Archive of Our Own ^beta

Mavuika didn’t slow down—not ever. She moved like the fire she wielded, quick and consuming, always chasing the next challenge. To her, speed wasn’t just thrilling; it was survival.

Some people said she had too much energy. She’d laugh it off, flashing that signature grin, golden eyes gleaming with mischief. But what they didn’t see, what she never let them see, was the stillness she feared.

Stillness meant thinking. Thinking meant remembering.

A sleeveless top revealed her toned arms, muscles flexing with every movement. Her long, wavy red hair was tamed up in a high ponytail, a few stray strands clung to her forehead, damp with sweat.

She adjusted the weights on the barbell with steady hands, the faint clang of metal breaking the silence of the room. Across from her, Iansan perched on the edge of another bench, her legs swinging idly as she observed.

“That’s, what, your third hundred rep?” Iansan asked, her tone teasing. “Are you trying to punch a hole in the floor?”

Mavuika grinned, gripping the barbell as she began her next lift. “Just staying sharp. Never know when you’ll need a little extra strength.”

“Or a lot of extra strength,” Iansan muttered, glancing at the nearby rack of weights Mavuika had nearly emptied.

“Exactly,” Mavuika said, her voice steady despite the strain in her arms. She pushed through the set, her eyes focused and determined.

Iansan watched her for a moment before sighing. “Alright, spill. What’s got you so worked up this time?”

Mavuika finished her set, setting the barbell down with a soft clang. She wiped her hands on a towel, her grin never faltering. “Worked up? Me? Never.”

Iansan raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. Sure. You’ve got that ‘I’ve got a crazy idea, and I need to make it happen’ look.”

Mavuika chuckled, tossing her towel onto the bench. “Okay, fine. I’ve been thinking…”

“Oh no,” Iansan groaned, flopping back dramatically onto the bench.

“Hey, hear me out!” Mavuika laughed, sitting beside her. “This one’s different. Big. Game-changing.”

The faint sheen of sweat on her arms caught the light as she adjusted her ponytail. Her golden-red hair glimmered like embers, tendrils clinging stubbornly to her damp skin. Each muscle stood out, defined and purposeful—there was no vanity in her strength, only an unrelenting drive.

Iansan’s eyes flicked to the weight rack again, then back to Mavuika. “You know, every time you call something ‘game-changing,’ it usually means ‘impossible.’”

Mavuika smirked, tilting her head as if to say maybe. “Nothing’s impossible. Not if you work hard enough.”

“That’s the problem with you,” Iansan muttered, resting her chin on her hand. “You make ‘work hard enough’ sound like everyone should be bench-pressing half the continent like it’s a warm-up.”

“Half the continent’s a bit much,” Mavuika said. “This is only, what, three hundred?”

“Only,” Iansan deadpanned, shaking her head.

Mavuika grinned, her fiery red eyes gleaming with amusement. She stretched, arms overhead, her shoulders rolling back. Every movement was fluid, powerful, like she was built for action. She knew it, too—there was a confidence in the way she carried herself, a quiet pride that didn’t need to be spoken aloud.

“This sounds like a Xilonen problem, not a me problem,” Iansan said, leaning back and crossing her arms, her smirk growing wider by the second.

Mavuika paused mid-stretch at the mention of the… apparently elusive forger, her arms still overhead, before letting them drop with an exaggerated sigh. “You’re probably right. She’s been avoiding me all week.”

Iansan snorted, her green eyes sparkling with barely restrained amusement. “You don’t say. I wonder why that could be...”

“She’s playing hard to get,” Mavuika declared, her grin turning sharp. She leaned on the barbell, propping her chin up on her hand. “It’s fine. I’m persistent.”

“Persistent?” Iansan raised a brow, tilting her head. “Is that what you’re calling it?”

“What would you call it?”

“I’d call it poor Xilonen needing a restraining order,” Iansan teased, her laugh light and quick.

Mavuika rolled her eyes. “She loves it. She just doesn’t know it yet.”

Iansan gave her a look, half amused, half exasperated. “You’re impossible.”

