Right. If that's the case, then you won't mind me asking for advice."
"Of course not," Kayda said. Her gaze flicked toward a bench nearby, half-hidden under the shadows of an overhanging roof. "But let's sit somewhere more comfortable first."
"That's fine," I muttered, already moving, pretending not to notice that I'd quickened my steps just slightly to stay ahead of her. I pretended not to notice that her presence alone seemed to create a warmth along my spine.
"You sit. I'll grab drinks." She disappeared into the mansion's side hall before I could protest, her crimson wings trailing the air behind her like silent flames.
Left alone, I sank onto the bench, the wood cool against my back. I draped one arm across the backrest, forcing my body into a lazy posture, as if pretending to be comfortable could make me forget the strange tightness in my chest. My eyes drifted upward. The sky above was a sheet of gray clouds pressing down on the horizon, heavy and restless. Always moving. Never still. Just like me—always dragged along, never given space to stop.
She returned swiftly, two glasses in hand. She held one out, her fingers brushing mine. "You look comfortable," she said lightly.
"I didn't realize how tired my legs were until I sat down," I admitted while taking the glass in my left hand. The cool rim of the glass provided some grounding, but it wasn't sufficient.
Kayda settled next to me. The bench was long, but she didn't keep her distance. Her dragon wings brushed against my arm, the scales warmer than I expected, almost alive. She could have chosen space—she didn't. My gaze slid to her side profile, the way the lantern glow kissed her cheekbones, softening the sharpness of her features. For a second, I forgot to breathe. She doesn't even try. And yet… she pulls me in. Damn it.
Kayda fidgeted with her glass, eyes lowered. Her fingers tapped the rim as though she were trying to steady herself.
"You look nervous," I said, setting my drink down, leaning just slightly closer.
"O-oh, it's nothing." She tried to dismiss it with a small laugh, but her shoulders betrayed her, stiff and tense.
"So," I said, tilting my head toward her wings, "how are the new additions? Already figured out flying."
Her crimson wings shifted in response to my mention of the new additions. They weren't extravagant, just raw and natural—red scales and curved horns at the top, looking almost ordinary if such things could be. But on her? They suited her too well. They were like pieces of her soul finally made visible.
"They're… comfortable. They don't feel like a burden at all. I just need to duck through smaller doors. Other than that, they don't get in the way."
"I see. So my arm isn't in the way either?" I teased, letting the words slip softer than I meant them to.
She gave me a sidelong glance, lips quirking. "Not really. I can't feel much through the scales."
"If you say so." My gaze lingered too long. "What about horns? Going to grow them out too?"
"Yes," she said, brushing her hair back to reveal two small stubs barely peeking through. "They'll grow with age."
I couldn't stop the laugh that escaped me. "Cute."
Her lips twitched in annoyance and embarrassment. "They're not meant to be cute. The older you get, the larger they grow."
"Huh. So you'll need to become an old hag to get proper horns?" I spoke impulsively, my words escaping before I could think.
Her fist drove into my stomach before I could regret it. Pain lanced through me, sharp and unyielding, blood rising in my throat. I doubled over, coughing. "Don't. Say. Hag," she warned, her eyes blazing.
Wheezing and hunched, I managed, "I understand, ma'am." The word came out half-choked, half-laughing despite the pain.
Satisfied, she sat back down, sipping her drink as if she hadn't just tried to kill me. I straightened slowly, clutching my stomach, biting back the groan. "Is there anything else you would like to share about your life?"
"Not really." She tilted her head at me, studying. "But I heard you've got three girls in your personal guard now?"
"Yeah. Lovely ladies," I said with mock grandeur, flashing a smirk that didn't quite reach my eyes.
Her eyes narrowed. "Why'd you say it like that?"
"Well… two of them are sisters. Into each other, at that. And the other—my little doggie slave—has finally grown a backbone and talks back to me." I leaned back, smug.
"You complaining?" Kayda's eyebrow arched, her tone daring me.
"Not really. Apart from the incest issue, I don't mind. I'm glad Apricot's more confident. Though… she's still carrying too much. That frustration has to go somewhere eventually. I wonder what she looks like when the bloodlust hits." I muttered, half to myself, the words heavier than I'd meant them to be.
Kayda's brows furrowed. "Bloodlust? Venting? Not everyone lets it out violently. Some break. Others internalize their pain, which can lead to depression, self-destruction, or projecting it onto others.
