Archive of Our Own ^beta

1

The sun hangs low over the Crestlands mountains, sinking further down and soon will slumber as dusk takes its place. It is much more perilous at night, with beasts crawling out from every corner imaginable, but continuing on fatigued is ill advised as well.

Temenos ponders at the mouth of the mountain cave. They still need to reach the Cathedral but there’s no need to push things too far. He turns to Crick, still wide eyed and diligent after pledging his allegiance, but the cleric can see through to his tired state, and what kind of shepherd would leave a lamb so weary. He nods to himself and says,

“How about a rest, Crick.”

Proceeding inside, Temenos sits by the stairwell, patting the ground beside and beckoning Crick to join him. They sit in silence, the only sounds are from Crick drumming his fingers on his knee, still rather nervous in the Inquisitor’s presence. Temenos decides to break the tension with a question.

“O newly anointed lamb, how are you finding things in the humble Crestlands?” He asks, and grins as Crick turns to him with a frown, “Must you continue calling me a lamb?” But that grin grows wider, and Crick resigns with a sigh. “It is smaller than I first thought. I imagined that the Pontiff and Inquisitor would live in a more populated area. Though it is also rather quaint.”

Temenos nods, “So you are more of a city person?”

“I don’t know, it’s more so that I’m used to cities than villages.” Crick replies, “What of you, Temenos?”

“Cities have their moments, and their glamour, but I’d prefer the Crestland’s simplicity.” Temenos replies. “Though, I do remember paying a visit to New Delsta with the Pontiff once.” He adds between snickers, “So much hustle and bustle, the posh and overly polished flock couldn’t take their eyes off us ‘simple country folk’.”

“I see.”

“Such a glamorous life is nice, but unnecessary. The Crestlands are more welcoming to all,” Temenos says with a nonchalant wave of his hand, “What says you?”

“I agree, I appreciate such simplicity.” Crick replies with a nod. “And Flamechurch has lovely pastures indeed, not since Timberain have I seen such well-kept flora.”

Temenos tilts his head, “You have visited Timberain?”

“Yes, in my youth,” Crick replies, strange sentimentality flickers in his eyes, “Such a well-kept city, if a little posh in its own right, but with sights and sounds galore. The castle’s garden is especially beautiful, even you would agree.”

“Would I now?” Temenos asks with mild intrigue.

Crick nods with enthusiasm, “Perhaps if our paths cross in the Leaflands one day, I could show you.”

Temenos brings a hand to his cheek with a playful look, “So the lamb would shepherd me for a day? You’re bolder than I thought, and we’ve only just met too!” He says with a mock sigh, and smirks once again as Crick proclaims, “I am still no lamb!”

He ignores the knight’s protests and chuckles, “Well, you’ve piqued my interest now. A reservation for Timberain it is then.” Temenos stands back up, Staff of Judgement in hand, “I believe we are well rested now. Come along, Crick.”

Partway through heading up the staircase Temenos turns back, watching in amusement as Crick stands at the base, lost in thought, before his eyes suddenly widen, somehow turning both pale as a sheet and red as a beet. He covers his now coloured complexion in his hands, finally realising what he’d agreed too.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

2

It had been several days since that horrific night at the cathedral, the news of the Pontiff’s passing still fresh in the town’s mind. And just as soon as they arrived, the Sacred Guard will bid farewell to Flamechurch for reasons unknown, Crick included. The knight himself is leaned over a wooden fence overlooking the pasture, left unsure of how to think or feel, with endless questions sifting through his mind, muddled with regrets.

If I’d arrived sooner, would any of this have happened? Is this reassignment a punishment? Was my anointment a mistake? Surely, if Ort were sent instead then none of this would’ve-

“Hello there, little lamb.”

Any regrets are replaced with surprise as Crick jolts back in shock, his heart nearly leaping out of his chest at the Inquisitor’s sudden intrusion. “T-Temenos!” He shrieks with a raised octave, “You scared me!”

Temenos doesn’t even bother to hide his amusement, smirking again as always. “Apologies, but your constant sighing was getting unbearable. What has you so down, anyway?”

Crick takes in another breath before speaking, “Everything. The incident at the cathedral, the Sacred Guard’s sudden leave, I cannot escape it. I want answers but can never find them. Am I even worthy of answers?”

“Answers are out there, but you won’t find them by driving yourself to worry, and certainly not by stewing in self-pity.” Temenos reprimands.

“R-Right-”

“Instead, why not focus on this wonderful view of your flock?” Temenos says, guiding Crick’s gaze to the fields beyond the fence, full of fluffy sheep grazing and basking in the mid-morning sun. 

“Again with this? I am no lamb, Temenos!” Crick exclaims with a petulant scowl.

“Are you certain? If you ask me, the resemblance is uncanny.”

Crick’s brow furrows at the Inquisitor’s constant riddles. What resemblance is there? Crick isn’t at all small or a child, and his armour is often cold and heavy, not at all like a soft ball of wool. Does he mean energetic, maybe? Or is his eagerness an overbearing annoyance? A set of lambs run across the fence, bleating and jumping in playful harmony. Despite all the teasing, Crick smiles at the sight, even he won’t deny their adorability, like cuteness personified. Is that what the Inquisitor means? Is this just a silly, roundabout way of calling him cu-

Crick immediately stops that train of thought, for fear of his heart skipping over one too many beats. He turns away, hoping to hide his flush.

“And you still require guidance,” Temenos chimes in. “We wouldn’t want you getting lost again.”

“But I am to depart this evening,” Crick replies, “What good would guidance do now?”

Temenos rolls his eyes, heaving an exasperated groan, “No need for such pessimism, Crick. Why not spend your last day in Flamechurch wisely, on a guided tour with the Inquisitor himself.”

Crick turns back, meeting Temenos’ eyes again, now offering an outstretched hand. A part of him wonders if this is another trick to tease him again, and another part is open to trust, lured in by an oddly captivating aura.

He takes his hand, now sealed with a firm shake.

“Very well, I will follow your lead, Temenos.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Before any trip out on the road, one must be fully prepared for the dangers ahead, so Crick insists that their first stop is to the provisioners for supplies. Once there, Crick picks out an assortment of grapes and olives, and sets something else aside on the counter, Temenos watches in curiosity. When Crick returns, he smiles and hands Temenos a little package neatly wrapped in a handkerchief.

“What is this?”

“Some grapes and plums for yourself,” Crick says, “I know not what your plans are next, but I have a feeling you won’t let this case pass you by. I wanted to give you something for the road, for your safety.”

“Dear, I’m a healer."  Temenos says, almost patronisingly, “A little scrape on the road won’t break me.”

“I-I know, but…” Crick awkwardly brushes his undercut, “I simply worry for you.”

Instead of unpacking Crick’s proclamations of knightly devotion, Temenos shakes it aside and coyly taps him on the nose. “Such a worrywart of a lamb.”

“Temenos!”

Temenos can’t help but snicker at Crick’s endearing little pout, he could get used to this.

“Where to next, little lamb?” Temenos asks. “How about the hill by the chapel? You should at least see the view before you depart.”

Crick groans, “Fine. But please, at least consider using my name from now on.”

“Right this way then, Crick.”

Temenos motions to the nearby trail, with sturdy steps leading up to the quaint little chapel, a path he knows all too well. Just before leaving, he turns back with suspicion, as if someone is watching from afar. He sees nothing but the uneasy feeling still lingers, and he could’ve sworn he heard scant whispers earlier.

He shrugs it aside for now and leads Crick up the path. When the pair are out of view, two curious nuns pop out from the hillside with a swoon.

“See, I told you it was true!”

“Truly… though, I can’t blame him for such tastes…”

Temenos takes the lead up the path with Crick close behind, his eyes anywhere but forward, too busy taking in all the scenery he can. Townsfolk going about their day, nearby children playing in the fallen maple leaves, the faint rustle of tree leaves in the wind is ever so soothing to the ears. Crick finds it all so familiar, yet different, but still refreshing.

Curiously, he notices a fair number of prying eyes about, some scampering away when he notices. He raises an eyebrow, Are the townsfolk quite alright? He wonders, Is there another heretic about? They’ve had to deal with the Pontiff’s passing, it would be awful to deal with more trouble and heartache. I hope the best for-

“Watch the step-”

“What? Ah-!”

Crick’s thoughts are once again interrupted when he trips up over a sturdy plank and is almost sent stumbling to the ground. His guide catches him in time, stopping him in place with a hold on his arm and a smug look only a scant few inches away from his face.

“S-Sorry, Temenos.”

Temenos tilts his chin upward with the Staff of Judgement, “Eyes on the road now, lest you throw yourself at me further.” The tight proximity of Temenos’ warm breath makes Crick shudder. He leaves with a light snicker and continues on. Crick stands back for a spell to rub away any evidence of another flush and is decidedly focused ahead from then on.

Temenos stands at the edge of the hill with a presenting pose and a charming look, “And here we are. Come, stand gobsmacked over here instead.”

For all of Temenos’ vexing comments he was right on this occasion, Crick could only stand in awe at the sight before him, mouth agape. The view stretched from all across the village; to the winding trails arched by auburn trees, to the mountain path and the cathedral towering above. Crick could see so many things from up here. The forest trail peeking through a sea of autumn dipped trees, a sharp eye could spot a little critter or two scurrying about stacking acorns for winter. He looks ahead to the mountain path and to the cathedral, its stained-glass windows now christened by sunlight, complete with the Sacred Flame’s grace burning still. The wind gently chimes by the shell of his ear, bringing in a sense of harmonic peace. All of it framed by the glistening afternoon sun creating picturesque peace. An intense feeling of happiness wells up inside Crick’s chest, abundant joy dances in his radiant smile.

“This is beautiful, Temenos.”

For a moment, Crick thinks he spies a hint of genuinity in Temenos’ expression, a potential cherry on top to complete the piece. It’s gone before long as he makes another suggestion. “There’s one more place I’d like to show you. Might I introduce you to the children?”

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

“Temenos!”

As soon as the chapel doors open the cleric is suddenly attacked by a pack of wild children, trapping him with their barrage of questions.

“We missed you, Temenos!”

“You’re not gonna leave us too, are you?”

A smaller child walks up, clutching at Temenos’ robes with her head held to the ground, “Is it true, Temenos? What happened at the cathedral?” she asks in a low watery voice.

Temenos leans down and gingerly pats the child on the head, “I’m afraid so, our Pontiff is gone,” He replies somberly. He tilts the child’s head up and greets her with a soft expression, “But he wouldn’t want us to cry. Instead, we need to keep our heads held high!”

The little one sniffles with wide, misty eyes, but tries her best to smile back, “Okay, I’ll try.” Her words are slightly muffled as she buries her head into Temenos’ robes, comforted by his touch. The other children surround and similarly latch to his side, their curiosity growing by the moment.

“Oh! Is it also true you fought a big monster?”

“I heard it was a big, nasty wolf!”

“I didn’t know you could fight, Temenos!”

“Yes, it’s all true.” Temenos laughs heartily, “But I had an assistant by my side as well.” He gestures to Crick with a sly nod, siccing the questioning tykes onto the unsuspecting knight.

“Woah! A Sanctum Knight!”

“You got a sword and a cape and everything!”

Crick shuffles from heel to heel in his enclosure, fenced in from every angle by prodding eyes scanning near every detail of his armour. One admires each fabric stitch of his cape, another stares at the hilt of his sword with a curious lingering hand. “H-Hey, please- be careful with that- please don’t touch- ack!” And a mischievous little one pokes at his very ticklish sides.

A nun with teal hair walks up with a giggle, “Such interesting company you’ve brought today, Temenos.” she lowers her voice to a whisper, “I thought you abhoured the Sacred Guard?”

“‘Abhour’ is such a strong word, but there are exceptions, Mindt.” Temenos replies.

“Exceptions…” Mindt hums with pursed lips. She turns her attention to the knight himself, “What is your name, sir?”

“Crick,” He answers, “I may be newly anointed, but I swear by my sword to carry out my duties with utmost devotion!”

“Oh! Did you slash and stab the big, mean wolf?” An energetic child asks.

Crick nods, “I did, but my main priority was protecting the Inquisitor. It is my role as a Godsblade to protect him, even with my very life.”

Said Inquisitor huffs in amusement, “No need for such dramatics, Crick.”

Still, Crick stays devoted with a firm hand clasped to his chest, “Dramatic or not, it’s true. You can trust in me to protect you, Temenos.”

“Oh my…” Mindt whispers, she turns back to Temenos with a vulpine look, like an eerily strange mirror, “Temenos, are there any other revelations you are withholding?”

“What are you implying, Mindt?”

“The recent rumours have made me curious, and you have become more chipper as of late.”

He rests a hand to his hip, “And pray tell, what are these prevalent rumours?”

Mindt sways with a teasing demeanour, hands clasped behind her back, “Well~, word has it that a little Godsblade did the unthinkable and forged an iron clad bond with our icy cold Inquisitor, his thawed heart now beating in tandem with his dearest knight.” She leans in and whispers delightfully in his ear, “Why even now, they can’t help but share their newfound happiness with us.”

Temenos’ eyes widen for just a moment, panning from Mindt, her teasing tone mixed with an odd chill, to Crick, still surrounded by a pack of admiring children poking and prodding away. The little one from earlier gently tugs at his hand and asks in a soft voice, “Mister Sanctum Knight, will you keep protecting Temenos? Make sure to keep Temenos safe and happy, okay?”

“Of course I will!”