“And unstoppable,” Mavuika added with a wink, flexing her bicep playfully.

Iansan groaned. “Uhh… Okay. How have I put up with you this long?”

“Because I’m the Archon,” Mavuika said confidently.

“Sure,” Iansan muttered. She dropped her hands and grinned. “But seriously, good luck. Xilonen’s smart enough to see through all that bravado. You might actually have to—oh, I don’t know—earn her attention this time.”

“I always earn it,” Mavuika said, straightening up. “I’m a hard worker, remember?”

Iansan couldn’t help it—she laughed, the sound filling the gym as Mavuika flashed her another grin, the fire in her eyes undimmed.

She tossed her towel over her shoulder, her grin lingering as she stepped out. The late afternoon sun was warm against her skin, golden light dancing across her red waves. But even as she basked in its heat, her mind was already somewhere else.

Or rather, on someone else.

Xilonen.

The blacksmith of the Nanatzcayan tribe. Revered for her skill, sought after for her intricate tools and ancient knowledge, and yet utterly, infuriatingly uninterested in her own fame. Mavuika had always thought Xilonen was fascinating, but not just because of her craft.

It was the way Xilonen’s bright green eyes narrowed in irritation when Mavuika showed up unannounced. The way her tail flicked sharply, betraying her calm demeanor. The way her voice sharpened when Mavuika pushed her just a little too far, her laid-back façade cracking like the heat of the forge splintering metal.

Mavuika grinned to herself as she walked. Xilonen could claim she wasn’t emotional all she wanted, but Mavuika knew better. She’d seen the fire beneath the surface—the exasperation that made her ears twitch, the spark of frustration in her eyes when Mavuika presented one of her “absurd” ideas. It was almost endearing how Xilonen pretended to be unaffected when Mavuika found one of her new hiding spots.

Because, yes, Xilonen did hide.

The great artisan of Natlan, whose work was revered by tribes far and wide, who could wield fire and metal with such precision it seemed almost divine… was also a woman who avoided Mavuika like she was a walking disaster.

Which, Mavuika supposed, wasn’t entirely untrue.

But Mavuika wasn’t one to give up. Not on a challenge, and definitely not when she had an idea as brilliant as this one. Her grin widened as she adjusted her ponytail, her wavy red hair swaying like flames as she turned.

Maybe I’ll ‘attempt’ to pay her a visit, she thought, her grin taking on a mischievous edge. 

The truth was, Mavuika had been thinking about this idea for weeks. It wasn’t just a wild whim—well, okay, maybe it had started as one. But the more she thought about it, the more it made sense. She needed something fast, something sturdy, something that could handle anything. And there was only one person in all of Natlan who could bring it to life.

If she could find her.

The thought made Mavuika’s grin soften into something almost fond.

Xilonen was… peculiar, in the best way. A walking contradiction, really. She was meticulous in her work, toiling over every detail with the precision of someone who truly loved what they did. But outside the forge? She was like a sun-drenched cat, all languid movements and effortless ease, her ocelot ears flicking lazily as if the world barely deserved her attention.

Mavuika had lost count of how many times she’d stumbled upon Xilonen sprawled out somewhere, her tail wrapped loosely around her leg, head tilted just enough to let the sun hit her face. There was something annoyingly endearing about it—the way her messy waves of pale blonde hair spilled across her shoulders, fading to a fiery orange at the tips, as if even her hair refused to be entirely tame.

It wasn’t fair, really, how someone could look that peaceful and that stunning at the same time.

Mavuika shook her head, the grin tugging wider at her lips.

Of course, that serene façade didn’t last long when Mavuika showed up. The way Xilonen’s green eyes snapped open, sharp as the edge of her blades, was always a sight to behold. Her ears would twitch, her tail would flick, and she’d give Mavuika that look—half irritation, half begrudging amusement.

It was the little things, though, that stuck with Mavuika. Like how Xilonen always flicked her ear when she was thinking, or how she muttered to herself when she was lost in a particularly tricky project. How her tail gave away her mood no matter how hard she tried to play it cool.