Her words were steady and calm, but the undercurrent of lived pain bled through. I frowned, catching it. "Maybe. But for me… it was always easier to kill. Damn, I sound like I enjoy it."
She studied me carefully, her eyes sharper now, as if peeling back layers I didn't want revealed. "It's fine… as long as you know the line. Innocent versus guilty."
"You think nightmares count as outlets?" I asked suddenly, my voice quieter.
"More than you realize. Alone, they can be the cruelest of all." Her voice softened, almost breaking at the edges.
Alone… yeah. That was me. My lips twisted bitterly. "I suppose it makes sense that I never had a strong negative reaction to it. I got used to it. Outside of… killing."
Kayda's gaze sharpened. "It does make sense. You were tortured by your only family. You never knew real love."
Her words cut like glass. My eyes narrowed. "Mom told you?"
Kayda paled, waving her hands quickly. "I… forced Stacy to tell me. Blackmail. And… we've been friends for twenty years. Don't blame her."
I sighed heavily, the weight pressing into my chest. "Figures. Guess I'll prank her later. Anyway—that brings me to why I needed your help. Did you know wirework needs elementless mana?"
"Yes," she said simply, meeting my eyes. "Why?"
"Because I am keen to learn it. But I can't infuse without freezing my wires solid. My natural mana is ice. I can't project my other elements more than a few meters." Frustration bubbled up inside me, causing my words to come out harsher than I intended.
Kayda tilted her head thoughtfully. "Your sister struggles too. But with lava."
"I see…" I muttered, though my mind was already spinning elsewhere. Always elsewhere. "I'll cut this short. There's something I need to check."
"Tomorrow, then," she said, unbothered, her patience a strange comfort I didn't deserve.
"Thanks. But—at least give me your contact info." I pulled out my scroll.
She handed hers over without hesitation. "I apologize for leaving so soon after we reunited."
"It's fine," Kayda said, then pressed a small metal sphere into my palm. Her hand lingered, warm against my skin. "For mana control practice."
Her warmth clung even as she pulled back. Without thinking, I smirked, patting her head. "Still shorter than me." I ruffled her hair lightly, more intimate than I intended.
Her eyes flashed with indignation. Before she could retaliate, I darted away, her faint growl chasing after me. And beneath my own smirk, a question echoed: Why does it feel so easy to breathe around her when it shouldn't?
[20 minutes later]
The new barracks loomed before me, wood beams still smelling of fresh-cut lumber, plaster not yet dulled by time. My chest tightened with unease. "Why… why am I worried about her?" I muttered under my breath, the words hollow as I stepped inside.
The room smelled of wood and faint oil. Ten beds lined the walls, five on each side. There was a kitchen in the back, with a small bath tucked behind it. Too quiet.
Two beds were empty—Sirone and Brenda weren't back yet. But curled up on the opposite side, Apricot whimpered in her sleep.
"It was good I came," I whispered, moving closer, boots silent on the floor. Her cries grew clearer, small broken sounds escaping her throat, her body trembling under the thin blanket. Even in her dreams, her face twisted in pain.
How do you even comfort someone like this? My mind scrambled. Don't touch. No touch. Be there. Don't be there. A memory surfaced—a film, a mother's hand brushing her son's hair. Simple. Gentle. Something I'd never had.
I sat on the edge of the bed, hesitating before laying my hand on her head. Heat burned my palm. "You're burning up, doggie… sick already?" I murmured, half to her, half to myself.
Her arms flinched, reaching blindly. I dodged at first—instinct. Always instinct. Then froze. She just wants a hug.
I glanced at the counter—a towel lay folded neatly. I meant to grab it to keep the distance. But before I moved, Apricot's arms locked around me. She dragged me into the bed, surprising strength born of desperation.
"Hey—what are you—" My protest was cut off as she buried her face in my chest. Her grip was iron, shaking but immovable. I sighed, the sound heavy and resigned. Damn it… I can't use ice. Can't wake her either.
Struggling was useless. Her breathing evened out against me, her body trembling less with each exhale. I stilled, listening to the fragile rhythm. I felt the heat of her cheek seeping through my shirt, causing my face to burn. My throat tightened, caught between comfort and shame.
"I muttered, teeth gritted and voice low, 'Dammit… that place is for my wife one day, you damn dog.'" Yet my hand hovered, betraying me, brushing her hair back gently as she slept, the way I wished someone had done for me long ago.