Such a strange warmth this little lamb emanates…

Hah, it’s nothing of the sort.

“Why, they are mere rumours, Mindt. Nothing more.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

The evening sun beautifully blends into the golden hills and sets upon another day, capping off a truncated but lovely tour of Flamechurch. Temenos and Crick find themselves where it all started only days ago at the crossroads, now only to bid farewell.

Temenos stands with folded arms, illuminated by the sunset, “Reassigned as quickly as you were recruited… T’was a short and beautiful friendship, Crick.”

Crick huffs a small laugh, “It was hardly budding, Temenos.” Then his tone softens, “We weren’t in each other's company long, but I believe I see what His Holiness saw in you, and why he chose you.”

The mask strings lighten for a second before tight reinforcement. Such flattery gets you nowhere, little lamb. Temenos instead replies, “It was an honour, Crick.”

Temenos walks ahead to the fenced pasture, for one more look at the beloved fluffy flocks before his departure at the earliest dawn. Crick joins him, they stand in silence for a spell before Crick speaks up, “Thank you for everything, Temenos. Take care of yourself, and may we meet again.”

Now it is Crick who offers an outstretched hand, Temenos accepts.

He smiles again, and bows for good measure, his armour glitters in the sunset’s glow and the soft breeze brushes against his dusty blonde hair. Finally, he departs for lands only his Deputy and Captain know.

And Temenos is left to recede into his mind and sort out his next order of business. First, to meet with the theologian, Lucian, and uncover his role in this case. The Pontiff’s note holds hidden truths, ones only the road can lead him to. He’ll leave by the morrow, to his destiny.

What awaits him on his travels, what mysteries unfold, and whose path he’ll cross with next, only the road knows.

His hand brushes against the satchel at his side, holding the little handkerchief-wrapped gift for his travels. It’s only been a moment, but an image of Crick flickers in his mind. Truly, the picture of an upstanding knightly lamb indeed, with such innocence, naivety, and overdone flattery.

But such flattery is appreciated… And if our paths intertwine again, perhaps a little fun is in order. It couldn’t hurt, now could it?

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

3

It was just supposed to be another day patrolling around the Harborlands, the sun rising over the sea as usual, accompanied by the ocean’s breeze, initially enthralling, now mundane. Whatever Crick expected from this reassignment - Some kind of promotion? A lead on this concerning case? Maybe a new lease on life? It all led to nothing - all those nights spent pondering in the ship’s cabin were for naught.

Now all he’s left to do is patrol, and while he enjoys it well enough, it still feels hollow, like a glorified walk. Lately patrols in Canalbrine often felt like aimless drifting under the guise of progress as Crick stays stranded in the numbing darkness, left with only lingering daydreams of ‘what if’s’ to bide away the days. One night he even joked with Ort over ale of praying to Aelfric himself for some unnatural disaster to occur just to spice up the days.

And oh, how He answered. Gifting him with their divine disaster of an Inquisitor, who now threatens to consume his very being.

He never expected to see him again, that their friendship was truly short lived, yet he was proven otherwise. It was almost welcomed to see a familiar face again after day in and day out of menial chores, someone to gift a spark of energy once again.

Almost. Then he just had to open his mouth again in the most eloquently insufferable tone-

“To think I made my way to the same city you were reassigned. Why, it must be...!”

As the lamb takes the bait, falling again for the hound’s ploy-

“Do not dare say ‘fate’, Temenos!”

And he’s left as a sheepish fool by that twisting tongue yet again.

It’s become a routine at this point, as if the Inquisitor lives solely to needle and tease, to wring his stomach into knots, to summon a crimson blush with just one quip. By the Gods, how did he ever come to miss this?

Mercifully, the Inquisitor brought more with him than just teasing remarks, and thanks to his observations they finally had a lead once again. Lucian, the scholar who visited Flamechurch on that eventful day now resides in Canalbrine, within their grasp of questioning, and with some hope, answers too.

But instead of heading to Lucian immediately, Temenos muses once again over the harbour bridge. Crick frowns with an annoyed huff, “Shouldn’t we be getting a move on, Temenos?” The cleric remains still, before suddenly exclaiming, “That’s it!” and heads down the main path towards the pier.

Crick follows behind and asks, “What is it? Have you discovered another clue?”

Temenos turns to face him, “I wish to investigate Lucian but while drawing the least amount of attention possible. I may have figured out a way, but-” he follows it up with a wink, “Just play along.”

Temenos’ destination is a small ticket booth perched outside the pier. Canalbrine is a popular attraction for travelers, tourists, couples, and more. As such, some have decided to turn such popularity into profit, offering rides across the canal for a fee, by either day or night with an option of a guide.

The booth’s receptionist greets him with a smile, “Good day! Looking to book a tour around the canal?”

Temenos nods, “Yes, but could I request a private tour?”

The receptionist tilts her head in confusion, Temenos then beckons Crick to his side, “Apologies, could we request a private tour?”

“Oh, is it for a special occasion?” she asks.

Temenos nods enthusiastically, “Why yes,” he links their arms and leans into Crick with a dreamy sigh, “It’s our honeymoon!”

“Wha! -”

She squeals with joy as Crick promptly chokes on his tongue.

“Oh my! How wonderful!” She exclaims.

“T-Te-Temenos-! w-wh-what are you d-doing??” Crick stammers under his breath, comically red faced. The cleric tightens his grip with a giddy grin, “I heard the Harborlands are so romantic at this time of year, it’s just perfect for some private time with my beloved!”

“Beloved?!” Crick manages to squeak out.

Temenos leans in further and pats Crick’s burning cheek, “Say, which do you prefer? The sunlight’s gentle touch, or the moon’s glimmer in your eyes?” he asks with fluttering lashes. 

“I-, um, w-we are n-not-t- a-!” Crick sputters, barely able to string a sentence together. Temenos shrugs, “How about both!”

Temenos hands off the required leaves and purchases an all day pass for the canoes. He thanks the receptionist and skips along to the port with Crick in tow, dazed and completely dumbfounded.

“Enjoy yourselves, have a happy honeymoon!”

By the time Crick registers his surroundings again, Temenos is already untying the canoe from the pier. He stands aboard with an oar in hand, “Crick? Is something amiss?” he asks innocently.

“Temenos…” Crick groans and sighs, “Was all that really necessary?”

“Of course.” Temenos says plainly, “How else would we stay so discreet.”

“By creating such an absurd scene?!”

Temenos sways with the canoe in a teasing tilt with a sweet little simper, “There’s nothing wrong with having a little fun, beloved~”

His playful purr pushes Crick to step aboard, adorned with a scowl and a reddened flush, “Temenos, please- enough with your jests!”

Temenos just stifles a giggle in return, turning to the bow and rowing them along the waves to their destination.

“Now, if my deductions are correct, Lucian’s home should be across from here…”

Crick takes a deep breath for composure, hopefully this will be the last of the Inquisitor’s absurd methods. After all, what could he possibly be plotting next? Breaking and entering?

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

The moon shines bright above the Sacred Guard’s vessel as the cleric and knight exit onto the pier, weak and weary after their confrontation with Vados. A powerful adversary indeed but unmatched by the duos combined strength. Temenos takes in the night with a heavy breath, shifting into a wince as the sea breeze drifts against his fresh wounds. He prepares a healing spell and is awash with a gentle glow. “Much better,” He turns to Crick, equally battered, “Now your turn.” He laces their hands together and chants another healing prayer.

Though the spell is meant for aid, it also deepens Crick’s strange state of affairs. A feeling of fuzziness warms his chest as Temenos’ fingers softly cradle his, his dulcet prayer barely above a whisper but so soothing and clear, and the hymn’s soft light accentuates Temenos’ features as if he was sculpted by Scealtige herself.

The glow dissipates, “All done.”

Crick exchanges a few blinks, taking a second to register his surroundings again before straightening up, “Oh! Um, th-thank you, Temenos…” He mutters.

“Such a long night, thank the Gods it’s behind us,” Temenos sighs, “I believe it’s time for a well deserved rest.”

“Please, allow me to escort you to the inn, Temenos.”

“Are you sure? You still look rather worn out.”

“I’m fine, Temenos. I would like to see you to safety.” Crick states, “And it is not like I have other arrangements tonight.”

“Oh? No last minute errands from the Captain?”

“Not a one.” Crick shakes his head, “After my report, Captain Kaldena retreated to her quarters for the night.”

“I see…”

Temenos’ hand grazes the satchel at his side, no sign of grapes or plums. Only a little handkerchief and a crumpled ticket… and an idea.

“Hmm… Crick?” Temenos faces him with a strange glint in his eyes, “Could we… take a more scenic route back?”

Crick frowns, “What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s just-” Temenos fiddles with the sachet, beaming as he finally digs out that coveted ticket, “It would be a shame to waste our honeymoon!”

“Y-You’re still going on with that!?” Crick squawks out. He crosses his arms with a reprimanding growl, “I told you, enough with your jests!”

“Now now, dear. Shouldn’t we put this opportunity to use?” Temenos asks with a patronising tone.

Despite his scowl, inward, Crick entertains the idea for more than a millisecond’s thought. For as tired as they are, a trip across the water wouldn’t be too much longer, hopefully. It could give him time to think, to process such an eventful day. And he wouldn’t want Temenos to bemoan over wasted leaves on an all day pass, even if it was his idea in the first place.

“Though, we’ve already done so much today,” Temenos mutters, “Hah, very well. No more jests for tonight, beloved.” He begins the walk back to the inn. Crick, still in disbelief over his thoughts, and praying to the Gods that he won’t regret this, takes a deep breath-

“Wait,”

And grasps Temenos’ arm, stopping him in his tracks.

“I… I think you’re right. Let’s take the scenic route back.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

The canoe bobs back and forth with the gentle waves, rocking about as the pair deftly step aboard. Temenos quickly takes a seat by the bow as Crick rows them along the waterfront. It takes a few tries for him to figure it out, Temenos’ accompanied laughter not helping matters, but he eventually gets the hang of things.

Temenos watches him with intrigue, “My, how lucky I am to have a gentleman such as you.” He teases.

Crick rolls his eyes, “I would not want your delicate figure to crumble under such an arduous task, Temenos.” He says dryly.

“Delicate?” Temenos chuckles mockingly, “Is that what you think of me?”

“I mean, you are rather dainty…” Crick admits. “B-But I don’t mean it as a bad thing!” He nervously adds.

Temenos blinks with a look of intrigue, before slinking back into a sly expression. Crick exhales under his breath, praying that he hasn’t overstepped anything, his tongue has been much too loose as of late.

They approach the bridge, a thick blanketing darkness seeps in through the watery underpass, enveloping them. Neither of them can see a thing, but Crick can still feel that sly gaze peering into him, just waiting for him to stumble into the sides for another sharp tongued quip at his expense.

“You sound tired. Mayhaps a rest is in order.” Temenos’ voice echoes through the tunnel.

“I’m alright, Temenos. I can keep going.” Crick replies between short breaths. Temenos remains unamused.

The canoe rocks again, and even in the darkness the knight feels a presence standing just in front of him, “Crick…” A soft echo sends shivers down his spine, shaking the already crumbling foundation in his legs. The canoe exits the underpass and moonlight seeps in again, revealing Temenos, standing upright with lidded eyes that pierce his soul, their noses separated by mere inches. His lips form a small, mystifying smirk as he reaches out for Crick’s shivering figure, gently grasping his shoulders and whispering again, “Ease yourself, dear.”

Whether by fatigue or the sheer force of the Inquisitor’s enrapturing persuasion, Crick collapses onto the canoe's stern, mouth agape, his thumping heart echoes in his ears. Temenos sits back down onto the bow, his legs crossed as he hums in satisfaction.

Crick takes a deep breath and peers down to the gentle waves, “It’s strange…” He mutters, poking ripples into his watery reflection, “I’ve spent so long stationed here, yet I never once went to the waterfront.”

“Never?” Temenos asks.

“Never,” Crick reaffirms, “It was always the same route on that stony pavement, then back to the ship by sundown, and repeated ad nauseam come morning.”

“So the crows are still as efficient as ever,” Temenos quips, and as much as Crick wants to object, his heart cannot help but agree.

“We never made a break in the case until you arrived, Temenos,” He continues on, “You have a habit of guiding me to the truth.”

“Do I now?”

“You could likely unravel any mystery,” Crick mutters avidly, then jokingly adds, “Though, your methods could stand to be far less blasphemous!”

Temenos airily laughs back, “But how else would we have gleamed the truth at all?” Crick mirrors his laughter. Blasphemous or not, he has a point.

Their humble joy is curtained by the sparkling stars above, reflected back into the gentle azure stream. Temenos lifts his head back, gazing into the night sky for a time. Then, he softly asks, “Do you stargaze at all, Crick?” He points to a stray star in the sky, “I believe that’s the point of Draefendi’s arrow, just as she slays a mighty dragon wreaking celestial havoc.”

Crick can’t tell if this is another ruse or not, but he plays along regardless. “Do tell…”

He points to another cluster of stars, “It all started when the beast sealed the princess away in the moon’s fullest phase, her cries for help heard only to Draefendi…”

Soon enough, Crick sinks into the enchanting comfort of Temenos’ fairy tales with a soft smile. It must be the exhaustion speaking, but Crick finds the cosmos itself reflected in those deep turquoise skies…

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

4

The dawn rises once again, and new orders are given. Compared to the rigidity of the past weeks, Crick’s latest assignment arrived so suddenly - escort Vados back to headquarters by tomorrow morning. And again, he is left with so many questions, but when speaking with Kaldena in her quarters, he gets the feeling that such curiosity may cost him dearly. Thus, they remain unspoken and unanswered.

