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Laslow is no stranger to secrets—that’s how he knows, from the look on Azura’s face, that she’s been holding hers for a lifetime. They cling to her like water droplets to a leaf; bathing her skin in obscuring rivulets, turning her as elusive and alluring as a mirage. And like a still pool beneath a windless sky, when Laslow tries to look closer, he sees only a chilling reflection of himself.
In Nohr, he hears stories long before he sees her face: the mysterious daughter of an equally enigmatic songstress-queen, rejected by a people who considered her nothing more than an unwanted outsider. A girl spirited away by the enemy; taking to the light far better than to shadow, but never truly shedding the whispers and rumors of who she is and where she comes from. Forgotten, in many ways; a woman twice displaced, dreaming of a home that she cannot return to.
He sees her first on the battlefield, and she is ethereal. Her lineage shows in the regal way she carries herself, her mother’s legacy shining through in the way her voice resounds across the sea of soldiers: a haunting melody that rumbles forth with the thunder, raising goosebumps like plinking raindrops. Even as he cuts through soldiers—a task he’s far too familiar with, one that seems to follow him everywhere—and his body grows tired from fighting, Azura’s song restores his will anew.
After that, how could he not fall in love with her? At this point, Laslow hardly bats an eye at his habit for infatuation—it’s as natural to him as breathing. He loves Azura like a bird loves the sky, or a sailor loves a favorable wind. Appreciative, but under no illusions that one so heavenly would ever reciprocate. And when he first speaks to her without the threat of death looming, Laslow recognizes the mask she wears. He understands. He never expects to see beyond that shimmering surface.
But then, she inspires an entire unified army to dive into the Bottomless Canyon. Into Valla. Azura’s enchantment-bound secrets spill forth from her lips like water, lifting a burden from her heart—or perhaps floating it up from the depths. Her sorrow is displayed for all to see, along with the hope and determination to save Nohr and Hoshido from the same dismal fate she’s already seen once.
A kingdom ravaged, a mother taken too early, and a powerful dragon hellbent on destruction. Laslow knows this story. Unlike Azura’s, his version of it must remain concealed—but that doesn’t stop him from wanting to make himself a part of hers.
—
As the army marches toward Castle Gyges, Laslow finds himself watching Azura more and more. She watches him, too—calls him mesmerizing, and he’s not sure how his heart survives that compliment, or her attention. Her face lights up when they talk about performing, a passionate smile that undercuts the distant role she plays amongst their comrades.
Even through her apparent relief over returning to Valla, Azura remains reserved and aloof. The truth isn’t enough to overwrite her years of feeling lost and alone. Like Laslow’s practiced smiles, Azura’s calm outlook is a shield thrown up, warding away the constant threat of despair.
But as she wisely tells him, music and dance never lie—and it only takes a few of their evening practice sessions for Laslow to realize that Azura channels all the truths she cannot tell into the melodies she weaves. He tries to see it—to divine the hidden meaning in each lyric, the emotion she seeks to express with each elegant step her bare feet make in the damp grass. A fond lilt for the fleeting joy she remembers; a reverent chorus to reflect her longing for a homeland lost. It resonates with him in a way few things ever have.
Is that how his dancing makes her feel? Suffering translated into a language that no curse can touch? Even with his finest attempts, he doesn’t have the same discerning eye as her—a golden gaze that cuts straight to his heart, catching the melancholy way he bows his head when he commemorates his mother. Like you are mourning her.
Perhaps grief has a tendency to follow him, because tonight’s mood starts out funereal. The voice cutting through the quiet evening air is steady and measured, giving nothing away.
“Laslow.”
Azura faces away from him, seated by the shore of a pond, her pale blue hair flowing like a cloak over her shoulders and back. Her toes slide into the sand, tickled by ripples, and Laslow wonders what Valla was like before it became lifeless, warped and strange. The water, at least, has a dynamic quality to it, hinting at a well of more pleasant memories. Waves lap against Azura’s feet, and she looks like she could dissolve into the currents.
“Milady,” he greets, hesitant. Their latest battle weighs on his mind. “We don’t have to practice tonight. If you’d rather, I can leave you alone to—”
“No,” Azura interrupts. “Please stay.”
