Blissbane Cave, Lower Sublevel, Tenzurah Buried Library
They descended once more into the belly of the earth, back to the cave where the blissbane had once breathed and bloomed.
The tether between them hummed.
Not tense, not volatile, just... steady.
Fragile, but content. Like a chord held in breath.
She didn’t fight his barrier this time.
Didn’t bristle or resist the veil of protective magic he’d shaped around her.
That alone made it easier to breathe in a cave where the air was anything but easy.
Not quite trust.
But stars, he’d take this version of her, quiet, sharp, watchful, over the tether’s previous state any day.
Over the rabid, nipping, yapping thing that used to snap against his mind.
This one felt like a truce. Thin and brief as morning dew on a blade, but real.
Kion hovered in his own bubble, just behind her, close enough to act if needed, far enough to give her the space she clearly claimed.
He watched her through the curve of mana that separated them, faintly distorted, like a memory remembered through water.
The cave hadn’t changed.
The same oppressive miasma still pressed against their barriers like a starving mouth.
The same violet glimmers of bioluminescent lichen wove along the stone, flickering with cold light.
The same scent of decay soaked the air, wet earth, mold, and something older that didn’t belong in this time.
And there, across the black ribbon of water that split the cavern floor, the flower’s remains lingered in its glass cradle, nothing left but ash and memory.
He’d flown over earlier.
Crossed the river, gliding low to keep his wings from the thickest of the fumes.
Made sure with his own eyes that the Blissbane petals remained dry and dull, no flicker, no pulse, no spark of life.
The one in the soil nearby, he’d dug around it too.
Same result. Only dust. No heartbeat beneath the roots.
Dead.
He hoped they stayed that way.
He drifted back to her, resuming his silent orbit, tracking her as she worked.
She moved with a kind of automatic precision, fingers trailing the stone, eyes scanning, never once doubting her direction.
She was methodical. Focused. Good at this.
Too good.
She'd done this before, too many times.
Mapped caves. Traced ruins. Hunted secrets no one else was meant to find.
He wondered how long she’d been doing this.
How long the Accord had locked her in silence after they’d dumped her into Echoing Hollow and pulled back their leash.
How long before they deemed her useful again and set her loose, like a hound scenting ghosts.
Kion’s hand grazed the rock wall as he passed. Cold. Damp.
He still couldn't believe she’d swallowed his bluff.
That he’d managed to convince her he was part of the Accord, the Shadow Accord, no less.
The hidden part of Hall of Accord that dealt with oathbreakers, the one that delivered judgment and did the messy work.
He’d tossed the dice and waited for the sound of splinters.
And somehow, the dice had landed in his favor.
Then again, maybe it wasn’t just luck.
The tether helped.
He’d felt her suspicion when it rose, her hope when he twisted a phrase just right.
It let him see which words caught, which ones cut. It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough.
Enough to craft lies that walked like truth.
And he'd had practice, too.
Evading questions in the human world, slipping through curiosity like a duskleaf skipping river stones.
Fairies didn’t lie outright, not easily, but they’d long since mastered the art of saying everything except the answer.
He’d once likened it to a moth escaping a jar before the lid came down.
Still, the real trick wasn’t his bluff or his wording or even his read of her tension.
The real trick?
She wanted to believe him.
That’s what sealed it. That’s what made it work.
The craving for something to trust was already there, raw and keening under her skin.
All he did was answer it.
Somehow, miraculously, she hadn’t caught a single inconsistency.
No cross-wired command line, no misplaced phrasing.
Which probably meant she didn’t know how the shadows worked.
Maybe they didn’t tell their agents everything.
Maybe they only handed out orders and let the rest rot in secrecy.
If so, he was grateful.
Grateful that whatever monstrous machine they ran kept its secrets so tightly locked that even its own blade didn’t know how to test his lies.
Writ crouched now near a cluster of glowing mushrooms, her dark hair catching glints of green as she studied the floor. Her hand swept slow over the stone, then tapped once near a groove.
Half the upper ridge was already mapped.
She’d poked and prodded every vein of moss, tapped every odd slope.
Still no sign of a door. No crack or seam.
Even the tether only sent muted pulses. Assessment, analysis, judgment.
She was working, not worrying.
He let her be, and watched her move.
He was glad he came after her.
Stars, he was so, so glad.