Though, it’s not like he’d have time to ponder anyway, as after last night’s incident at the tavern he’s become quite the popular topic of discussion. Indeed, after stepping onto the pier that afternoon he’s flocked by a group of young, fawning maidens hoping to court a brave, strapping knight such as himself. Ort rolls his eyes in a jealous huff and steps back aboard the ship before Crick can clear his name.

“Hello there, Sanctum Knight!”

Amongst all the commotion, the tavernkeeper pokes through with a welcoming handshake and a generous offer. Not further fame or glittering fortune, but instead a prestige dinner at no cost. Crick purses his lips; a free dinner is welcomed but it doesn’t sit right with him. He almost declines but is cut off as the manager sweetens the deal and welcomes both him and a person of his choosing for the night.

He accepts, and the crowd gasps as hopeful mutters surround him. He forces a smile, unaccustomed to breaking hearts, but it must be done. As nice as each maiden appears he politely declines each and every one of them, no matter their exorbitant offers. It’s not that the idea of sharing a dinner with a lovely stranger is unwelcomed, but more that his mind was already made up and his decision decided upon the moment the offer reached his ears.

Temenos.

It’s almost unnatural, scary even, how quickly the Inquisitor consumed his mind above all. Not that other people aren’t interesting, or strangely admirable, with a demeanour both frustrating and endearing, with delicate features framed by soft hair kissed by moonlight, and with slim turquoise eyes that sparkle with teasing delight matched with a supple, fox-like smirk…

But the Inquisitor is also guarded to a fault, locking away acts of kindness behind teasing banter or stacks of masks that could fill the libraries of Montwise with ease. He does not recognise his own efforts, even if Crick does. So a dinner to celebrate, for him to unwind for just a night would be in order.

Of course, there was the matter of asking him at all, that’s a different beast entirely. 

For one, it’s such late notice, he likely has plans with his companions and will shrug him off with a cute little laugh. And how exactly does he say it? Temenos twists his tongue unlike any other, he’ll certainly make a fool of himself. And stating it so plainly,

“Will you join me for dinner at the tavern? Just the two of us.”

Oh no, absolutely not! Such a pure, unfiltered statement would arm Temenos with enough material to tease him for a lifetime! But a complex roundabout approach could be even worse, twisted and misconstrued into something else entirely. Dear Gods…

But he finds himself standing before the inn’s shabby door all the same. All he needs now is a rosy bouquet and a breath mint.

Crick takes a deep, shuddering breath and knocks thrice on the door. He steels himself for abject rejection, refusal, condemnation, sentenced to a life of shame for even entertaining the very idea. Perhaps he really is a lamb at heart, stuck in his own wistful reveries of frolicking in flowery meadows with Temenos in hand without a care in the world. Such a sweet simple dream that could never come to pass, there’s not a chance in all of Solistia that Temenos would ever humour his absurd requ-

“I would love that.”

“If you have other arrangements then I underst- what?” 

Crick blinks once, then twice, and croaks in disbelief, “Y-You accept?!”

Temenos smirks with a coquettish tilt, “Of course. Why not spend some quality time with my favourite Sanctum Knight.”

Once again, his teasing tongue sends Crick into a tizzy, His gaze flutters about before dropping to the floor. Unsure of how to respond, he nods in lieu of words.

“Yay! I’m so happy for you, Temmy!” Their rambunctious beastling leaps into the Inquisitor’s arms, her tail wagging about as she embraces him, “You guys are finally dating!”

“I-It’s not-, w-well…” Crick chokes on his words, gulping them down with a bashful expression, and the knot in his stomach twists further. “We both saved the tavern that night, so we both deserve thanks. That’s all it is. Really.”

Temenos’ assistant in crime, Throné, gives him a friendly jab in the arm, “Well well, the detective was right. You are rather bold.” she leans in, and whispers coveted secrets in his ear that ignites another reddened flush.

“Care to share with the class, Throné?” Temenos asks.

“I’m afraid It’ll stay our little secret, detective.” She cooly replies, and shoos him away with a wave, “Now go freshen up while we give him pointers.”

“Oh yeah! There’s so much I wanna ask you, Cricket!” Ochette beams, taking Crick by the hands with a very energetic shake.

“Wait, I-, um-”

He’s given no say in the matter as Ochette and Throné promptly pull him over to the inn’s lounge by the arms and plop him down on the couch. Ochette laughs with a wide toothy grin, “It’s so cool we finally get to meet you, Cricket! Temmy talks about you all the time, and I gotta know if everything he said is true.”

“Temenos, what exactly are you telling your companions?” Crick asks, his tone sharp with a pointed glare to match. But the cleric has no intention of answering, he just gives him a look of pure innocence and a nonchalant wave before heading upstairs. Crick resigns with a groan as his companions grin in amusement by his side.

Throné gives him a pat on the shoulder, “If it helps, I can share some of the Inquisitor’s deepest secrets,” she murmurs. Crick gulps, he didn’t think he’d hear someone speak in such a dark yet tempting tone.

Ochette clings onto his arm with her tail wagging about, her curious eyes staring straight at him as she suddenly asks, “Do Sanctum Knights eat jerky?”

“Jerky? Well, we do serve meat on occasion-”

“Ohh, I didn’t know if you ate meat. Temmy’s always calling you a lamb, after all.”

“I’d rather not unpack that…”

“Huh?”

“N-Nothing-”

“Hey, why do the knights call him a hound? Is it because of his big, adorable eyes?”

“His what?!”

“Is that what you like most about him?”

“I-I…”

“Why are your eyes so big and wide? And why is your face so red?”

“...”

Despite Crick’s weary protests, the fervent questions continue. Throné peers over every now and again with an amused smirk. Crick sometimes catches her gaze and is rewarded with teasing quips and snickers. But hidden deep within that gaze, somewhere, is a glint of support, at least he hopes.

Time becomes a blur at that point. Crick isn’t sure if it was all entirely fun, but beyond all the teasing and waffling he finds himself enjoying their company, and he soon understands why Temenos would too. Ochette continues on with her constant and curious questions, and somehow, she stays endearing throughout. Her boundless energy is admirable, even as the evening sun soon gleams through the nearby curtains.

Suddenly, she stops, her deft ears prick up. “Temmy!” she exclaims. And just as she predicted, Temenos soon descends the stairs, appearing just as he did before with no touch ups at all.

Well, not entirely. His features have a touch of plaster to them. Even as he humours him, the mask remains.

And his mask melds into another sly grin as he leers over the little knight. “Ready to go?”

He takes Temenos’ hand again and stands up. Throné lounges back with a curved smile and her chin neatly perched in her palm. “Good luck, don’t do anything we wouldn’t!’ She says with a wink.

“M-Miss Anguis!”

Temenos takes the opportunity to link their arms, prompting a squeak from the knight. He meets Crick’s flustered face with an innocuous grin. “Shall we be off, dear Crick?”

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Now intertwined, they step out onto the stony pavement of Canalbrine’s evening streets. The cold winds whip with the scent of the ocean as the sun rests on the horizon, painting the sky in a vibrant shade of cerise.

The walk to the tavern itself is rather uneventful and quiet. Unnaturally quiet. Crick takes a quick glance at Temenos, still strapped to his arm with excessive glee. He takes another peek, this time with a raised eyebrow. There’s no need for such an overdone act.

But his third look is finally caught and trapped by the cleric’s teasing gaze. “It’s rather rude to steal glances, little lamb.”

Crick shamefully looks away, “My apologies…”

He hears Temenos chuckle, and soon feels his lips ghost the edge of his ear with a whisper, “But If you do wish to stare into my soul, simply ask.”

“T-Temenos-” Crick’s own soul has likely left his body, now left to the whims of his shivering nerves and crimson complexion. “You aren’t planning on needling me the entire night, are you?”

“That is for the night itself to decide,” He replies, vague as always. “But there is something I wish to discuss first.”

“What is it?”

Temenos reaches for his satchel and pulls out a small, familiar tome. “It concerns a certain late theologian and their notes.”

Crick gasps in astonishment, “Temenos, that is crucial evidence! Don’t tell me you stole it!”

“...Then I won’t.”

“Temenos!”

“Now now, Crick.” He chides. “You know how very efficient the crows have been while stationed here. Wouldn’t this be better suited to my hands?”

Crick grumbles through his pursed lips, his creased brow twitches. He still hates to admit it but eventually relents with a begrudging groan.

“And thanks to these notes I now have a breakthrough in this case,” He brings the book closer and flips to an earmarked page covered in a frantic web of ink. Through the scattershot notes lies a recurring location. “The Fellsun Ruins,” Temenos answers aloud, “That place shows up many a time in these pages. It seems Lucian intended to visit them before his untimely demise. The ruins rest within Crackridge, and I believe it is where some of our answers lie.”

“Crackridge…” Crick repeats. An isolated town situated by the Wildlands tumultuous peaks. Such fierce foes lurk on the trek there. The town itself lodged in a bottomless ravine, awaiting all who dare to misstep. There are even rumours that the Sacred Flame does not shine there, and pure darkness is embraced in its stead.

Crick faces Temenos with an expression both virtuous and full of worry, “Please be careful, Temenos. I will pray for your safety.”

Temenos laughs, “Well, now I truly have nothing to fear.”

“I-I mean it!”

“Haha, your concern is just adorable, little lamb.”

Having struck a little nerve, Temenos diffuses Crick’s frustration with a pinch to his cheek. The knight gasps, stutters back, and turns to hide his flustered gaze with a huff.

Temenos laughs yet again, then snaps his fingers in convenient remembrance. “Ah, all this talk of doom and gloom… I’d almost forgotten to ask you of your plans!”

Crick grumbles, and clears his throat behind a closed fist, “With Vados’ arrest I have been tasked with escorting him back to headquarters in Stormhail. I shall be departing by the morrow.”

“So you’re spending your last night here in Canalbrine in style.” Temenos says.

“Our last night, it seems.” Crick corrects.

Temenos gives him a caittish smirk, “Our?”

“Y-You know what I mean!”

The two story tavern looms ahead, its windows showcasing a night full of bright lights and entertainment. Stepping inside, a ruby red carpet welcomes them, and the tavern itself is filled to the brim with activity, from patrons and couples dining at tables, to regulars perched at right at the bar. The manager walks over with a wave and a grin. “Welcome, Sanctum Knight! I see you’ve found some prestigious company for tonight!”

“Prestigious indeed.” Temenos nudges Crick with a wink.

“H-Hush…” Crick hastily scans the tavern, not a free table in sight. “Ah, I didn’t even consider reservations…” He winces.

“Not to worry, I booked one in advance for you atop the second floor.” The manager says, and heads to the stairs. “Come along! I believe it will be to your tastes!”

The pair exchange a shrug and follow along. And just as the first, the second floor is bustling with activity. Pairs fill every table with excitement, couples dine with the finest wine and freshest fish, and the stage is alight with a spectacular show of grace from their star dancer herself, Hermes. The floor uproariously cheers as she twirls from pose to pose.

Watching the show, Crick can’t help but feel proud of his and Temenos’ efforts. Were it not for their intervention, it could have become a much more gruesome night. Though he could not save the Pontiff, he did save those who shine just as bright in different ways, and now they can continue to share that light with others.

All because of the radiant light shining before him…

Each day, he grows a little more fond of the Inquisitor’s guidance.

“What are you smiling for, Crick?”

The Inquisitor himself brings him back from his thoughts.

“There’s a spectacular show right in front of you, yet you can’t take your eyes off me.”

“I-I, I didn’t mean to-, um…” He stutters. His frantic eyes dart around, desperate for an escape. Finally, he spots the manager gesturing to an empty table. “There! Our table! We shouldn’t stall the night further, aha…”

He chokes further on nervous laughter when seated at their reservation - A table placed beyond the open windows amongst a foliage of flowers, with a rosy candlelight right in the middle, complete with a vast, beautiful view of the Harborlands, from the glittering streets of Canalbrine, to the sparkling sea that surrounds them.

It seems there’s been a sort of misunderstanding. This is much too extravagant for a simple dinner, it’s more befitting of partners. Of lovers…

The tavernkeeper hands over a pair of menus and turns to leave them be, but Crick taps him on the shoulder with a hushed request.

“Um, just… one more thing…”

Temenos spies a dusting of red on Crick’s cheeks. He tilts his head with an arched brow, eyes narrowed with a look that could burn straight through to the truth, yet when they’re finally given a moment alone Crick decides instead to bury his face in a menu.

“The owner said we could order whatever we like free of charge.” He says, avoidantly.

“Truly?”

“Indeed. Order whatever you like, Temenos.”

The cleric’s eyes scan the extravagant display of dishes on offer, such a stark difference from the average tavern meal. While there was pleasure in a simple serving of food with a side of cheap ale, those with more leaves to their name could dine in style, with the freshest fish procured and prepared to perfection, pure red wine that cleanses the senses, and the sweetest desserts handcrafted from the heavens above.

If he can truly indulge, then indulge he shall.

But not before some questioning.

He too has heard the tales all day, of the courageous Godsblade who saved a fair harbour town from the clutches of the darkness, from murderous intent, and now has adoration abound. And sure enough, when first walking in he noticed a fair amount of eyes fixed onto him, some fawning at the sight, some bemused and/or disappointed, and a few sharpened glares of jealousy.

