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'I had heard him praised as the greatest Driver in Tantall, after all. I would have liked to spar with him, but at the end of the day, I had my duties.
Well, if the opportunity arises, I would not mind facing him.’
It was late.
Far too late to be up and about, at least. Mòrag was idly leaning against one of Fonsett’s many fences, the only thing standing between her and a perilous plunge into the cloud sea. The World Tree made for a lovely view while she contemplated her situation, taking in the cool night air at the same time. The magnificence of the many emerald halos worked wonders to calm the mind.
She couldn’t sleep. It had been a day of little to no activity. One short battle here and there with the local wildlife, and that was it. Mòrag was restless after such an uneventful day, so she had given up trying to sleep, put her clothes back on and left the house.
Brighid had been left to her own devices. Some time alone would probably benefit her. Mòrag’s swords lay close by, ready for an emergency, but Fonsett was so peaceful that a brawl was unlikely.
The Special Inquisitor adored this place. Mòrag thought fondly of the lush green islands, the calming weather, and how pleasant its people were. Visiting had been a great opportunity to see how non-Ardainians lived their lives. It was simple, tranquil and friendly. Mòrag could only wish Mor Ardain could be this relaxed one day. They had only arrived at Fonsett for the first time several months ago, though they found themselves back in the Leftherian Archipelago quite often. Usually, Mòrag preferred to continue with their main mission rather than dilly-dally, but she would not protest against a visit here.
And yet, the stagnant quests they had been embarking on was doing nothing to cure her boredom. Was there really a need to track down a random item for a man they didn’t know? Sure, helping people out was their thing, however, Alrest was being forced deeper into danger with each passing moment. Mòrag spent her days skittish with worry. Perhaps a trip to the hot springs in Mor Ardain would help, but she doubted it would. She desired some action to loosen up her taught muscles.
She breathed out a sigh. Standing out here wasn’t helping anymore. Her mind was racing and not sleeping was making it worse. Turning, she stretched her hands out in front of her to crack her knuckles before a figure leaning against a tree made her jump out of her skin.
“Evening,” said Zeke.
Mòrag stumbled back against the fence, grateful it was there to stop her from falling. When did Zeke appear? The place had been completely silent just moments ago. “ Architect . What are you doing out here?”
The prince shrugged, checking his nails nonchalantly. “Couldn’t sleep.”
“Oh. I suppose that makes two of us,” Mòrag muttered, adjusting her hat.
“Yup, been an insomniac for as long as I can remember,” Zeke replied. “But you’re usually asleep at this time of night. What’s keeping you up, Mòrag?”
Would Zeke laugh if she told him the real reason? Maybe, yet he appeared as bored as she did. The prince was often the life of the party, always the first to dive into a group of monsters only to end up needing rescuing. Lately, however, Mòrag had noticed he was becoming sluggish. Nothing too apparent, but she was good at catching the small details that made everyone themselves. Her sharp eyes caught every dull movement he made, every swing of his sword that should have been made with more precision. These low level enemies were not giving him the stimulation he needed.
She hummed as she considered her answer. It was seemingly straightforward, until all of the reasons ran through her head at once. I’m bored, I want to get this whole thing over with, I’m worried about my brother, I want a real challenge to distract me from this chaos.
“I’m just a tad restless.”
Zeke nodded in understanding. “I get you. Fonsett’s great and all, but it sure is tedious sometimes.”
So he did feel the same way.
Wandering up to lean his arms on the fence beside her, Zeke huffed and gazed at the World Tree. Its rings spun lazily, flickering in the darkness. It might have been the middle of the night, though the tree and the full moon gave plenty of illumination.
“You worried?”
“Hm?”
“Y’know, about how this is all going to work out.” Zeke had his one visible eye glued to the space ahead of him It was glassy and far-away, deep in thought. “What’s going to happen when we get to the top of the World Tree. You think Elysium’s really up there?”
Mòrag followed his gaze up to the glowing branches far off in the distance. “For Rex’s sake, I hope so.”
He suddenly yawned and then pushed himself away from the fence. “Well, suppose there’s no point thinking about it. Guess we’ll have to see. Should we go back in?”
She didn’t quite know about that. The cool air felt pleasant, and the pull of sleep was too minimal to make her want to return to bed. Zeke didn’t look tired, either. He simply wasn’t brilliant at small talk, especially considering they were so used to being in a large group. The two had hardly any chances to speak alone and the awkwardness was beginning to come through.
“Feel free, but I’ll remain out here for a moment longer.” She turned her eyes away, back to the beauty of the rolling clouds.
“I mean,” Zeke fumbled over his words clumsily, “we can talk, but I’m not great at, uh, basic conversation.”
