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Annette Fantine Dominic had contemplated many forms of magic, from Reason’s destructive violence to the restorative power of Faith. But she’d never realized that nature had its own form of magic, rooted in the seasons. Tonight’s summer spell had grabbed her on the way to the dining hall: a magnificent light display of hundreds of fireflies gathered above the Garreg Mach fish pond.
If the world as Annette knew it was on the brink of collapse, at least the goddess saw fit to give it a beautiful send-off.
It was the perfect summer night in every respect: the heat of the day had softened into balmy weather. The Blue Sea Star glowed overhead, in tandem with the bright moonlight from the gibbous moon. It was the kind of night that felt ripe with possibility, if only Annette’s thoughts could rise above the destruction of war. Or the sickening image of having to kill her best friend’s brother in the upcoming battle, a fear that curdled in her stomach like spoiled milk.
Sighing, she settled at the end of the dock over the fishing pond, and placed a small basket of this morning’s freshly baked scones to her right. Around her, the monastery was quiet, everyone asleep except for guards on duty.
Annette watched the flickering lights of the fireflies and translated her worries into song.
“Lights above the water, lights in the sky, fireflies darting around, fly, fly, fly! Cheer me up with your warm orange glow, gift me respite when my thoughts won’t slow.”
The thump of boots on the dock startled her to stillness, and she whipped around to see Felix Hugo Fraldarius hesitating at the edge, like he expected her to scold him for eavesdropping. Like Annette, he’d shed his cape and gloves due to the lingering heat, but she’d recognize his silhouette even in the pitch dark. Her heart picked up its rhythm, a reminder that more had changed than her willingness to sing for him—she wanted a lot more. But did he feel the same way?
“I have some scones, if you’re hungry,” she said, beckoning him over. “They’re not sweet.”
Felix joined her, moving with a speed that always managed to surprise her. “Was that a new song?”
Heat crept up her neck, and Annette made a show of rummaging in the basket for a pair of pastries.
“Just my silly thoughts about my surroundings, like always. Although the firefly display was pretty inspiring.”
She raised her arm, offering him a scone. After a moment of hesitation, Felix took it, and his fingers briefly brushed against hers. Annette tried to hide the quiver of longing that coursed through her veins, and hoped it didn’t show in the quickness with which she retracted her hand.
How ridiculous are you, Annie? You’re not seventeen anymore.
For once, she was grateful for the darkness surrounding them: her cheeks were flaming. In daylight, she’d look like she’d lost a battle with an open barrel full of rouge.
Thankfully, Felix’s attention shifted to the flickering lights reflecting in the still surface of the pond. “I haven’t seen that many fireflies in years.”
“They’re so beautiful gathered over the water like that,” she agreed. “Um… you can watch them with me, if you want?”
With barely a nod, he sat beside her, close enough that the tassels on his sleeve brushed her knees. Annette’s heart pumped harder, but his gaze remained fixed on the colony of fireflies flitting over the pond, their lights winking on and off in a mesmerizing display. She refocused on them as well, telling herself to try and take what pleasure she could in the moment.
They ate companionably, Felix’s posture relaxed and Annette’s tense, despite her best efforts to recapture that childhood feeling of awe over nature’s perfection. His proximity had heightened all of her senses to the point that she hardly tasted the pastry by the final bites.
“The last time I remember seeing fireflies like this was with my mother,” he said, breaking the silence.
Annette turned to look at him, startled that Felix, of all people, was sharing a personal memory of his family, especially with the sting of his father’s recent passing. Thankfully, his expression was wistful rather than pained when he met her gaze.
“When was that?” she asked.
“Years ago. She liked nights like this. She’d take us outside with an evening snack to watch the fireflies or look at the stars.”
Annette smiled at the image of a younger, happier Felix spending time with his mother that he still valued now.
“That sounds like a wonderful memory,” she said. “I wish I had more good memories like that. They don’t seem possible with the war going on.”
“If your memories keep you going on the battlefield, use them.” Felix’s gaze was unwavering. “I remember the few nice ones I have.”
His understated words made Annette’s heart swell in her chest. Before she could think better of her reaction, she reached for his hand and squeezed it.
“Thank you for giving me this moment to carry with me,” she said softly. “It will help a lot.”
Felix surprised her by lacing his fingers with hers. Annette forgot to breathe for several seconds, and her thoughts flashed towards telling him everything in her mind—how much she’d come to care about him. But the words spun off in too many directions, too powerful to speak. She looked down at their joined hands, half in disbelief at the sight. What exited her mouth was a confession of a different kind.
“I’m worried about the upcoming battle at Fort Merceus. We’ll have to fight Mercie’s brother, and it will hurt her so much.”
“The Death Knight,” he said, voice flat.
“Yes. I know she has happy memories of him, like you do of your mother.” She swallowed over the lump of anguish that felt like a clamp around her throat. “I don’t want to be the one responsible for ruining them.”
For a suspended moment, neither of them spoke or moved. Annette only felt tethered to reality by the warmth of Felix’s fingers against hers. His thumb rubbed over the back of her hand in a slow caress, and the motion broke the stalemate.
“You won’t have to,” he said quietly. “I’ll carry that burden instead.”
Annette looked up, eyes wide, astonished by his words—and the inherent sacrifice behind them. How could she cede that responsibility, to open him up to the anguish of Mercie’s grief in order to spare herself?
“I can’t ask that of you!” she protested. “Then you’d have to bear that guilt on top of everything else.”
He looked at her, the intensity of his regard like a palpable weight. “Protecting you from pain is the last thing I’d feel guilty about.”
“Felix…”
She peered forward, searching his features for hints of something—some open sign of affection. His face was shadowed from the moonlight, but the expression in his amber eyes was softer than she’d ever seen. Annette’s pulse thumped in her ears.
Felix’s words were practically a declaration that he cared about her. With her existence teetering on the edge between life and death in every battle, the moment of indecision stretched before her—could she admit her own feelings in such a broken, uncertain world? Or was the greatest risk losing the chance to confess her love if one of them fell on the battlefield?
Gathering her courage, she rose to her knees and tentatively placed her hands on his shoulders, waiting for him to tense and retreat. He inhaled deeply, but didn’t pull away. His eyes were dark, like poured molasses, and she lost herself in them as she brought her face within inches of his.
It was like a wholly different kind of magic, magnetic in nature. Annette’s eyelids drifted shut of their own accord, but her mouth found his anyway. Her kiss was tentative, his lips warm and soft against hers. Then she felt his fingers skim her jaw and tangle in her hair, and he kissed her back. Her nerve-endings flared, burning brightly like the fireflies’ light show, and her entire body began to melt from within.
She sat back and opened her eyes, not sure what to say or do next. Felix gave her the sweetest smile she’d ever seen and pulled her against him. She relaxed into the embrace, wonder running through her veins. This wasn’t a dream, and no matter what the future held, she’d always treasure this memory.
“Would you sing the firefly song?” Felix asked, a hesitant note in his voice. “I’d like to have it with me at Fort Merceus.”
“Of course. The song is yours,” she said, lifting her head to smile broadly at him.
Turning around, Annette repositioned herself so her back was against his chest, his arms loosely resting around her. With the fireflies dancing before them, she took a deep breath and began to sing.