With a side glance back into the tavern he spots an unhealthy amount of stares directed their way, with hushed gossip spreading like wildfire. Even their star dancer can’t help but send a quick, encouraging wink his way. All of it serves to twist the strange knot forming in his stomach further. But certainly, that could be avoided for a bit longer.

Yet his ravenous curiosity still craves and clamours away, so to sate it he must ask:

“Why me, Crick?”

The knight finally decides to face him again. “Hmm?”

Temenos folds the menu aside and rests his chin to his palm, thin eyelashes flutter as he strikes for an answer. “You’ve gained a fair number of admirers as of late, yet you pick me to dine with. Why? Why one such as I?”

Crick simply replies, “It is as I said before, Temenos. We both saved the town that night. Thus, we both deserve praise.”

Temenos huffs, unsatisfied. “But that cannot be all this is, right?” Eager to spice the conversation, he gasps with wide eyed astonishment behind a raised hand, “Oh, dear me, could it be…? Do you perhaps-”

Whatever revelation Temenos is about to imply gets cut off as a waitress swiftly enters the picture and places a large bottle in the middle of their table with a pair of thin wine glasses. She gives a nod and a smile and exits as soon as she entered.

“I went ahead and ordered a drink for us.” Crick says, “Your assistant mentioned that you fancied red wine. Amongst other things…” And he hesitates, contemplates, a pinkish flush dusts his cheeks before he continues, “It is true I have other, um, options, but given the choice I would… I would simply like to dine with you.”

Such simple words, ones that tread the thin line they’ve somehow created from frivolous fun, and so easy to scoff away like all else, yet they come purely from the heart and stun Temenos for the briefest of moments, leaving him as an open mouthed fool. So many words clog up in his throat, but nothing comes out. He’s almost grateful for the bottle blocking up his face as a strange tingling warmth rises up his neck.

Ah, and dearest deductive Throné… She couldn’t help but assist meddle in his affairs. He’ll hope to have a word with her after tonight.

The pop! Of the bottle’s cork brings him out of his strange musings, as Crick hands him a glass of wine, itself a deep crimson sea of warmth. He pauses, then straightens up and lifts his glass to the heavens.

“A toast?” Temenos asks.

Crick nods, “To our efforts, and to discover the truth.”

Temenos meets his raised glass, “To us, then.”

“To us!”

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Later that night as the town settles down, Crick offers to escort Temenos back to the inn. He certainly isn’t letting him travel back while delirious and drunk. He reaches the door and gives a firm knock, groaning as his giggling company leans into him. The door opens and he’s greeted by Throné, her eyes quickly dart between them with a knowing look.

“You two certainly had fun.”

Temenos leans on his tiptoes and fumbles into the crook of Crick’s neck with a drawling sigh, “Can you believe it, Throné? Our dearest Crick departs for Stormhail in the morning, and he won’t even bother to gift a goodbye kiss!”

“And as I said before, you’re drunk, Temenos.”

“But does that really change anything~?” Temenos purrs, padding away at Crick’s cape strings. Crick’s flush darkens and spreads to his ears as he fruitlessly attempts to paw him away.

“We are drunk, Temenos.”

Throné chuckles and taps the cleric on the shoulder, “Don’t worry, detective. You can kiss and make out plenty on your reunion.”

Crick chokes, “M-Miss- Miss Angius!”

Throné leads Temenos into the inn and motions him upstairs to bed. She smiles back, “Thanks for looking after him, really.”

“It’s nothing, miss.” Crick says, ever red faced and bashful.

“You don’t need to be so formal, ‘Throné’ is fine,” she says. “Take care till we meet again, yeah?”

Crick nods, “Y-Yes, and thank you.”

She gives one last look before bidding goodnight. And with that, Crick begins his walk back to the Sacred Guard’s ship. He takes a deep breath to clear the many thoughts circulating in his mind, of the eventful set of days he’s just had, the questions and conflictions he’s left with, and what awaits him ahead.

And how he’ll deal with a hangover with a side of sea sickness by morning. Perhaps wine wasn't the best call.

Though in the end, it was worth seeing Temenos unwind for once. His mask is still present, of course, but cracks are forming, and his true self slowly shines through bit by bit. His teasing grins look a little more natural, his delightful laughter rings like divine bells, his very being when unshackled is more intoxicating than any drink could hope to be…

Ah, he catches himself blushing again, he feels so hopeless these days.

He’ll send a prayer for safety tonight, for his and for Temenos’ journey, until the day they reunite again.

“Temenos…”

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

5

Te…men…os…

His last whisper danced with the frigid winds in the dead of night as everything blurred together. The once bright lights turn dim, the numbing snow now stained deep with his blood…

At last, his curiosity sated, but at a grievous cost. The betrayal of his faith, and his life itself forfeit by the night.

Are there regrets? He can’t tell, even now. Yet this is a path of his own accord, not of his house, not of his Captain… Himself… Only in the far reaches of death is his life his own.

But through the numbing blur, a figure appears, and another. A pair to finish the deed? To cleave him through the heart and bury like all the rest?

A lithe hand reaches out, one graced by the Gods he so worships. Nay, a touch warmer than any God. With a divine hymn cutting through as the bitter winds take him.

“By the grace of the Flamebringer… I need you…”

“You must… arise once more…”

“...Please… I need you…”

The cold howl dissipates, the air is still, darkness recedes as soft candlelight welcomes him. Light, then warmth, and a thin ringing in his ears. A tight bandage peeks through the thick bedsheets, lathered in a healing salve strapped across his torso. Such a stinging pain, but proof of his survival.

He breathes in, a rush of air fills his lungs once again, then out. In again, then out again. Steady once again.

His chest rises and falls into motion as sleep welcomes him. He does not register the many movements surrounding him, nor the delicate touch reapplying his dressings.

But sometimes, he does hear the faint hymn of an angel soothing him to a peaceful sleep…

…

“… How…”

“How are you feeling, Crick?”

Their apothecary, Castti, asks that by the hour with a gentle voice. She checks his wounds, reapplies dressings, gives medicines and warm meals, and wipes the occasional stray tear with genuine care. She really does live up to her moniker of ‘mother hen’.

He remembers something like this, back when things were normal. Before their noble house fell from grace, before he had to fit a mould for his supposed benefit, before his family led him to a life of thievery and shame.

Before all of that, he was just Crick.

And now, that’s all he is.

He breathes out from the depths of his chest, overcome with a strange nostalgia mixed with bitter cold melancholy.

His wounds are checked again the following day, and dear Castti’s expression brightens. “You’re recovering well. You should be fine to move about by morning. But don’t push anything, understand?”

She tends to him again that day, and bids goodnight with a soft smile as she dims the candlelight.

…

But try as he might, sleep doesn’t come that night.

Is it a plague of thoughts intrusive or not? A rush of restlessness? He tosses and turns but the ceiling and walls hold no answers.

The sleepless hours keep ticking by. Eventually, his tired eyes peer to the window, still curtained by the dark, but by estimate it would be just before dawn.

You should be fine to move by morning

This should be close enough…

He heaves a deep sigh and crawls out, slowly and carefully. If sleep won’t come, then a walk to clear his thoughts ought to do.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

The freezing snow barely registers against his wounds, it’s all just a blur.

After all his training, Crick grew accustomed to Stormhail’s frigid conditions, he was always warm and burning with passion, wherever he was, and guided by faith.

Now, it’s all hollow. The streets are covered in darkness, the lights forever dimmed, even the heavens above hold no reprieve for him. The cathedral he once called a home still stands tall but thin, built from shattered beliefs.

I wish to believe in the Gods, as I wish to believe in you…

He stands by the spot designated to be his final resting place, just outside the graveyard where only covered up secrets rest. The furthest tombstone stained with specks of blackened blood sends cold shivers down his spine, it’s the first thing that sends his heart racing in so long.

Mercifully, it isn’t the last, as a familiar voice calls out,

“You should be resting, Crick.”

He turns around and faces the guiding light of his life,

“Temenos…” Crick forces a smile, “Sorry, I couldn’t sleep.”

Temenos sees through it, “A leaf for your thoughts?”

He opens his mouth, but can’t find a reply.

“...I don’t know where to begin.” Crick eventually settles on.

Temenos hums softly, then simply asks, “Then how about joining me for a drink?”

“W-What?”

“Well, I wouldn’t want you to freeze while we get to know each other better.” Temenos says with a sway.

A long moment passes by before Crick groans in deep exasperation, “Temenos, can’t you be serious for once?”

Temenos tilts his head to the tavern, “But I am serious. If you cannot spill the chalice of your heart here, then join me inside for a drink!” 

Crick stares back in utter bewilderment. Truly, however did the Gods pick someone like Temenos for a messenger. An unruly Inquisitor one moment, a deducting detective the next, mixing with genuine honesty as well as oil to water.

But one he could never deny.

“Very well.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Credit where it’s due, the tavern was certainly warmer than the snow covered streets. It’s rather quiet too, outside of a backstage bartender, not another soul joins the cleric and knight at this early hour. Crick’s fingers tap nervously against his warm mug of coffee and cream, eyes darting to each corner of the tavern. Temenos returns to their table, sitting aside with another coffee mug to match. “Are you alright, Crick? Is that not to your liking?”

“Huh? no no, this is fine, Temenos. Thank you.” Crick replies sheepishly and takes a sip of cream.

They spend a long moment in silence, only small sips of rich coffee cutting in, a reprieve from their mystifying reality. Crick breathes in, emotions toiling in his chest. Temenos is right there, right in front of him, but not, and so distant at the same time. He watches as Temenos’ gaze flutters from each side, then to the table, he takes noticeably longer sips now, a strange reversal of avoidance.

He yearns to see his eyes again.

Eventually, Crick breaks the silence, and steels himself to say, “Thank you.”

“...Whatever for?” Temenos replies, his tone cold and somber. “I lead you straight to the crows' clutches.”

“I went in search of the truth of my own accord.”

Temenos scoffs, “Were it not for me you could’ve led a simpler life. It would be best to forget-”

“Don’t even finish that sentence!” Crick exclaims, the grip on his mug tightens and his sharpened glare finally meets Temenos’ eyes, now dimmed, blanketed by doubt and cowardice. “How dare you suggest such a thing! Were it not for you I wouldn’t be here now. I would only be another unwitting pawn in Kaldena’s schemes to be struck down and buried.”

But his words do naught in the face of doubt and disbelief and are snuffed aside like everything else.

“Your pure radiance shines once more, and it should remain that way. I would do naught for you but taint such life as I have before…”

Crick’s anger reaches a boiling point. No. No more of this. Enough of the masks and the placed upon fronts. He won’t stand for this any longer.

“Why do you continue to trust in me?... I failed you.”

“TEMENOS!”

With the force of Alephan’s thunderous rage, Crick slams his mug to the table, crashing the very skies awake. Temenos is struck aghast as Crick leans in, his eyes are a burning reflection of the Sacred Flame itself, daring to melt the distance between them.

With a deep breath, Crick takes Temenos' hands in his and begins anew.

“You could never fail me.”

And the flow of honesty pours out from his very heart and soul.

“You’ve granted me a path to walk, beyond anything a God could offer. You stand as someone I can believe in; someone I can trust with all my heart. No matter what the darkness holds you always shine through it, and even as I was adrift between life and death, you were there, you…”

He pauses to hold back glistening tears, his throat cracked to pieces.

“...Even in those darkest depths, I… I heard your voice. It was so warm…”

With misty eyes so bright and blue, he softly murmurs, “You’ve given me so much, Temenos. So much I never thought possible…Thank you…”

The dawn rises and clears the skies, melting away whatever of the icy masks remain, and for the first time in a long, long time, Temenos smiles.

Before, Crick would idly imagine what Temenos would look like when beaming with genuine joy, to indulge and share that joy with him, to give him a truly beautiful smile.

Nothing Crick imagined could compare to this.

Temenos’ resplendent gaze purges any lingering doubt and darkness, with clear turquoise skies that send Crick’s heart aflutter. Regrettably, stray tears cascade from Crick’s glistening eyes onto reddened, puffy cheeks and down to the table’s surface. Temenos lifts a hand out of Crick’s grasp to caress his face with a feather light touch. Crick leans into Temenos’ gentle touch as he wipes away his tears with care.

And with the most otherworldly of tones, he whispers, “You have given me much in return, Crick…”

Between the dawn’s light, the fervent flutter of affection in his heart, the endless responses stuck in his throat, he’s simply at a loss of breath and words. It all feels indescribable. There’s a sense of understanding in Temenos’ eyes, but no shred of cowardice. He carefully leans in until their noses softly brush. Crick is entranced by pure euphoria, and melts into the gentle press of Temenos’ lips to his.

And all evaporates.

The bitter numbness in Crick’s chest, any regrets and past failures or lingering seeds of doubt, even the land, sky and stars themselves melt away into the dawn’s light. None of it matters. All that remains is a pure kiss of utmost devotion.

Whatever the new dawn brings and beyond, they will walk towards it together.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

In truth, while freed from the biting cold and numbness, Crick still held a certain fear within. A fear that he would be unwelcomed on such arduous ventures in his current state, and if anything, be considered a liability and hindrance above all. After all, how could one protect those dear after almost succumbing to the night, one whose grip on their sword continuously falters even now. He wasn’t entirely sure how to approach such a subject. Even with Temenos at his side there was always that ever present uncertainty.