He swallows and nods before padding quietly to the shore, lowering to sit beside her. With a slight tilt of his head he can see her moonlit profile as she stares out across the water—stern and pensive, as though the pond holds every ounce of pain she’s ever felt. Like all her tears are stored there, foregoing her eyes in favor of a swim through Valla’s infinite pools.
“I only need a moment,” she tells him, her voice wavering. Her lip quivers, and Laslow can’t help but notice how much Azura resembles her mother. He’d only seen Queen Arete for brief moments—and she’d tried to kill him several times, so that put a certain strain on their meeting—but even under Anankos’ control, he could see splashes of Azura in her. Especially in her final moments, when her consciousness surged to the surface, a merciful allowance of agency and a chance to truly say farewell.
Arete’s last smile was her own, at least, sorrowful lips curling upward as she met her daughter’s eyes.
“Take your time,” Laslow whispers, following Azura’s gaze across the waves.
She takes a deep, meditative breath. “I didn’t lose my mother in the last battle,” she says—detached, as if trying to work logic into a problem that defies all sound reasoning. Always impossible tasks for her. “She was already gone. Today was only a reminder.”
An unwitting chuckle rumbles from Laslow’s lips. “A quite rude one, if you ask me,” he quips, his face tightening as soon as the words leave his mouth. “Apologies, milady,” he appends hastily, running a hand through his hair. “That was tactless.”
But Azura giggles. “No!” she assures. “‘Rude’ is a good word for it.”
Her sense of humor baffles him, but he admires her ability to stay strong in spite of everything. “Our enemy deserves far worse language, I think,” he grumbles, crossing his arms. “To use someone’s body like that… It’s unforgivable.”
“He must be stopped,” Azura says, voice heavy with resolve. Her hands ball into fists, fingers tensing and relaxing. “He will be stopped.”
Ah, she’s so beautiful with determination in her eyes, Laslow thinks.
Her feather-light touch lands on his arm, shooting an embarrassing jolt of nerves through him. “Laslow…” she begins, shifting to better face him; her fingertips run slowly down his sleeve. She hums as she reaches his gloved hand, nudging it away from the ground and cradling it in her palms. Breathe. “There’s something I’d like to show you, tonight,” she says, tilting her eyes up to meet his. They shine with a hypnotic gleam, like polished coins at the bottom of a fountain. “Something… that I used to do with my mother.”
“Oh?” he asks, curiosity piqued.
She looks back out to the water, this time with a soft smile. Laslow has never asked her for one, despite how rarely they seem to grace her face. She always seems happy with him—though he supposes that has more to do with the singing and dancing they’re inclined toward. Azura’s gaze arcs up, toward the moon—always so large and bright, here, joined in the sky by drifting islands and a celestial swirl of stars. An excellent backdrop for their evening meetings.
“Yes. I think you’ll quite like it,” she says as she rises to her feet, hand still in his as she guides him up. She squares herself to him and links their arms, almost a dancing frame, and stands with her back to the water. “This way,” she murmurs, and takes a step back into the pond, the water swallowing her up to her ankles.
The toes of Laslow’s boots barely touch the edge of the water. “Milady…” he starts, uncertain.
He’s met with another laugh, amused. “It seems strange, I know. But trust me.”
“Of course,” he sighs, almost too quickly, and definitely too compliantly.
Azura begins to hum. A glow pours forth from… is that her pendant? No—it’s more like a soft light emanating from her skin, her hair, the pale fabric of her dress. Like Azura has become a beacon, her luminance refracting across the pond.
Carefully, she lifts one foot from the water, the light concentrating at the soles. She lets it drop down atop the surface, hovering there. At first, Laslow thinks she’s simply holding herself still—until she lifts the other foot, and the remaining leg holds steady to the water.
His eyes widen with surprise. “Goodness,” he breathes.
“Impressed?” Azura asks, pleased with herself. Her other foot lands down, and Azura stands tall on the surface of the water, her body bobbing ever so slowly. She meets his eyes. “Your turn.”
Surprise ripples into confusion. “Pardon?”
“You’ll join me, won’t you?”
It’s not difficult to put together what she means, but he’s still nervous. “Ah…”
“Here,” Azura says, squeezing her hands tight around his and tugging him forward so that his boots shuffle further into the water. Her song echoes through the air again, and Laslow feels a floating swell in his chest. “Easy,” she whispers between measures—then takes a step back, fast.