Of course he wasn’t. Zeke was beyond what one would call normal. Using grandiose and theatrical gestures to illustrate his point, he had never been the type to talk about the weather. It was often quite amusing yet would tire others out if they were not used to him. Mòrag smiled before she glanced down at her swords. An idea sprung to mind.
“Fancy a spar?”
Zeke frowned. “A spar?”
Mòrag nodded. “Yes. It might be enough to send us off to sleep.”
Rolling his shoulder blades back, Zeke looked at Corinne’s house. “I mean, sure, but Pandy’s resting. I wouldn’t want to wake her. Not to mention it would probably wake everyone up if we went all out.”
“You can use one of my swords instead.”
It was true her whipswords were very different to what Zeke was used to, yet it wasn’t as if he didn’t know how to use a smaller weapon. He juggled between chroma katanas and ether cannons regularly. He was just as skilled with any other, so he spent some time pondering Mòrag’s suggestion.
“We won’t be able to use any of our Arts.”
“It’s only for some exercise. We can have a proper spar another time.”
Giving her a grin, Zeke eventually nodded. “Yeah, why not? Throw it here.”
Mòrag picked up a whipsword and tossed it his way. He effortlessly caught it in one hand, spinning it around in his palm to feel the weight. It was true that neither could use them as proper weapons, but that didn’t matter. Mòrag wanted to move around a little, get her blood pumping against an opponent she knew for a fact was decent. She had often thought about sparring against Zeke in the past, but had forgotten about it once he had joined them. She hadn’t seen the point anymore, considering she could see how he fought right next to her, though the idea of fighting against him still appealed. It sent a shiver of excitement down her spine.
The pair stepped away from the fence in fear one would go toppling over to the clearing near Corinne’s house. The farm was nearby, and neither wanted to end up trampling any crops, so their space to work with was small.
Standing opposite each other, they readied their swords before nodding to begin the spar.
It was not as how they would usually fight. Zeke was master of the chaotic—all fancy moves with no flair. Not that it didn’t work. While his attacks were often randomly thrown all over the place, if one hit, then it dealt serious damage. Even Mòrag would have to be careful in a serious battle. However, seeing as neither had their blades present, a fencing duel is what they had been restricted to.
Zeke moved with surprising grace as he lunged forward, metal striking metal as their swords clashed. As a prince, it was obvious that he had had formal training in such arts before he left Tantal. The sleekness of the blade he held complimented his muscular body quite well.
Mòrag was quickly forced on the defensive. It was not that she wasn’t paying attention, but she wasn’t used to using just one whipsword. Her left arm kept trying to swing a weapon that wasn’t there. Pretending she was wielding a chroma katana wasn’t helping, either, considering one would hold that with both hands when drawing it.
“Kick it up a notch, Mòrag,” Zeke drawled between strikes.
And kick it up a notch she did. Steeling her concentration in one place, she batted his sword away so that he was being pushed back. His feet left skidmarks in the dirt, Mòrag further driving him towards the crop fields.
He suddenly spun to the side so that Mòrag was too slow to block his next attack. His strike was so hard that she was knocked against the stone wall.
Zeke gave her one of his signature sneers as his sword pointed at her chest. “Finished?”
“Not quite,” she said sternly, whacking the blade away and getting back up on her feet. Zeke chased her back into the centre of the clearing with slashing movements, none actually being made with too much power. It was a spar, not an actual fight. Perhaps it was a good thing that neither had their full strength. He wouldn’t want to cause an accident at such a time.
Despite that, Mòrag jabbed her sword forward at an unrelentless pace. She was careful not to aim for his open chest, and that gave the prince an advantage of knowing where she was going to strike next. She gasped as he knocked her sword to the side and was thrown off her feet.
“I win this round.”
His tone was obnoxiously smug. Growling, Mòrag gripped the hilt and scrambled back. “I never admitted defeat.”
“Oh, not playing fair, are you?” Zeke taunted playfully. He laughed as Mòrag restarted her attacks. “How about two out of three?”
The Special Inquisitor didn’t respond, too busy in trying to catch Zeke off guard. It was frustrating; he continued to treat the duel as if it were a game, yet he hardly ever faltered. Mòrag knew she was not at her best considering it was late and she was stir-crazy, though she never this bad. Even if this was just a spar, the thought of losing to Zeke didn’t appeal. She did not like to fail, whether against a friend or a foe.
Due to the intensity of her sudden aggression, Zeke was reduced to panting within minutes. “Whoa there, Mòrag, keep that up and—”
Still ignoring him, Mòrag was unaware of how sloppy her movements were until her foot twisted in the slippery mud. Yelping, she staggered forwards, giving Zeke the opportunity to zip around behind her and grab her free hand. Pulling her back so that she was held against him, he chuckled against her ear.
“—you might slip up.”
She struggled in his grip. “Ugh! Three out of five!”