Yet, his guiding light and his companions shake away such fears. All offer warm, welcoming support, sincerely accepting his assistance, however small he personally considers it. It feels saccharine to admit, but he likens them to a newfound family of sorts.

Castti remains a bright and kind mother hen. She checks his health by the day with such gentle grace but harshly reprimands even the slightest scratch to his person, knowing to never cross her was the first lesson Crick learnt on their travels.

And naturally, Osvald invites comparisons to his own father. Both stand tall, stiff and gruff with a gaze colder than the highest peaks of the Winterlands. His presence should be bone chilling, but Crick feels a similar warmth regardless of the scholar’s tone and demeanour. He brings it on himself, really, when he makes no objections as Ochette happily bounces in his lap, or at the nighttime campfires when he glances Crick’s way with a glint of encouragement that inevitably drifts to the cleric slumbering at his side.

Ochette herself is a boundless force of nature that none couldn’t hope to contain but welcomed all the same. Crick never had sibling figures either growing up or among his fellow knights, only a few cherished friends, but he never realised how big that missing piece in his heart was until Ochette walked up with a wide toothy grin and handed him a cute, scribbled caricature of himself. His heart swelled to unimaginable sizes that day.

Agnea and Partitio were likewise a bundle of positivity unbound. The merchant always upselling Crick’s strengths and refining what remains, it’s truly impossible to stay pessimistic in his presence. And their darling dancer reawakened talents that Crick could fully embrace. The road too comes with stumbles, but she always picks him back up to try again. It was nice having fellow company from the Leaflands too, even if it also unsurfaced a long buried accent Crick thought he’d outgrown. As it turns out, he inherited much from the Leaflands, down to resembling a basket of raspberries after a round of the Inquisitor’s teasing.

Just as he muses on his ways with a sword, Hikari cuts through his worries with ease. The two regularly wake at the crack of dawn to sharpen their skills, then battle the brunt of Castti’s wrath. It reminds Crick all too much of his training - sparring with Ort in the courtyard for longer than anticipated, sharing in techniques and competition, even the harsh scoldings are accurately replicated.

And now he certainly understood why Throné was considered the Inquisitor’s assistant, she was practically his twin. Taking as she pleases, frighteningly deductive and poking away at the slightest chance of a teasing quip but always carrying herself with a guarded demeanour. He first thought there would be more animosity between them, her ‘profession’ invites scrutiny and brings back memories Crick would sooner forget, but in reality, she was one of the warmest hearts he’d met yet. She was truly kind and supportive, pushing him forward to new opportunities…

More often literally than not, to her own teasing delight, and right into the arms of the warmest of them all.

Temenos is… a different sort entirely… He’s the very definition of an enigma. A blasphemous angel.

Despite his opinions on the church as a whole, he does fit in well there. Kind and fair to all, with beauty that matches the stained-glass windows, wielding Aelfric’s light with reminders of its destructive force and potential with the most dulcet of prayers. Yet it’s not his divine might that spikes Crick’s heart rate. It’s his sly tongue that needles him on a daily basis, it’s his insufferable foxy nature and unabashed flirting, his forceful tactics of coercion, the way his lithe hands grip the sacred Staff of Judgement with white tipped knuckles to deliver judgement to all who stand before them, the same hands that then clasp his own with genuine affection day by day.

Beyond it all, he brings pure, ethereal happiness.

He’s someone Crick couldn’t imagine life without.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

6

Their shared journey continues with its unrelenting hardships, even after the Winterlands. Montwise and New Delsta held similarly dark secrets within that shook the collective to their core, with sights Crick hopes to never entertain again.

But as the night recedes, dawn rises again and hope always remains.

The next stop planned on their travels is the glorious crown of the Crestlands, Merry Hills, and Agnea’s date with destiny.

The day was more of a rush of madness, a hurricane of hindrance with the grace of a newborn calf, but some way, somehow, Agnea twirled through it all either through Sealtcige’s divined will or the dumbest luck imaginable. The only thing Crick registered as real that day was Agnea’s dance atop the stage, everything in between, including their drunken celebrations, is all a hazy blur.

He awakens the next morning with a stinging headache, greeted by the inn’s sturdy ceiling panels. He rubs his creased brow and heads downstairs for the road’s latest trials.

He’s greeted once again by Castti, devising a cure for his ails with no taste of its own, he’d make a face about it, but Castti’s wrath is a beast not worth provoking. Just as she’s checking over her satchel, she makes a disapproving hum.

“What is it?” Crick asks.

Castti frowns, “We’re running low on provisions, plums especially, but I still have so much to do today…”

“I could go,” Crick offers. It’s something to fill the day at least.

Castti shakes her head and gives a tired look of affection, “It’s okay, Crick. There’s no need to trouble yourself. There must be someone else with a free schedule…” She rests a hand to her chin in thought. Agnea’s exhausted from yesterday, same with Partitio and Throné, I wouldn’t want to trouble Osvald either, and Ochette went hunting with Hikari. Hmm.

Then, her eyes open again, she turns the corner and heads into another room. “Excuse me, Temenos. Do you have a moment?”

Crick hears little of their conversation, he stays back waiting with intrigue and bated breath, then feigning composure as she returns.

“Are you sure you can remember everything? Do you want me to write a list?”

“Come now, dear Castti. Surely my old, weary mind could remember a few measly plums.”

Crick bites his tongue, choosing not to comment that Temenos is only one year her senior, or that he’s not even the oldest of their group. He almost swallows it when Temenos’ gaze sweetly rests to his. “Come along, my little lamb.”

He follows, naturally. How could he refuse. He’s briefly pulled back by Castti’s disapproving look, but he manages to convince her otherwise, though not without a tired sigh.

The streets of Merry Hills lived up to their name, bright and bustling with energy from regulars, tourists, and entertainers alike, and all too easy to get lost in the chaos, yesterday certainly proved that much. Crick holds Temenos’ hand that little bit tighter, with the inward excuse that it will result in a more straightforward success.

Collecting said provisions was simple enough, with a quick trip to the general store and exchange of leaves they were out the door with a bag of assorted fresh grapes, plums and olives to their name. All that was left to do was return back to the inn, simple.

Then a curious little glint appeared in Temenos’ eye once again.

“My dear Crick? Pray, entertain me for a moment.”

“What is it, Temenos?”

“Must we return so soon?” Crick responds in confusion, so Temenos continues, “It simply wouldn’t do to waste our time in the Crestland’s crowning jewel doing only menial chores. And a day to ourselves wouldn’t hurt, right?”

“I suppose not,” Crick gestures to the bag slung over his shoulder, “but what about-”

“The provisions? Safe and sound and in your capable hands.” Temenos leans in with a coy demeanour, “You worry far too much, my dear. Allow us to indulge for a day, will you?”

Crick ponders. There’s still so much to do, so much of the road to see, and to keep Castti waiting too long would be foolish indeed. Yet they also have naught else planned for today. It would be a shame to waste such a beautiful day, and such potential for fun with entertainment galore, all with Temenos right by his side.

Oh. He’s asking for a date.

The blush singeing his cheeks wins out in the end and says all that needs to be, but Crick gives a shy little nod just for safety. Temenos beams back, squeezing Crick’s hand as they head through the streets for their day of merriment.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

The plaza is filled with travelers from across the lands, hoping to taste all the delicious delicacies on offer from brightly coloured stalls. One specific stall caught Temenos’ eye, one promoting fresh pastries straight off the flame with a crisp golden glaze and sweet filling that oozes for days. He practically dragged Crick over to partake in their entire stock.

Crick chuckles between bites of flaky pastry and gooey raspberry filling, watching as his hound yields to his wolfish instincts when he sinks into another sugary, maple coated confection.

“Remember to chew, Temenos.”

Temenos rolls his eyes. “Stay your bites to your own sweets, dear- - hic!-” A stray hiccup escapes! The sweet toothed hound soon shuts his traitorous jaw behind syrupy paws and sends a fierce(ly adorable) glare to his lambling, though it does little to stop Crick’s amusement.

“P-Perhaps we should add ‘diviner of desserts’ to your list of professions!” Crick sputters out between breaths of laughter. Leading to-

-hic!-

His own bout of hiccups.

Crick hastily slams his mouth shut, even as the hiccups make him squeak like a puppy’s plaything. All while Temenos gives him his most delightfully smug expression yet.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Further down the main streets reveal even more exorbitant and extravagant stalls, selling all kinds of knick knacks and trinkets from across Solistia, from carpets weaved from the smoothest silk to jewellery that glimmers brighter than a sunset. One stall in particular was especially decorated, covered in fabrics, dresses, suits, and scarves that any New Delstan noble would hope to own.

“Do you require new equipment, Temenos?” Crick asks, holding up a prestige velvet cloak. Temenos tests the fabric between his fingers and promptly melts into its heavenly touch. Crick assumes that’s a yes.

“Would this fit me, Crick?” Temenos asks, holding up a stylish suit fit for a gentleman.

Crick simply answers, “You would look nice in anything, Temenos.”

Temenos pouts back with crossed arms, mere ‘niceties’ isn’t what he’s after. Crick hurriedly scrambles for a save, “Er- umm,” he stutters, and picks a stray piece of neatly folded fabric from a nearby stack, “H-How about this-” He presents it with a nervous laugh. The fabric unfolds and reveals a gorgeous formal gown, perfect for a head turning beauty. Temenos blinks, and strikes a befitting pose topped with a coquettish wink. The only thing redder than the garb’s fabric was Crick’s glowing cheeks.

Just as he’s about to pay at the counter, Crick spots a little amulet in the shape of a holy sigil, decorated with sparkling gemstones. He sighs and feels his leaf pouch lighten further. He heads to Temenos with an awkward shuffle but can’t meet his eyes. “Hold out your hand…” He mumbles. Temenos does as told with a raised brow, and softly gasps at the gift, now cradled in his hands as if it were made from glass.

“The shopkeep said that amulet enhances magical prowess, I thought it might suit you…” Crick bashfully turns aside, unaware of Temenos’ adoring look, and unprepared for the kiss soon planted to his cheek.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

The evening sun rests on the stage just outside the Shrine of Ul’sterra, dressed in a golden hue of grace. Entertainers from across the lands prepare and present their routines, looking for their own big break at stardom amongst their growing competition, hopeful that their lucky stars align, and a manager glances their way.

A caricaturist offers portraits with sweet, meaningless words, a comedian and her beastling partner improvise through scattered routines, a trite jester stumbles through a juggling act of unintentional beguilement.

Yet over all that, the crowd flocks predictably to the dancer illuminating the stage - the Goddess of Canalbrine herself: Hermes.

It had almost felt like forever ago since the pair saw the young dancer back at the humble harbourtown, yet her vigour hasn’t diminished a bit, and her passion for the art of dancing still shines through with each elegant step. Her long, raven black ponytail follows along like a graceful, flowing stream. She twirls into another elegant pose and dips into a bow for her cheering, adoring crowd. Her eyes alight when meeting her saviours and steps aside with a wipe of her brow. “Hello!” She cheerfully greets, “It’s wonderful to see you both again!”

“Likewise,” Temenos replies, “The road has taken you far since Canalbrine, yet you shine just the same.”

“Of course! I’ll always keep dancing no matter where the road takes me.” Hermes’ smile widens when she notices their intertwined hands, “It feels like forever, but some things never change. Congratulations, by the way!”

“Thank you, miss.” Crick bashfully replies.

Hermes takes another breath for composure, “You’re welcome to join me on the stage. Or even for your own show.”

Crick hums with uncertainty. Temenos spies an opportunity.

“Why not give it a try, my dear. You have been very studious under Agnea’s wing, after all. So elegant, refined, stimulating- ”

“That-! That was just one time-” Crick pointedly interjects.

“But it’s true! Though I understand if you have reservations. I, however-” He pauses, and begins to shed his cassock and cape, “Fear no stage.” Now down to a plain undershirt and trousers, he hands his clothes to Crick and strides to the stage.

Every movement, from the prance onstage to his bewildering struts is performed with extravagant flair, but undeniable elegance. Hermes watches with delight, Crick shakes his head in fondness. The crowd watches with little mumbles, ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’, yet there’s that ever-present feeling that something is missing. Crick bites his lip, well aware of what this calls for.

He’s no stranger to a stage himself, often dragged to it for the sake of his supposed ‘best wishes’. His parents approached him one simple day and asked him to take up ballroom dancing, enticing him with fame, fortune, and all the noble’s eyes in his court. He was a child, he didn’t question it, and some friends wouldn’t hurt. That’s all he thought at the time.

Such sweet naivety has followed him since birth. A fun pastime soon became just another tool to use against others, a fruitless attempt to regain a semblance of grace. No noble was safe from house Wellsley’s desperate attempts at redemption, everyone with a wealthy standing from Wellgrove to Timberain was well aware of their failures to gain courtship and favour, and their disdain and mockery spread far and wide.

It was after that last visit to Timberain in specific that he finally gave up, and sunk into despair, accepting a life of shame and thievery. His own voice stamped out by the wishes and well regards of his family.

Then a bright, shining light lifted him up, and told him all he truly needed to hear. A light he’s forever grateful to, even today. And now that light is replicated in one who gives him the happiness he once thought impossible.

Temenos has a way of bending things in his favour, just as he leans into his hip for a pose once again.

Crick can’t just watch by stuck back as the present plays out before him. He formally asks Hermes to mind their belongings, strides forward, and offers his hand to his dearest shepherd.