Laslow lets out a surprised whine, his feet moving instinctively. “Lady Azura—” he blurts out as his stomach flips. His right foot catches on something, his body expecting a drop and finding nothing. He looks down to see his boot submerged only a quarter-inch into the water, suspended by a pale blue light to match Azura’s. “Gods, what…”
Gold eyes watch him, knowing. “One more step, Laslow. You can do it.” She coaxes him like his mother used to—he thinks, for a brief moment, that Azura would be a good mother, too. He dispels the embarrassing thought with a silent scold. She is a princess, and you are nothing. Yet the way she looks at him, guiding him forward like she’s welcoming him into her home, sparks hope in his chest.
“R-right,” he finally says. With a deep inhale he lifts his left foot, baffled by the way his right stays firm on the surface. That isn’t normal. Still, he finds solidity beneath him—and a slight give, like he’s landed on soft soil. As he settles into the feeling, his breath steadies. “That’s a neat trick,” he remarks.
Azura lets out another giggle, bubbly and light. “I bet you’ve never danced like this before.”
He tilts his head, fingers drumming along the back of her knuckles. “You… you want to dance like this?” His body sways, his apprehension making him shake, threatening to toss him down into the water.
“Well, let’s start with walking.”
Her grip holds firm as she leads him further out, past the shallows—far enough that when Laslow looks down, he can barely discern the darkened bottom through the clear water. Azura’s magic illuminates the way, their steps leaving lingering after-images of their footprints diffusing through the ripples. He catches silver shadows flitting far beneath their feet—fish swimming amongst the depths, a quiet hint of life in an otherwise barren place.
“You look like you’re getting the hang of it,” Azura says, calling his wandering gaze back to her.
“It feels like solid ground, so long as I don’t look down,” he admits, taking another step without her prompting. It brings their bodies close enough that Laslow can see the minute movements of Azura’s chest undulating up and down—enough that he can imagine the steady rhythm of her heart, even if he can’t quite hear it. It acts like a metronome, preparing him for what he knows is next.
Azura tells him, anyway. “You’re ready, then,” she says. One hand slides to his shoulder, and Laslow straightens into an easy frame. “I suppose I’ll take the lead,” he lilts, feet growing light as his body relaxes. Dancing is innate to him, even when he hovers unnaturally above a glowing lake in a strange, foreign land; he melts into the rhythm, his touch fluttering over Azura’s skin as a familiar song spills from her lips.
They’ve practiced together many times, now, though Azura often stands aside to let Laslow dance solo as much as she lets him glide her through a routine. He’s happy to have her in his arms, now, far too overjoyed by the way she follows his cues with flawless precision. She hums into a spin, sighs into a dip—beautiful and alive, the song rising and falling as they move. Her mystic melody echoes back, bolstering each subsequent line, until the song is a rumbling one-woman symphony.
The water grows more alive the longer they glide atop it; Azura’s voice draws forth more brilliant blue light, illuminating their figures like a spotlight—enough so that Laslow is surprised no one has caught a glimpse of the phenomenon, or snuck into their forest hideaway to investigate. The thought that anyone might interrupt their private moment makes him move more frantically, showing off more complex moves that make Azura laugh into her lyrics.
“So enthusiastic, today!” she cries, matching his deft footwork. His hand graces the small of her back for a brief moment, then the curve of her hip—she’s perfect, a vision of grace, and Laslow doesn’t want this to end. Her feet graze the surface of the water and kick bright droplets upward, drawing gentle arcs of liquid light that suspend in the air around them, like a frame around a painting. But they move with a dynamic flare uncapturable by any still-life.
“How can I not be, when you’ve crafted the ideal stage for us?” he calls back. Azura’s voice rises, reaching the final chorus. Laslow draws her in, ready to impress her with one final move. He eyes the liquid streamers hovering around them, rebelling against their nature to fall. “Shall we defy gravity some more?” he teases.
Azura nods, continuing to sing as he twirls her, swaying back as she leans into him, controlled but effortless. She kicks her leg into the air once more and he takes it in one hand, wishing he’d shed his gloves so he could feel the smooth expanse of her skin. His other hand loops around her side and he lifts her into the air, smiling as Azura transitions into a graceful pose above him. The water splashes at his feet as he turns, enjoying the weight of her in his arms. He circles her back to the surface of the water, their eyes meeting for a moment.