“You sure? What if you lose that one? Four out of seven? Or then five out of nine?”
Their close proximity made her skin burn. While Mòrag was wearing her armour, the feeling of Zeke’s bare skin on her back was distracting. Why the hell did he insist on walking around without a shirt? Usually it never bothered her, simply dismissing it as poor clothing choice considering anyone could stick a blade in his heart, but now she was noticing it more than ever. Mòrag huffed quietly, blaming it on the sleep deprivation.
“If it comes down to it,” she snapped back. Her competitiveness would be the death of her, surely.
Zeke’s laughter was gentle though the teasing undertone was clear. “I’ve always liked that about you. Where do you get that stubbornness from?”
Mòrag gave him a nudge in the ribs to provoke him into letting go. Once he did, she raised her sword and took several steps back. “And just what are you implying , Zeke?”
He shrugged. “Nothing. It’s cute, is all.”
“You’re choosing an odd time to throw around compliments.”
“Well, why not? Moon’s out—it’s a nice night. Quite romantic, don’t you think?”
What, was he flirting with her? Beet-red in the face, Mòrag scowled. Zeke would often flirt, usually with Pandoria or whatever damsel in distress they had recently saved, yet something about the way he was talking—voice soft and gentle—made her flustered. His boastful attitude had faded away for a moment, and it was… well, she didn’t know what she thought. Did she like it? Sure, it was a pleasant change from what he was normally like, but the way her heart hammered in her ribcage was foreign and strange.
No, he was joking. He’d never shown any sort of interest in her before. There had been his comment about wearing a skirt once, though nothing that gave any sort of attraction away.
She cleared her throat. “Flattery won’t make you win.”
There was that obnoxious, smug look again. “I don’t know about that. You’re looking pretty bashful there, Mòrag.”
Their spar continued after Mòrag shrugged off his comment and began again. Her attacks were slower, tiredness finally setting in, and it seemed to be affecting Zeke as well. Still, she wasn’t going back to bed until a conclusion had been announced.
It rapidly became repetitive. She would strike, and he would block and parry. She would dodge and then the process would continue in a cycle. The fact that they were drivers of equal strength and skill made it difficult to get an advantage over the other. Zeke was physically stronger, but Mòrag was faster. What she lacked in muscle she made up in agility. Thankfully, her speed gave her the perfect chance to knock him right off his feet when his latest parry had gone badly.
Zeke fell onto his back with an oof . Breathing heavily, Mòrag straddled him so that he couldn’t get back up again. She stabbed her sword into the ground by his head.
“There,” she wheezed.
“Nice work,” Zeke praised, seemingly unbothered by his defeat. Mòrag looked triumphant before he grinned again, quoting her directly, “But ‘ I never admitted defeat’ .”
He rolled them both over so that he had her pinned to the floor. Mòrag blinked back in shock, her winning smile fading at the suggestive position. While Zeke had tossed the sword aside, he showed no indication of getting up. Mòrag glared at him.
“Would you mind kindly getting off?”
“I was just going to say that you have such a pretty face, but you always hide it.” Zeke pinched the tip of her hat’s visor before lifting it off her head. He placed it next to them so that her face was fully exposed, along with the furious blush on her cheeks. Her skin felt like Architect-damned lava. What was this moron playing at, making her flustered like this?
Mòrag turned her head to the side in the hope he wouldn’t see how embarrassed she was. “Um, that—”
She gasped when she felt Zeke hold her chin with his thumb and index finger. He guided her face back to look at him directly.
“Don’t turn away.”
His voice was a hushed whisper. Frozen, Mòrag remained where she was as he leant forward and pressed his lips to hers.
The heat from her face rushed to the rest of her body. She tensed up, heart beating so hard she felt it in her throat, although it wasn’t exactly entirely unpleasant. Alongside the heat was a warmth that she had not felt in a long time. Tenderness, or maybe affection. Maybe both. Being such a stern woman, Mòrag had walled herself off from such feelings, but this time she was helpless as they engulfed her.
The kiss was over as soon as it had began. Zeke pulled away and sat up, a light blush on his face. He flicked his gaze over to the cloud sea again.
“Uh, sorry, I probably shouldn’t have—”
Mòrag cut him off by gripping the furred collar of his coat. Zeke could only make a muffled noise of surprise as she crushed their mouths together, desperate for more of that pleasant feeling. The rush of dopamine felt so good that she couldn’t just leave it after that short moment.
Zeke quickly closed his eyes and leant back in to the heated kiss. He took hold of Mòrag’s arms and pushed her back down, groaning when her hands fisted in his hair. She hungrily took his tongue in her hot mouth.