May I have this dance?

He meets him with a wry smirk - Are you certain, little lamb? I could bite.

Crick rests his hand to Temenos’ waist, and Temenos grasps his shoulder in turn, their free hands intertwined again.

You wouldn’t. Let me lead for a change.

It starts with a simple box step to test their flow. Crick steps forward and Temenos follows, meeting him at the side, then back again into that sixfold motion he knows all too well. Forward, then back, three, to four, into a harmonic rhythm.

Now that their rhythm is set, why stay in the centre? Crick moves back, Temenos follows, and motions to a leftmost turn, an underarm spin into another turn, then back to cover the right. Temenos swiftly melds into the steps and the moment, finding tranquil bliss in following along with Crick’s steps, each turn married from right to left and palm to palm, and back again as he expects. All quarters of the stage are covered before a promenade back to the centre.

With a shared glance they settle on the perfect finishing act, and Temenos flows into the motion again without question. Crick leads with another underarm spin that Temenos effortlessly twirls into and gracefully bends into a dip, and the crowd cheers in utmost delight.

Applause and whistles surround, even Hermes can’t help but aww at such a sight, yet it barely registers to Temenos, quietly panting, slightly dizzy from the sensation, and flushed from more than just exhaustion. The roaring crowd can’t match the throb of his pounding heartbeat. Temenos’ hold on Crick’s shoulder fumbles but Crick holds him steady with his embrace, leaning over him with such beautiful eyes and soft, tempting lips. Temenos has half a mind to grab him by the loosened cape strings and pull him in for a curtain call of passion!

But alas, he settles on joining Crick for a bow with a smile, a sweet little way to cap their extravagant evening.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Castti toils away preparing a salve at the inn’s kitchen table, their dear beastling and prince brought back plenty of meat for dinner, but enough scratches and scrapes to send her into momentary shock before igniting a heated lecture. She’s since calmed down, but Ochette still mopes at her side, even headpats don’t improve her mood.

She looks to her bag for that last ingredient but - that’s right! - she wasn’t on shopping duty today, and while no curfew was set, she was expecting to hear back before nightfall. She rubs her brow, in no mood for another scowl.

Then there’s a knock at the door, and speak of the devil, her supposed assistants appear, stepping in with windswept hair and a warm flush. Crick presents their various bags of spoils with a wide grin.

Castti doesn’t miss how strained Crick’s cheeks look from smiles, or the slight wobble in Temenos’ posture, or how out of breath the two seem. She rests into the table with a tired huff, she just can’t stay mad at them.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

+1

Dawn arises again and their shared journey continues on with clear destinations ahead, with closure at last for all.

A liberation of Ku’s bloodbathed regime and the crowning of their new king. At long last, Hinoeuma could begin an era of peace.

A trek to the Duskruin Shrine, where vengeance was fulfilled, and Elena was rescued from the clutches of darkness.

A trip to the most egocentric estate ever devised. Once a barred fortress crafted from steel and steam, now a prestige castle welcoming a new age of happiness for all.

A pained reunion within the Beastling’s land to end the scarlet night, not with further bloodshed, but a kind, loving heart pulsing with the flame within.

And to face the truth buried within the shadow, to Kaldena herself. An arduous foe twisted by the very powers she wields, towering over with a cursed blade and demonic force that could shatter one’s will. Yet, one ultimately unmatched by intertwined hearts, and with one last combined strike from a Godsblade’s might and heaven’s light, she was no more.

All that was left was Timberain.

The skies soon clouded on their arrival, and Castti wasted no time in alerting the populace of the deathly plague of rain soon arriving, her allies helping to guide the citizens to safety indoors before an ascent up the castle to confront the last remnant of Eir’s Apothecaries and finally rest with closure and peace at last.

With that, one trial remains. Timberain’s courthouse stands tall, awaiting to bring judgement to the Sacred Guard’s crimes. A court filled to the brim with onlookers, mountains of evidence from all sides to sort through, a slip up of the tongue would not be tolerated. Something about it all froze Temenos at the trial’s doors, but his fear is soon thawed by the radiant light at his side. Crick grasps his shoulder and smiles with unyielding support.

He could do this. He could do anything.

What followed was a whirlwind of proceedings, statements and findings, detailing each and every one of the Sacred Guard’s crimes, and their standing soon stripped of power. After the trial, Crick likened the Sacred Guard to a shattered mirror aged with time - layers of dust, regrets and blood lie on top, but the pieces remain and with hope, it could be rebuilt and shine once again. Temenos supports him with a tired smile and a kiss before retiring for the night.

Surely the Gods could finally grant him a peaceful sleep just this once.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Temenos stirs awake by the mid-morning, he rubs away any creases and crust but still feels weighed down by a crushing fatigue, not unlike a wine plastered hangover. He opens the window for a breath of fresh air, a refreshing breeze brushes past as the sun shines again on a clear day in Timberain. He could head back to sleep and lounge as a languid cait all he wants, yet the day is better spent elsewhere. While the inn’s plush bed is certainly nice, it can’t compare to the soft embrace of his woollen knight, he’ll have to remember to add in a cuddle or two today.

Heading downstairs, he finds a near empty lounge with no companions in sight, just his knight standing afar watching the townsfolk strolling by through the window. He notices Temenos’ arrival and greets him with a bright smile, “Good morning, Temenos!”

Good morning, my dear-” He pauses for a lengthy yawn, “-Crick.”

Crick motions him to the table and pulls out a chair, he heads to the kitchen for a moment before returning with a tall glass of water, fresh and crystal clear with clinking ice cubes. Temenos downs it as if struck with sunstroke, pure nourishment washes his senses.

“Thank you, dear.”

He takes a moment to glance around the room, “Hmm, where might everyone be today?”

“Well,” Crick begins, counting off each traveler with his fingers, “Castti’s been resting since we ended the purple rain, Agnea, Partitio and Hikari are collecting provisions, and Throné mentioned wanting to check out a nearby abandoned estate. She dragged Ochette and Osvald into it too, ‘for the sake of science, riches and meat’, as she put it.” That last part emphasised with air quotes.

Another quiet glance…

“It’s just us then.”

“Yes. it seems so.”

Temenos breathes easy, finding solace in simplistic peace and quiet. He opens one eye and spies his little lamb nervously tapping away on his knuckle. He leans in with an inviting look and brushes his slender fingers with Crick’s firm, skittish ones. Crick blushes, but makes no attempt to move, instead adjusting his hand to thread their fingers together again. It’d be so easy to drift back to sleep like this in still harmony, but there’s something about Crick’s nervous expression that keeps him awake. His knight looks away for a moment to clear his throat and faces Temenos again.

“Temenos, um…”

“Yes~?”

“Are you… free today?” Crick winces internally at the audible crack in his voice.

So that’s what this is about. Even now, he’s still a sweet little lamb at heart.

A smile slowly creases across Temenos’ lips, he suppresses a laugh but says in a teasing tone, “I do have a busy day of scrutinising the locals, along with a little lamb of mine, but I suppose I could pencil you in. Why do you ask?”

“Well…” Crick pauses, his blush glows brighter when he eventually continues, “I once promised to take a certain someone out to the Timberain gardens. I would like to make good on that promise, if-if you would like.”

You did, didn’t you? The very day we met, in fact.

It feels like a lifetime ago, but Temenos can still remember that day clearly, for better or worse. The day his family was taken from him by the night and spurred his quest for the truth and led him on a path that forged his destiny from the flame that burns within.

The very same path that led him to a newfound family, even if he’d never fully admit it to them.

And of course, the day his path aligned with one who warms his heart and soul more than any of Aelfric’s passages could.

“Of course. I would like that very much.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Even as time ticks on, Timberain stays the same as always. An air of nobility parades the grandest city of the Leaflands, with citizens strolling along in safety along marble streets with blooming flora around, just as they always do. Only a few days ago, such peace could have been snuffed out by a deathly plague instantly, and Timberain recorded as a once great kingdom lost to a clouded night, only a memory. Such a grand kingdom deserves better than remembrance. Crick looks to the clear skies, the sun’s warmth matching his heart at seeing well-kept peace with everyone here, with Temenos here, right by his side.

Glittering steps click against their heels through the bustling streets. Crick looks around at the surrounding banners fluttering in the breeze and statues guarding the city entrance with pride. Temenos snickers at a polished peacock of a man and his fruitless attempts at wooing a noblewoman’s favour. A fair maiden approaches with tempting wiles. Crick politely declines, his tone as soft as wool, Temenos’ biting remarks have no leash and thus, no shame.

A quick stop to the local bakery is an absolute must, to partake in sweet delicacies fresh and finely crafted. Crick gives in to the sweet toothed hound’s bewitching gaze and pampers him with a stash of shortcakes - delicate crumble serves as the foundation, with whipped cream whisked from the heavens, topped with rich succulent strawberries and a deep ruby sea of glaze.

They pass the courthouse, towering and imposing, likely in the midst of prosecuting another batch of hopefully guilty felons. A cold snap trembles down Temenos’ spine at the sight. Crick grasps his chin and guides his gaze back to him to comfort and warmth, clasping his hand and heart. That’s right, it’s all over now.

Finally, they reach the gates to the grand crown of the Leaflands, the glorious castle of Timberain. A prestige estate that could rival even Flamechurch’s cathedral in transcendent beauty. Sunlight gleams off the castle’s polished foundation, and lovely trimmed flora lines the courtyard and the archways.

Said courtyard was abuzz with energy, filled with noblemen and women alike chattering amongst themselves, likely gossiping about the newly coronated prince and how they could hope to gain favour with the young royal. Curiously, there seems to be rumours going about the crown princess too.

“Did you hear? She hasn’t been seen all day!”

“Do you think something happened to her?”

But even without that and from the outside looking in, there’s certainly something peculiar about the castle today.

Curiously, and most importantly, there isn’t a guard in sight. Normally, a set of guards could be seen patrolling the courtyard grounds, maintaining peace at all times, even through torrential rain or smouldering heat. Even at the bare minimum, there is a lone guard keeping a watchful eye from all sides for more than just passerby coming and going from the castle halls.

Temenos and Crick stand before the entrance, sharing a feeling of mutual intrigue. “It’s so much nicer without the threat of a plague, but there’s still something afoot within these hallowed halls.” he turns to Crick with a grin, “What’s say we investigate, Crick?”

“Very well,” Crick replies, then his own grin turns decidedly smug, “So long as no more doors are broken down, Inquisitor, sir.”

Temenos plays along with feigned shock, “But gardens are fair game? Oh, whatever will we do with you, dear Wellsley!”

“What indeed.”

 A regal rug greets them, it’s texture soft to the touch. Compared to the barren entrance, the castle’s interior is much more active. Guards regularly patrol the marble halls; maids sprint skittishly through the halls either with a broom or tea set in hand. Temenos takes in the estate and its many marble columns with awe.

Heading down the halls provides more tangled affairs, a set of royal guards stampede down the hall looking up, down, and all about. One guard locks sight with the pair and exclaims with a booming voice, “Hold it! Who might you be?”

Crick jolts upright with a strained smile but no words to prove their innocence, still honest to a fault. Temenos walks forward with a deceptively charming grin, “Good day, we are but humble advisors, requested to aid in finding the missing princess.” He cups a hand to his ear and gasps with fright, “There are such strange rumblings coming from the pantry in particular. Oh, by the Flame! I do hope nothing has befallen her...!”

The squadron shares a glance, then a nod, and gives a quick ‘thanks’ before heading off to the area in question. Temenos looks back with a delighted snicker, Crick furrows his brow in confusion.

“Why choose the pantry?”

“Whyever not? It’s such a terrifying place, a mess of crumbs and dust, with legions of mice just waiting for a lone girl to wander in and crown as their queen!”

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Their banter continues through the halls until finally they reach upon the coveted gates of Timberain’s royal garden, an enclosure used for the royal family and esteemed guests for flowery merriment.

Crick opens the gates with a presenting pose, “After you, Temenos.”

“Oh, such a gentleman you are!”

Temenos strides ahead with flair, then suddenly stops mid pace when he sees the view before him.

Beautiful plains of lush frondescence surround. The opening steps are arched by verdant trees, their brightly coloured leaves dancing in the gentle wind. The stone path clatters against their dainty steps, aligned by symmetrical rows of shrubbery, adorned in freshly blossomed flowers, the wild roses shifting from yellow buds to a sweet pinkish tint, and some glowing with a deep reddish bloom. 

Other such foliage is found further in. Well-kept topiary decorates the garden and protects the castle from all angles. The surrounding plants are trimmed into different shapes, from little woodland creatures, human and beastling alike, to mythical wonders only found in fairytales. But most impressively, are the statuesque wonders of the eight Gods standing stout and firm, each finely sculpted with care, not a single leaf out of place.

Stray leaves break off from delicate tree branches and flutter in the wind, resting on the nearby pond’s surface as gentle ripples skate on clear blue waters. Across stands a fountain that circulates the water’s flow from it to the streams and ponds throughout Timberain castle. 

Crick breathes in, taking in the clear skies, the fresh scent of flowers on the wind, the chimes of nature wisping harmoniously like a pan flute. It’s as if all of it was crafted from the pages of a storybook, a moment just for them in this flourishing picturesque paradise. 

Temenos himself completes the picture, turning to Crick with the sweetest of smiles, “You were right, Crick. This is truly beautiful.”