“Another,” he insists, relishing the smirk that Azura flashes back at him.
He takes both her hands in his—like when she first led him out to the center of the pond—and bends his knees in preparation. Azura leaps; Laslow catches her at the waist, watching her arms and legs spread wide like the petals of a water lily. From her perch, Azura belts out a long, resounding note, appropriately dramatic and piercing, all her emotion poured into this moment. Her body trembles with feeling, barely contained, and Laslow feels her spell sweep over his skin. Melting into his heart.
The song begins to fade out. Laslow lowers her, gradually, her voice slowing along with his feet. The lingering vibrations spread across the illuminated waves, Azura’s body warm as she stands close to him. It’s replaced by their shallow breaths, and this time he can hear the way her heart hammers in time with his own.
“Beautiful,” she murmurs, her words warm against his shoulder. The light dims, water droplets eking out the last remnants of enchantment and shuddering like rain as they return home. All that remains is the gentle glow beneath their feet, flickering up and across their bodies.
Laslow takes a step back, letting her fingers rest in his palms and admiring her bowed head. “Milady,” he says. “Thank you.”
She looks up, and his stomach flutters to find her pouting. “Please, Laslow,” she scolds. “Must you stay so formal after all that?” Her gaze flicks away, nervous, before settling back on him. Alight with tenacity. “Call me Azura.”
He blinks, considering the request—a command, really, when it comes from her. “Alright,” he replies, feeling boldness overtake him. He lifts a hand from hers and reaches for the cascade of pale blue hair falling askew into her eyes, tucking it behind her ear with delicate care. In the diminished light, it’s difficult to discern whether she’s blushing or not—but there’s a tension in her face, and for once, Laslow feels a need to ask something of her.
“If I may be so bold, Azura,” he says, pausing to see the minute twitch at her cheek. “Could I get you to smile for me?”
The words leave his mouth with all the ease he throws into his dancing, but they’re accompanied by a sinking sensation. Several things happen at once.
First, the pond goes dark. As the light dies, he has only a second to see Azura’s eyes widen, a waning flash against an otherwise unreadable expression. They look up at him, then down, and then they’re gone, as Laslow feels his body drop straight down like a brick. Cool moisture rushes past his legs and curls around his waist, the waves swallowing him in their chilling jaws. He manages a startled gasp, lungs filling sharply before the air is replaced by the heavy pressure of water on all sides.
Rather than frantically kick his legs and make for the surface, Laslow lets himself sink. Silence and darkness swaddle him, frigid and cathartic, because of course he asked for too much. He’s a fool, and as his body suspends in the pond, he can feel the raw weight of being nothing. His chest aches for air, and he wills himself to withstand it for a little longer, before he has to rise and face his embarrassment.
But then a light shines brightly enough that he can sense it behind his closed eyelids. He flails his arms, shaking his head before fluttering his eyes open, making out the new presence that’s joined him in the depths. Soft fingers brush against his cheek before Laslow makes out Azura, hovering close, her entire body bursting with radiance like a subaqueous sun. Her pale blue hair—already gorgeous on dry land—takes on a new breathtaking form beneath the water’s surface, lithe and alive, wreathing her like tendrils of ribbon.
And there, on her face, is a smile. It dances across her pale pink lips, leaking bubbles like translucent pearls that catch in her eyelashes. Laslow is stunned by her, swallowing as the pad of her thumb strokes his skin. He’s already breathless, his heart pounding as Azura’s face darts forward, and his eyes shut again as her mouth meets his.
For a second, as he tastes the sweet flavor of her tongue, Laslow thinks he might be dead. Slowly, he unfreezes, chasing after her, his hands swimming through the current to land on Azura’s waist, feeling her hair swirl around him. Her name echoes in his head like a song, playing through the muffling force of the waves, pushing and pulling their floating bodies together.
Then his lungs scream, and he heaves forward, breaking their kiss with a pained cough. Idiot, he chides. Leave it to him to risk drowning for a beautiful woman. For love, in the truest form he’s ever felt it, he realizes with a jolt.