He wouldn’t have known something was wrong if not for the dream. Her nightmare.
Always waking him up before dawn, always silent except for that sharp spike of emotion through the tether.
That night it had been different. Sharper. Off-beat.
Then he'd felt her location shifted from Virelen.
Stolen novel; please report.
She’d already left.
Already gone.
And for a moment, he'd frozen.
If he’d waited just one more day...
If he’d hesitated...
She would’ve been down here. Alone.
With barely enough food, no proper exit.
Maybe she would’ve found the door. Maybe not.
Maybe she would’ve died before she could figure it out.
What would the tether have felt like then?
What would it have fed him when she finally knew she was trapped?
That she'd die here?
The image made him sick.
Her kneeling in this same ruin, alone, with no way out.
The realization hitting her in silence.
Maybe she’d try to conserve food, count the hours.
Maybe she’d hold on until she couldn’t anymore.
Or maybe... maybe... she’d draw her blade and end it cleanly.
He shuddered.
He didn’t want to think about what that kind of farewell would feel like through the tether.
Didn’t want to imagine a final pulse from her side, filled with resignation and frost.
She still didn’t know he wasn’t part of the Accord.
What would she do if she found out?
What would she report?
Would she walk away after this?
Would he ever get to see her again?
He wouldn't say he enjoyed this buried ruin. But it wasn’t a lie to say he was grateful this trip happened.
Because down here, beneath all the dust and danger and lies, he got to see her, know her.
And maybe, just maybe, she got to know him, too.
Even if the name she whispered wasn’t real.
Even if the rank she believed was built on sand.
This was still more than anything he thought he’d have.
He’d still managed to reach her.
The girl under the moonlight.
Kion watched her now.
Watched the curve of her back as she knelt, the quiet tilt of her head as she examined the glowing cap of a fungal bloom, and something in him softened.
Hope curled faintly in his chest.
His voice came before he could stop it.
“Lunlun.”
She stilled. Looked up, half-turned his way.
Kneeling still. Her brow raised, lips parted in silent question.
He smiled faintly, “nah. Nothing. Go on. Do your stuff.”
Her eyes lingered on him a second longer. Searching. Measuring.
Then she turned back, and gently prodded the mushroom again.
Kion exhaled slowly. This was already more than he thought he’d ever have.
And yet, he wished she’d let him in further.
Wished that somehow, through this strange tangle of ruined truths and half-offered hands, he could make amends.
Wished he could be the one to save her.
This time.
From now on.
Until everything between them began to burn.
The Silent Writ's POV
Blissbane Cave, Lower Sublevel, Tenzurah Buried Library
Writ had explored the upper ridge of the cave. All of it.
She’d mapped its jagged curves, peered behind the sagging drapes of bioluminescent moss, and listened to the subtle creaks of the earth as though it might whisper a way out.
Sometimes, the fog in her mind lingered too long, thick as tar, curling at the edge of her thoughts. But she pushed through. Methodically. Relentlessly.
There was no exit. Not even a crack large enough for Kion’s wings to slide through. She released a slow breath, one that carried no sound, only the dry weight of acceptance.
Not here. Not up.
Her gaze drifted across the river, toward the lower ledge. The one with Kion’s glass container nestled in the soil, its slick surface catching fragments of wall-glow.
The same spot he’d hovered around protectively, earlier. She traced the arc of the current with her eyes, calculating the stepping stones she’d need to use.
Slippery, uneven. The foamy rush of the river hit each stone like it was trying to slap them clean off the earth.
Then his voice.
"Alright, stop right there."
Her head snapped toward him, her face unreadable.
Of course. Of course he’d try to stop her again. To control her movement. To limit what she could see. What she could reach. She said nothing, just stared.
Kion gestured with his chin, “you’re planning to cross the river?”
Writ gave a small nod, neither tense nor slack.
He sighed and crossed his arms, “alright. But promise me you won’t touch anything glowing.”
His voice was firmer than usual. Not unkind, but edged.
“We can’t be sure there isn’t any living remain of the bli--,” he caught himself, voice shifting mid-word, and closed his eyes with a quiet wince.
Writ said nothing. But she filed the sound away.
Bli-. A slip. Finally.
She tamped down the flicker of triumph. Let it burn, low and secret. Then she replied, steady, “don’t touch any glowing thing. Alright.”