It is befitting of you; he believes from the depths of his heart. Perhaps he is not a prince, nor even a noble anymore, but at least he can give Temenos this much, for all he has given him in their time together. The cleric stands before him with an enticing gaze that beckons him to speak from the heart once more.

But he’s at a loss. What to do in such a moment?

Take him by the hand? Embrace him tighter than ever before? Step forward to caress his cheek and seal the distance between them with a tender kiss?

Crick’s eyes break contact for a split second, then widen in awe as he notices an oddly nostalgic sight before him.

“That’s...?”

Temenos turns around matches Crick’s expression, for before them stands house Timberain’s personal jewel of perilous entertainment, their prized hedge maze.

The maze itself is a brief but no less complicated trial for anyone daring to enter the estate. At the entrance and exit are two identical statuettes of Sealticge, existing as the only discernible landmarks within rows upon rows of trimmed hedge walls. If one braves the endless labyrinth of greenery and makes it to the centre, there awaits a place of solace - a gazebo nestled in peace and flowery foliage.

With only a glance, Temenos can feel Crick’s growing enthusiasm without even saying a word. But such a straightforward puzzle would only be mind numbing, so Temenos decides to spice things up with a suggestion.

“Shall we make this interesting, Crick?”

“What do you mean by interesting?”

“Let’s see…” Temenos ponders with a hand to his chin, then his smile narrows with foxish intent, “Whomever reaches the maze’s centre first receives a prize.”

“...What kind of prize?” Crick asks hesitantly. He can sense the machinations of another trap forming in Temenos’ head. He doesn’t miss how his supple lips press together, spurring him on with mock coyness.

” ...We’ll leave that for the loser to decide.” Temenos finally replies, and heads inside the maze with a low chuckle.

A binding knot twists in Crick’s stomach as he follows along. They part at the maze’s nearest fork, Temenos takes the left, and Crick takes the right, whatever follows will be in the hands of their own intuition.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Strange nostalgia bubbles within Crick’s chest as he navigates the near endless halls of shrubbery.

It’s faint, but he has little lingering memories of his first visit to Timberain. He was just a little one, following along with his parents' wishes and his own hopes of happiness. He remembers when they mentioned an upcoming meeting with the royal family, and how his tiny heart rattled like an alarm clock out of nervousness and mild excitement. He remembers feeling so small around all the adults chattering away about things that were much too complicated for a child to care about.

He also remembers meeting someone else that day, a little girl with long golden hair.

She stood in between the king and queen as they blathered away, her face stuck in a perpetual frown with her hands balled up and scrunching the sides of her dress. Sometimes she’d glance around the room, as if she was looking for someone important, but her searches always came up short as her eyes met the carpeted floor once again.

She looks a little lonely. Maybe I should talk to her? That was all he thought on the matter, and, while somewhat shy himself, he couldn’t leave someone so down on their own. So that was that, he’d walk over with a smile and welcoming handshake and make a new friend.

In theory, at least. In practice his little legs shook with every step he took, before he stumbled over himself and tripped face first into the floor right in front of her.

“Ah!”

He was too afraid to look up, content to bury his burnt face into the carpet under immense embarrassment, until the girl poked the crown of his head.

“Are you okay?”

Her eyes were bright and blue and wide, and her mouth was in a small oval-like shape, it was the most emotion she’d shown all night. She blinked a couple times, before hesitantly holding out a hand to help him to his feet. The queen looked down with a curious expression, before giving a smile.

“Oh, aren’t you that boy from house Wellsley?”

The king glanced at their hands and mirrored her smile, but it didn’t feel very welcoming, it felt rather cold instead.

“And we were just talking about suitors too!”

His parents finally walked over with matching grins and started blathering on about all kinds of things that barely registered to him. He didn’t know what ‘suitors’ were supposed to be, just how much carpet burns hurt.

“Um… are you sure you’re okay?”

Oh right, the girl was still holding his hand. He wipes away any signs of tears and greets her again with a flushed grin.

“M-My name is Crick. Do you wanna be friends?”

From then on, visits to Timberain became a regular occurrence. Sometimes they’d be simple visits, where his parents often talked of his life and hobbies, going on about his efforts at ballroom dancing in particular, much to his embarrassment. Then there were ‘playdates’ as the adults called them. Many a day was spent in the castle halls, but wherever they went, someone would follow, and the little girl grew more annoyed by the day. 

So one fateful day, she un-scrunched her nose and asked, “Do you want to see my special hiding spot? You have to promise to keep it a secret!”

He nodded, so did she with a smile, and took his hand down to the gardens.

He’d never seen such a beautiful sight before. Sure, the Leaflands were covered in all kinds of pretty flowers and tall trees, but this… this was something else entirely. The sun was shining, the sky was clear, he could hear the rustle of leaves and the flow of water downstream, it was all so nice and pretty and, well… peaceful.

But there was even more to it than that. She took him to another place; one she called her favourite spot in all of Timberain - the hedge maze.

From the outside it looked so simple, just like a tall green box made of grass, though on the inside it was anything but. From left to right, no matter where he looked it was wall after wall of trimmed grass, everything melded together and it made him feel so dizzy. But the girl still held on and led him through the twists and turns. Finally, they reached the centre and the little gazebo nestled within. He didn’t know what to think at first, it was quiet, and there was shade and a place to rest.

The girl sat beside him, beaming with joy and swishing her legs back and forth. “I love it here. No one bothers me, or acts differently to me. I can stay here in peace and quiet for as long as I like!”

Peace and quiet… that stuck in his mind for a while. Then he turned to her and nodded. “I love it too!”

Whenever things got too much to handle, it would be a place to unwind, to breathe, to feel like a child for once and not- not-

Not a noble. Not a royal.

Not someone to put on a pedestal. Not someone to parade around like a trophy.

Not someone to be burdened with things they didn’t understand, even with age.

Not someone who’s life slowly crumbled away from then on…

…

The years passed, and visits became few and far between. So much happened that he never truly understood. If he did, would things have turned out differently? For the better maybe?

Is it his fault?

He remembers that last visit, how humiliating it was. It should have been a grand reunion with smiles and laughter, but everything was so stiff and cold. He did everything just as described, taking a fair lady by the hand to the ballroom to whisk her away to everlasting happiness, but… nothing changed. All he found were glares crafted from frosted daggers.

What did he do wrong?

“Ah!”

He’s struck out of his memories after an accidental stumble into a nearby statuette. Crick finds his footing again and recognises the little decoration of Sealticge herself. He looks to the left, to the right, and there’s no sign of Temenos in sight. He pumps his fist and grins with delight, he can already imagine that bewitching hound’s expression as his trickery backfires in Crick’s favour.

He turns the corner and sees that gazebo once again, still standing after all these years. It’s a little withered from age, the paint is chipped, and the wood’s texture has faded, but it’s still just as beautiful as he remembered.

But then, on closer inspection, he finds someone already there.

A young woman around his age is perched there. Her posture is tense and anxious, her head is bowed down, and her fingers frantically twiddle in her lap.

Crick cautiously walks over, unsure of what to do. The woman’s face is curtained by long, golden hair, but she stiffens up at the sudden presence. “Ahem… thank you for coming,” she mumbles, “It is short notice, I understand, but-” she finally lifts her head, and her complexion pales with shock, “Oh! My apologies, I mistook you for another…”

Thousands of thoughts rush through their shared gaze, before it all suddenly clicks.

“You’re...”

“...Crick? Crick Wellsley?!”

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

The Inquisitor sighs again for the umpteenth time that day. No matter how many corners he turns, it all looks the same. Pillars of grass surround at every twist and turn.

Didn’t he pass that bend before? That wall in specific looks very familiar? Wasn’t he in this exact spot just a few minutes ago?

Temenos shakes away such kerfuffling thoughts, a scrambled brain certainly won’t help. He’s no stranger to tests of cognition; he even welcomes them on occasion. It brings back recent memories of when their group discovered another maze hidden by the sundering sea waves. It was grand, mystifying, almost ancient, but ultimately a mere illusion to the real path hidden by a secret road of stardust.

Maybe there’s a secret road here too? Mm, probably not…

He looks around for the next course of action. It could simply be a trick of the sunlight, but there’s something peculiar about that next left turn. His eyes narrow with suspicion as he turns another corner.

And finds something peculiar indeed.

At the corner’s end stands a young woman with bronze blonde hair resting just above her shoulders. She murmurs to herself, clutching a dethorned rose to her chest. Her face frowns in apprehension, “Who are you? Are you even allowed in here?” she asks coldly, before deflating with a heavy sigh, “Oh, never mind. I have more important things to worry about…”

Temenos steps forward and asks, “Pray tell, what ails you, dear?”

The woman hesitates, her gaze wavers and flutters before she sighs again, “Well… I am set to meet with a-” she pauses, and Temenos spies a light blush forming on her cheeks. “... a friend.” she eventually says, “She- T-They wanted to meet at the gazebo today…”

Temenos nods slowly. He takes a closer look at the young lady, standing so skittish, carried by the strong scent of flowers and earthly soil, and dressed in a gardener’s attire.

Wait, a gardener? They would know their way around here quite well…

And we didn’t mention anything against outside help, now did we. Ohoho~

He turns to hide a very devilish smirk behind a raised arm and covers his devious laugh under the guise of a raspy cough. He meets her again with a firm knock to his chest, “What a coincidence! I’m set to meet a friend of mine too, and I recall them mentioning a gazebo as well…” he holds out a hand with a grin, “Perhaps, we could guide each other there?”

The gardener carefully raises an eyebrow, her hand hovers cautiously for a while, before sealing the deal with a quick nod and a brush of fingertips. Her hand points to the right and quickly drops to her side as Temenos takes the lead through the labyrinth.

Their trek is mostly spent in silence, with the occasional hum from his company when she points out the next direction to take, then back to sifting through his thoughts. Temenos’ features rest in smug pleasantry, with this pace he’ll make it through this confounded thicket in record time, with quite the handsome reward awaiting him at the end. He can’t help but indulge the thought of his little lamb, freed from the clutches of twisted shrubbery, now scrambling to gift a sweet victory to him.

He can’t quite stifle the giggle that escapes.

“T-Take this right turn here…” his company chimes in, slight confusion in her tone.

Ah, she almost slipped his mind just now, quite a peculiar one indeed. The lady keeps her head to the ground, seemingly stuck in another endless maze of her own creation. Though, her quiet nature comes across as stilted and unnatural, as if she’s out of her element despite being firmly within the gardens. No, such a demeanour comes from elsewhere. Temenos looks to the midday skies, it’s still too early for his unique brand of questioning, so he’ll satisfy his curiosity the old-fashioned way.

“You mentioned a meeting with someone today, yes?” he asks over his shoulder, “Forgive me for prying, but could you tell me more about them?”

She stops in place, then faces him. Her features marred with trepidation. She takes a breath to clear the senses, and finally says, “They are a friend from childhood, one genuine and dear.”

“Mhm,” Temenos nods, “go on…”

Her eyes narrow and sharpen, “Why are you so concerned with this?”

Temenos deftly steps forward, “A familiar fear clouds your eyes, dear. But, with a little guidance, I could quell such fears. That is, if you wish.”

Her eyes flit about, reaching anywhere but his. Further persuasion is needed then. Temenos then points to the rose still held to her chest. “From the looks of it, you desire more than simple friendship, no?”

She averts his gaze but does not deny such a statement.

“You have a lovely craftsmanship with flowers, but don’t forget yourself, too.” That elicits confusion, so Temenos continues, “If they feel the same then all they truly want is your company. Simply take them by the hand and speak from your heart!”

Her eyes widen with rapid blinks, and she purses her lips with reddened cheeks, “It can’t be that simple, really… A-And what would you say then, in such a situation?”

Temenos clasps a hand to his chest, affirming her attention. “When the stage is set, the words will come to you, I would simply tell them all they need to know…” Then, his expression lightens, and a gentle smile curves to his lips, “How they encapsulate my every thought, how they still shower affection on one such as I, how their naivety is a welcomed delight, how they rigorously poked their little nose into my life, how-”

How I adore him so…

The rush of affection dries up on his tongue, and he settles on a small wistful hum.

“U-Umm… are you alright?” she asks, “You look a little flushed.”

“Hm?” Temenos lightly brushes his hand to his cheek, ‘a little’ appears to be an understatement. “A-hem! Never mind that, we should press further on. Where to next, dear?”

“Actually, I think it’s just past this bend here.” She points to the path ahead, indeed curved into a bend.

“Wonderful!” Temenos beams, and heads towards his long overdue award that awaits. The gardener holds out a pleading hand, but he’s gone before long. She stands in place for a contemplative spell.

Temenos strides forward with glee, finally freed from this grassy hellscape at last. Past the bend he finds an opening decorated by two statuettes of Sealticge, just like the front. But just before he walks through that coveted exit, his ears prick up. He hears a voice, two voices in fact.

One oh so sweet and familiar,

“Really? He still hasn’t grown out of such habits?”

And one not so familiar,

“Bah! You should have seen him at the coronation! Pardon my tongue, but he was quite the pompous ass!”

The curious cleric pokes his head around the corner, and he can barely believe what he sees…

Right there, perched at that little gazebo, is one whose beautiful radiance is unmatched, one whose very presence accentuates the trill of his racing heart. An angelic voice rings out with heavenly laughter, engaged in playful banter that forms dimples on soft cheeks. Their features framed by flowing locks of golden hair sewn by the sunlight itself.