Azura moves fast, a natural in the water. Her hands slip into his and she kicks, coaxing his own body to follow her up towards the surface. Towards air and life and—he desperately hopes—more kissing without the threat of death.
They breach with a refreshing, grateful inhale, Laslow’s head tipped dramatically back and his eyes refocusing on the milky sea of stars shining over their heads. “Azura,” he breathes, overcome by the urge to repeat her name a thousand times. Instead his chest undulates rapidly, rendering him wordless, bathed in a floating euphoria. “Azura,” he murmurs, as if she’s a mantra, or a lyric that he cannot banish from his mind.
“Laslow,” she whispers, her fingers carding through his hair. “I’m so sorry, Laslow,” she adds, urging him to face her.
The apology rouses him from his stupor, and his gaze arcs down to see her barely glowing head bobbing in the waves. “You’re sorry?” he asks. “Whatever for?”
She tilts her head curiously, smirking as she looks at the water around them. “Ah,” he says. “Right.” He chews his lip, trying to gather up his courage again. “Well, I hope you’re not sorry for… for, uh…”
“For kissing you?” she finishes for him, her voice light. She must find his shyness amusing —which isn’t so terrible, all things considered. “No. Definitely not sorry for that.” Still, her own eyes avoid him, clearly wrestling with embarrassment of her own. The water has turned restless around them, displaced by their fall, absorbing the remnants of Azura’s light and turning it into fractured flickers.
Laslow sighs, drifting closer. “Good,” he says, drawing on all his confidence. “Then I hope you don’t mind…” he leans in, watching water drip languidly down her forehead, and Azura doesn’t protest. “Doing it again…” he finishes, his words drying up as he occupies himself with Azura’s lips.
A breeze sweeps over them, drawing tight ridges across the water and turning Laslow’s face and ears cold. Azura shivers when he draws away. “Let’s get out of here before we catch something,” she says, with a tinge of amusement.
It’s not a long swim back to shore, rising from the water with their clothes heavy, soaked, and clinging. “I’ll start a fire, to help us dry off,” Laslow offers, scanning the surrounding trees. “We might garner some unwarranted attention if we return to camp like this…”
“Hang on,” Azura cuts in, placing a hand on his arm and orienting him toward her. “I have something that might help.” After a brief pause, she begins to hum, lacing the air with another enchantment. Laslow’s skin bristles as he examines his arms, where glowing water droplets have begun to rise from the fabric of his shirt in time to Azura’s quick song. They evaporate from her, as well, a collection of sparkling particles hovering over the heads. She flicks them away with a wave of her hand, showering the ground beside them before turning back to Laslow with a proud smile.
His body feels lighter, left only slightly damp in the night air. “Azura, that’s really—”
Before he can say more, Azura knocks the air from his lungs, colliding into him and curling her arms tight around his torso. She buries her face in the crook of his neck, all her light dissipating as Laslow hesitantly rests his hands along her back, pressing her close. She smells fresh and clean like the lake, with a hint of pine and earth. And she’s letting him hold her, immediately after letting him kiss her, after showing him a dance only she can perform. He can hardly contain himself—it takes everything for him not to blurt his feelings out right then and there.
Though he supposes they may be obvious enough, even without him saying anything.
“Thank you,” Azura mumbles, finally unraveling from him. “Thank you for dancing with me… like that. There aren’t many people around here who can appreciate it as much as you, I think.”
He glances back at the water, finding it still and dark, leaving no trace of their performance. “I don’t know. I think it might be an inspiring interlude for the troops, wouldn’t you say?” Not that he particularly wants to share it—it feels nice to share something no one else knows, as precious as a kiss stolen away from prying eyes. Still, his mouth blathers on unthinkingly, his tone light and joking. “A couple adjustments here and there, a few more rounds of practice, and we might have something worth showing.”
“Laslow,” Azura says, low and sarcastic. “I think I’d like to keep this night between us, at least for a little bit, alright?” She hovers her face inches from his, smoothing her palm along his jaw and up toward his temple, a motion that silences him with shivers. Her finger comes to rest gently atop his lips. “And I do mean all of tonight.”
He can’t help but flash her a thrilled grin, taking her hand in his and closing the distance between them, sealing their deal with a kiss.
“It’ll be our little secret.”