Really, both were surprised by how suddenly she had acted. Mòrag hadn’t realised how skin-starved she had been all these years, the kiss feeling alien at first, but her knowledge of such an act quickly returned. Zeke was a tad more awkward though got the hang of it after a few moments. His kisses were sloppy and inexperienced but that made little difference to her. The mere act was good enough. Never in a million years did she expect their encounter to end up like this, yet she was glad it did.
She whined in protest when Zeke broke away for air. He looked down, stunned, before he smirked.
“Someone’s eager.”
“You started it,” Mòrag retorted, blush returning.
“But you finished it.” Zeke was cradling her head with his hand, fingers lacing through her hair, though more gently than she had done with his. He absentmindedly loosened the tie that kept her bun in place. Her brunette locks fell to the ground, longer than he had imagined they would be. It was nice.
She had to wonder why Zeke had taken such an action. As she had thought earlier, he had never shown that he liked her. They were arguably the least close in the group.
“I… have to ask,” she started awkwardly. Zeke hummed in response, prompting her to go on as he continued to thread his fingers through strands of hair. “Why did you do that?”
He chuckled heartily. “I thought it was obvious. I like you.”
“No you don’t. You said I look like a man.”
“No, I said your clothes did. I never said that you looked like a man. In fact, you’re very attractive.”
If her face got any hotter than Mòrag was sure she would catch fire. Her lips pursed into a pout. “Oh.”
Zeke tilted his head, mimicking her expression. “But if I hurt your feelings, I’m sorry. I’ve just always been a dress and heels-loving man. Although I guess your uniform is kind of sexy, too.”
She moaned as he trailed his mouth down her neck. He was gentle and never made any marks, but he quickly returned to kiss her on the lips again. It was obvious he was new to this. His compliments were said with hesitation in his voice, and while his tone was smooth, his eyes darted all over the place. Mòrag found it cute, even though he probably wanted her to find him charming instead. He could be, on occasion. He could be now if he only held more confidence in himself. Mòrag said nothing, however, as they broke apart for a second time.
There was the pleasant flavour of a Rainbow Parfait behind her teeth as the feeling of Zeke’s tongue lingered there. Dessert at Corinne’s was always wonderful. Mòrag was not often a fan of sweet foods yet the way Corinne prepared food made her love them. Zeke clearly agreed, having eaten two earlier in the evening.
When she nibbled at the base of his throat, the sound of a low growl rumbled from his chest.
“Fuck,” he whispered.
“Alright, now get off,” Mòrag said as she pulled away. She blew a stray piece of hair out of her face. “We’ve been out here long enough. I don’t want anyone to see us and get the wrong idea.”
A mischievous grin spread across Zeke’s face. “The wrong idea? I think they’d be getting the right idea.”
She squeaked as Zeke rolled his hips against hers. Mòrag pushed him off, flustered as Zeke laughed. She was not about to do such a thing on the cold hard ground, right in the open. She wasn’t an animal, and she wouldn’t have anyone else assume so as well.
She still helped him up regardless. Zeke brushed off the dirt on his trousers.
“Well, another time, then, babe.”
The blush returned. “Um, I cannot guarantee anything else. We have a duty to perform, Zeke.”
He shrugged again. “Nothing wrong with mixing business with a little pleasure.”
Architect, was he always this frustrating?! Mòrag picked up her discarded hat, placing it back on her head without redoing her hair, and then fetched her swords. It was still dark, though an hour had to have passed. If she didn’t want to feel like death in the morning then it would be wise to head to bed now and get what little sleep she could before the sun rose.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said.
Zeke grabbed her wrist before she could retreat back to Corinne’s house. He gave her a peck on the cheek as his farewell, but gave a pleased hum when Mòrag guided him back to her lips. She didn’t know when they’d next be alone, and, well… it would be kind of rude to pretend nothing happened.
“Night, Mòrag.”
“Goodnight.” She paused before she went to open the front door. “And, um, I ask that you don’t tell anyone about this.”
“Shy?” Zeke teased.
“No, but it would be awkward to explain so soon, wouldn’t it?”
“You—er, do like me back, don’t you?” Zeke asked, all of his earlier charisma draining away with sudden uncertainty. Mòrag looked at him in surprise. “As in, that wasn’t, uh, out of nowhere—”
Rolling her eyes, Mòrag snorted inelegantly into her hand. “Yes, I do like you, Zeke.”
She shut the door behind her after saying goodnight a second time, their farewell ending with a shared smile. Zeke, heart racing too fast to sleep, wandered back to the fence so he could stare at the World Tree some more. He could always just take a nap tomorrow if he needed to. It was a shame, he’d love to show Mòrag off to the others, though he would respect her wishes.
Unbeknownst to them, a horrified Rex had peered out of the window in time to catch their last kiss. The young driver trembled as he rubbed at his eyes.
“Pyra,” he whispered, “pinch me.”