Truly, no God could hope to compare…

Oh, and besides sits the Princess of Timberain. With long, blonde hair and an auburn dress to match. Such an icy cold figure now melted by bouts of warm laughter. She giggles again behind a raised hand and soon notices the snooping hound’s presence.

“Well now, what is it about today and unexpected guests?”

“Hm? Oh!” 

He’s graced by Crick’s ocean deep eyes again, shimmering with utmost awe. The Princess glances at him, simpering at his ecstatic, puppy-like excitement. She stands up, walks over and meets the cleric with a bow, though her smile soon shifts into something more feigned. “And who might you be?”

“Temenos Mistral, Inquisitor of Flamechurch. It’s a pleasure.”

“Temenos…” She places a hand to her chin in thought. After a moment, she hums in affirmation, “That’s right, you were among those who cleared the torrential plague just before the coronation.” Then quietly adds under her breath, “But where else did I hear that name again...?”

His throat tightens with a quiet gulp, a flash of the events in question spiral into view, then gone as quick as lightning. He shakes away such memories and turns his attention to Crick. “And it’s a pleasure to see you again, my dear! You didn’t get into trouble along the way, I hope?”

Crick rolls his eyes, “Not at all, Temenos. You likely would have dragged me along towards trouble in the first place.”

“Oh, you wound me!” Temenos replies, his tone dripped in melodramatics.

The Princess’ eyes carefully shift between the newly reunited pair, then something clicks in her played upon gaze, “Ah- now I remember!” She conveniently exclaims, “You are the one Ser Wellsley is so smitten with!”

Crick’s heart leaps and stutters in his throat. He shoots her a sharpened glare and mouths a very heated -Don’t you dare!- towards her. She nods spiritedly in return, gleaming with a look one could almost call mischievous.

Naturally, Temenos’ lips curve into a very familiar, very amused smirk. “Do tell…”

“Oh, you should have heard him! Waxing poetry for a divine ‘Angel of Truth’.” She said with an impish grin. She clears her throat for dramatics and shifts her tone to one of mimicry, “One such as he should not be a reality - so irreverent, yet wholly enrapturing, graced with the Sacred Flame and gifting the utmost truth to all, and to me. He is my shepherd, my guiding light, my-”

“That’s enough of that!” Crick barks out, covering up her traitorous little mouth.

“Dear me… Is this true?” Temenos gasps. He approaches with the most mockingly coy yet devilishly sly look Crick has ever seen, gleefully eating up this banquet of praise with delight. Thin lashes feather his wide eyes, he swiftly turns on his heel, now swishing about with reckless abandon, giggling like some flustered maiden. “I had no idea you felt so strongly for me, little lamb!”

“Little lamb…?” The Princess turns to Crick, aglow with a cherry red blush, then back to Temenos with another giddy nod, “Why yes, that does suit him well!”

Crick covers his burning complexion behind his palms with a hoarse, muffled whine. “Oh Gods… You both shall be the end of me…”

“Divulging such deep truths to another without me, I expected better.” Temenos said, clicking his tongue, “Tsk, tsk, dear Crick.”

Crick makes a face with furrowed brows. But curiously, he spots something behind Temenos’ head, or rather, someone. “I could say the same of you, Temenos.”

“Hm?” The cleric turns around and finds his assistant from earlier sheepishly watching from behind the surrounding hedge wall. “Over here, dear. I promise we won’t bite!” He calls out with a beckoning hand. She takes a moment to respond, but eventually nods back, straightens her posture and walks over.

Now it is time for her ladyship to flush, her dainty hands awkwardly wring and fumble before being clasped behind her back. Such flustered behaviour does not go unnoticed, as Crick lightly nudges her side with a smirk. “Go on then…” He teases.

“Hush!”

She greets them with a bow and a shy smile. “Greetings, I am the head gardener of Timberain.” She turns to the Princess with a slight blush, “Apologies for my late arrival, Princess. I didn’t keep you waiting too long, did I?”

“N-Not at all…”

“I was a little hung up on something along the way, but then a kindly cleric offered me a helping hand,” She gives another little bow to Temenos, “My thanks.”

Crick smiles, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise! Oh, are you the one he was talking about?” her smile widens with joy. “You’re quite a lucky guy, y’know. Being so deeply adored by your companion here.”

Crick glances to his companion in question in amusement. The sway of his delicate robes rigidly stops in place. He conveniently turns aside before Crick can revel in his exquisite, bashful expression, quite flustered indeed.

The Princess and her gardener share a look of understanding with a quick nod, “I believe it’s time to make our leave, we have much to discuss.” She chimes in and turns to leave with her own companion in tow but spins on her heel to say farewell. “This was quite the surprise, but a welcome one,” she says with a bow. “Keep in touch. Ser Wellsley, Ser Mistral.”

Crick says his standard goodbyes, but there’s something about the Princess’ expression that catches Temenos’ curiosity. From the moment they met, everything from her smiles to her demeanour seem somewhat off, reigned in, or strained by tightened strings, but not wholly put on for appearances either. A strange, familiar combination of masqueraded emotion. Perhaps, all she needs is some guidance to sort through her own library of masks. With effort, her smiles could be genuine too…

Yes, he thinks, this could be the start of something interesting.

Um…” The gardener approaches, taking him out of his thoughts. She whispers with a smile, “Thank you again, for everything.” and gently presses something small into his hands. Before he can reply or question the gift now hidden in his clasped palms, she heads to join the Princess’ side.

“Where would you like to go first?” she asks.

“H-How about… The rosewood archways? I-I noticed a few stray leaves growing there the other day, they could do with some pruning.”

“Of course, I’d like that.”

Soon, their voices grow faint through the bewildering thicket, leaving only Temenos, Crick, and the silence between them left. A deep exhale follows and Temenos takes his place at the gazebo. Crick shortly joins his side.

Through all the winding puzzles and reunions, a question sticks in Temenos’ mind.

Dear Crick, what’s your connection to Timberain of all places?

And now that he has an opportunity, he strikes for an answer and breaks the quiet tension once more.

“Acquainted with a Princess of all people, you’re simply full of surprises!”

“I, um… Sorry…” Crick slumps down, nervously scratching his neck, “I didn’t mean to hide it, it’s just- there never seemed to be a right time to bring up.”

Temenos stares back, his placid expression betrays the intrigue widening in his eyes. Crick can’t help but satisfy such endearing curiosity. “We met as children during a business trip to Timberain, we’d often play together in these gardens for some time, it was like a little haven for us. Well… until our meetings slowly came to an end and… our house fell from grace…”

Cute curiosity turns to pity, Crick finds that it doesn’t suit him. 

He gives an awkward grin and continues, “To be honest, I’m a little surprised she still remembers me. She’s had to put up with so many suitors over the years.”

“Another childhood friend? And suitors?!” Temenos cries out with staged theatrics, complete with a hand waving away non-existent tears. “Don’t tell me I have a rival for your affections?” he adds with a smirk.

Crick plays along, “...Alright then, I won’t.”

He spies the faintest glint of genuine jealousy in Temenos’ eyes, and his own smirk falters under a bout of bubbling laughter, “Aha, only a jest, I swear! Our eyes were never in each other’s corners to begin with. And… I’m happy as I am here and now, with you, Temenos, the insufferable love of my life. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

For once, Temenos entertains the flush warming his cheeks and the smile that follows, even if it never quite compares to Crick. Shall he always remain a schmaltzy little lamb? Only time will tell. Yet his words still echo in his mind.

Here and now, with you...

Oh! That’s right, he almost forgot.

“You won, by the way.”

Crick opens his mouth to respond, only for sudden, wide-eyed realisation to slam his mouth shut.

“I guess a prize is in order, yes?”

Temenos scooches closer and with a light bump, now joins Crick by the hip. He leans in and lifts a hand to brush against his cheek, dainty fingertips soon keep him and his jittery nerves in place. “Hold still, will you, my dear?” he murmurs invitingly. The gap between them shrinks by the second, and just as his breath ghosts Crick’s shuddering lips…

He brings a little dethorned rose into view. 

The rose deftly twirls between his fingertips as if it were a cait’s plaything. His lidded gaze peruses Crick’s features like a portrait piece missing that one last detail. At last, he finds that coveted spot, and with an impish simper he leans in further towards the shell of his ear. With an airy little laugh that feathers the edge of Crick’s sanity, Temenos tucks a lock of exquisite, sunblessed hair around his ear and fits the little flower in place.

Finally, Temenos leans back and partakes in the masterpiece before him. His knightly lamb with lovely golden hair, crowned with a rose and an effulgent blush to match. He slowly lifts a hand to gently brush the rose pinned by his ear, and looks back to Temenos with pure, glistening adoration, as if he’s the most precious thing in the world.

No words escape his tied-up tongue, so Temenos says it all for him.

“It suits you.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

A sparkling night sky blankets Solistia once again. All has settled down for the day, locals and travelers alike bunker in taverns and inns. The only sounds throughout the city are that of the crystal-clear waters shifting with the tranquil wind…

And of a fateful pair of stargazers atop the city’s archway.

“It’s that bend right there, can you see it?”

“Is that it there? It looks more like the bow to me.”

“What do you mean? It’s definitely a- mm, wait… You do have a point there.”

The stars contain another story tonight, one of Bifelgan The Trader, and his first expedition on the waves of commerce, on a quest to purchase a cure for his sister, Sealticge, to save her from an awful sickness. Temenos guides Crick hand in hand through Bifelgan’s trip across the ocean waves, sailing atop a sturdy ship for lands unknown in search of a cure. He points their joined index fingers to a mass of stars shaped vaguely like a small hill and continues the tale.

Though the storyteller may have forgotten a detail or two…

“Bifelgan soon lands at the nearest port in the western lands, and heads for the northern cave holding the cure he so desperately desires.”

“Wait, wasn’t the cave in the south?”

“Ah, that it was. Whatever would I do without you, dear Crick?”

“You wouldn’t have a coherent ending to weave, I know that.”

“Oh really? Then how would you end it?”

“Well…” Crick takes point with shaky, but firm hands, and guides Temenos’ to uncharted stars. “Bifelgan reaches the cave nestled near the humble port town. An imposing aura emanates from within and Bifelgan finds it is no mere cave, but a dragon’s den! But the Trader was not afraid, not one bit! He strode right up to the dragon and asked to buy its coveted cure.”

He pauses, and hears an amused huff by his side, goading him on. He quickly continues, “T-Twas a long negotiation, but against the odds, he quelled the beast, procured its treasure, and sailed back home to Sealticge. With Dhoter’s aid, the Lady of Grace was cured, and she could dance again forevermore.”

He dares not look to his side for fear of insufferable teasing but relents when he feels a light squeeze to his palm and finds Temenos gazing into his eyes more than that of the skies before them.

“Bravo, Crick.”

A swelling pride blooms in his chest. With their tales told, Crick settles their hands down to the archway’s railing, his other hand reaches over and finds its place at Temenos’ waist, pulling him in for a half embrace. A smile forms on his lips as Temenos leans into the crook of his neck with a soft hum.

For a time, all is still in quiet, serene bliss.

A long moment passes before Crick breathes out and looks to the stars above once more. “There are so many stories up there… If only we could view them a little more closely.”

“Perhaps a trip to Montwise and Regulus’ telescope is in order?” Temenos suggests.

Crick blinks, “Really? You wouldn’t mind?”

“Not at all. And there’s a literal library worth investigating there too.”

“Always on the hunt for your next case, aren’t you.” Crick says with a grin. “But imagine if we took that telescope to the grandest point we could, like the night sky of Hineouma.”

“Hineouma… That reminds me, Hikari and Agnea did mention plans for a festival in the capital. We could add in a spot of stargazing there, amongst other things.”

“If you wish to taste their specialty sake, all you have to do is ask, Temenos.”

“I know~” Temenos coos, “but it won’t do without a taste tester beside me. And I know you’d be curious too.”

Crick snorts, “Guilty as charged. Then a trip to Hineouma is in order too. It would be nice to see how the capital fares after our travels are over.”

“Indeed…” Temenos replies. He closes his eyes and whispers under his breath, “I wonder how Flamechurch fares…”

Suddenly, Temenos inhales a sharp huff, then exhales through his nose in what sounds like amusement.

“What is it?”

He shakes his head, and tilts further into Crick’s neck, “Mm, I was just thinking… Have you crossed that bridge by the waterfall back in the Crestlands?”

Crick thinks for a moment, “No, I don’t believe so.”

Temenos sighs with shimmering eyes, giving Crick’s hand another squeeze. “It’s a beautiful sight, especially when the sunlight hits the waterfall and-, well, you’ll see soon enough on our way back home.”

Crick squeezes back, “Okay, I’d like that…” A sense of peace washes over him, he could stay like this forever; content, happy, with Temenos at his side and-

Wait…

Did he just say… home?

A flurry of emotions rush through his tightened chest, he’s left breathless and barely able to gasp for air. He feels Temenos stir underneath, lifting his head to gaze at Crick’s eyes, widened, awestruck, and begging for an answer.

And Temenos, with lidded eyes and a genuine smile, simply nods.

It’s impeccable, how quickly this man can leave him breathless, wordless, senseless. No words tumble out of his mouth, just a deep breath and the sweet relief of air.

When Crick can finally breathe again, he beams with euphoric joy. Temenos huffs a laugh and settles back down, tucked underneath at Crick’s side as he peppers sweet kisses to his crown. He glances to their hands, their intertwined fingers. He finds them rather bare, devoid of something special to secure such happiness. For now, he’ll have to settle on this little moment, and the many more that await.