Kion exhaled, then pointed to the stone path, “and I’m definitely not letting you step on those...,” he paused, “...slippery-looking fairyskull stones that pretend they’re safe but crumble if you trust them.”
He flicked his head toward the stepping path, “I’ll float you across. On your mark. Tell me when you’re ready.”
Writ blinked. Still silent. She didn’t like how concern cloaked the order in his voice. She didn’t like the ease with which he hovered between softness and command.
But... the stones were slippery. She’d admit that much.
His lip twitched, barely. She couldn’t tell why. She chose not to ask.
“...Alright.”
Kion gave a short nod and drifted closer.
His barrier shifted, fluid as breath, then sealed around her with a soft snap. Her limbs tensed on reflex, stomach dipping at the sudden weightlessness.
Carefully, he lifted the bubble, lifted her, like a glass lantern. Light. Contained. Floating her across the river.
She didn’t protest.
Her boots touched the opposite bank. He only crossed after she stood again, letting her walk on her own. His wings fluttered behind her, quiet and constant.
She turned toward the earth. The soil where the flower once bloomed. The ‘Bli-’ flower.
Now it looked brittle. Blackened. No longer pulsing. Not alive.
She still didn’t understand how the anti-mage sphere had snuffed it out so violently. Or why Kion seemed afraid of its return.
“Don’t,” Kion’s voice again.
She snapped her head toward him, brow furrowed.
But she didn’t touch the glass. Didn’t touch the earth. She obeyed.
She turned instead toward the wall, mapping again. Fingers brushing near, not over, each glowing line, noting each groove with care. Her promise held. She wouldn’t touch anything.
Behind her, the red fairy trailed.
And still, the moment at breakfast returned to her. Ffragments of their morning conversation looping through her mind.
“Someone you wouldn’t want to mention to your superior.”
“Deep enough to be sure nobody knows my real form.”
“Own me? Do you think I’d let them?”
He was a magical creature with choices. He wasn’t shackled to the Accord. Not like she was. He could walk away, and chose not to.
Instead, he bargained, maneuvered, wrapped himself in riddles and veils. She didn’t know what the Accord saw in him. A relic? A weapon? Some final card buried too deep in the deck?
And then there was that bag. That endless bag. The one that always had what he needed, no matter how absurd. She hated to admit it... But she envied that. Desperately.
And now both the magical creature and his too-convenient bag were trying, desperately, to win her trust.
“I volunteered.”
“Because I regret not taking you from them sooner.”
“Because I knew you wouldn’t follow me willingly.”
How could he say it so easily? As if he’d said it to himself a hundred times, rehearsed it, believed it. Why her? Why now?
Did her last correction cycle scare someone enough to send him? Or was that the reason he finally chose to come himself?
Did he move on his own? Did the other fairies know? Did they approve? Was the translucent healer-fairy part of his kin? Did he… lead something? Without the Accord knowing?
How?
The questions clawed at her.
And beneath them, quietly, ache seeped in. Through the cracks. The parts she’d buried for years.
She didn’t notice her hand move until her palm slammed into the wall. Hard.
Her forehead followed. Pressing cold stone. Trying to ground herself.
Her other hand brushed reflexively toward her belt. Two quick taps. Faint. Then let her fingers fall away.
She already knew the notebook was still there. Still hers.
And yet it didn’t help this time. Not against this.
“Lunlun?”
His voice, so close. So full of concern, “are you okay?”
She jerked her hand back. Quickly. Like burned.
No.
No, she couldn’t let that happen.
She couldn’t start wishing. Couldn’t start believing. Couldn’t open that door just for it to slam shut again.
She was done hoping.
“Are you tired?” he asked, “dizzy? Lightheaded? Should we go back?”
She turned to look at him. The red fairy who wouldn’t stop orbiting her, wouldn’t stop glowing, wouldn’t stop offering warmth like he didn’t know how to run out.
Her throat tightened, but she swallowed it down.
“No,” she said quietly, “a little more. We’ll go back after this part’s done.”
He nodded, genuine worry etched across his face.
He was too warm.
Too bright. Too dangerous.
So she locked it all away. Every piece of longing. Every sliver of softness. Slammed each door shut, one by one.
But...
She let herself take it anyway, the warmth he offered.
Just for now.
Even if it would never reach far enough to touch what truly needed saving.