And, yeah, maybe Mavuika liked to push her buttons a little too much. It wasn’t her fault that Xilonen was so fun to rile up. The way her voice sharpened, the way her cheeks flushed faintly when Mavuika leaned in just a little too close—it was like seeing sparks fly off a forge.

“Alright, alright,” Mavuika muttered to herself, shaking off the thought. She could think about Xilonen’s sharp wit and sharper eyes later. Right now, she had a mission.

With a renewed sense of purpose, she adjusted the straps of her gym bag and set off. If she was going to convince Xilonen to help with her idea, she’d need to catch her in the right moment. Preferably before Xilonen decided to flee to one of her infamous hiding spots again.

And if Mavuika happened to linger on the thought of those green eyes for just a second longer, well, that was nobody’s business but hers.

She looked up to the sun, high in the sky. Its golden warmth spilling over the land like a blessing. It painted everything in soft light, from the treetops swaying gently in the breeze to the distant gorges of Natlan, shimmering faintly in the midday haze.

Mavuika had always been drawn to the sun—fiery and unrelenting, like her. It wasn’t something she consciously thought about, but it fit her, as natural as her grin or the confidence in her stride.

The same sun now soaked into Xilonen’s skin as she leaned back against the sturdy trunk of an old tree, letting its warmth lull her into contentment. Here, away from the clamor of the forge and the endless demands of her craft, she allowed herself a rare indulgence: stillness.

She tilted her head, her pale blonde hair spilling over her shoulders like sunlight caught in waves. At the ends, where her hair deepened into a soft orange, the color glowed faintly under the sun’s rays. Her ears twitched lazily, catching the distant hum of life—birds chirping, leaves rustling, the occasional murmur of voices carried by the wind.

This spot wasn’t just perfect for its sun exposure, though that was certainly a factor. No, it was also tucked away, secluded and out of sight. Not that Xilonen had any particular reason for preferring such privacy. It was just… nice.

The grass beneath her was cool against her legs, and her tail curled comfortably around her side. She adjusted slightly, her eyes half-lidded as she basked in the sun. This was the balance she needed—the warmth and light to counteract the heat and intensity of the forge.

For Xilonen, the forge was everything. The steady rhythm of hammer against metal, the glow of the furnace, the intricate dance of crafting something precise and purposeful—it was all-consuming. It was easy to lose herself in it, to pour every ounce of focus into perfecting her work.

But even the finest blades needed to cool.

This was her cooling moment, her chance to let go of the endless stream of technical designs and impossible requests. She didn’t think about the projects waiting on her workbench or the customers eager to see their commissions brought to life.

Well, not much.

Her green eyes drifted closed, the dappled sunlight dancing across her face. It wasn’t running away. It wasn’t.

It was balance.

She let out a long, slow breath, her body sinking further into the soft grass. Here, in the stillness, she wasn’t Xilonen the blacksmith, the artisan of the Children of Echoes tribe, the sought-after forger of legends. She was just Xilonen.

The sun had always been a quiet comfort to her, its steady presence wrapping around her in golden light. It was reliable, unchanging in its cycles, and yet endlessly dynamic.

She liked the sun. Not in the way she loved the forge—fiery, consuming, a force of creation and destruction all at once—but in the way she loved those fleeting moments, the spaces between the noise. The sun was calm but alive, a source of energy that didn’t demand anything in return.

Her fingers idly traced patterns in the grass, her mind drifting. The sun always seemed to find her, no matter where she hid. Even here, in this tucked-away little corner, its light filtered through the trees, dancing across her face. It was persistent like that. Warm. Bold. Impossible to ignore.

She smiled faintly, a flicker of amusement crossing her face.

Her ears twitched, catching the faint rustle of leaves above her. The sound blended seamlessly with the steady rhythm of life around her, the hum of the world in its quiet, unassuming balance.

And yet, the thought lingered. The sun, ever present and unrelenting, casting everything it touched in a golden glow. It was the kind of thing you couldn’t help but notice, couldn’t help but be drawn to.

Xilonen huffed softly, shaking the thought away. She wasn’t one for metaphors or sentimental musings. She preferred the tangible, the practical. And yet, as she basked in the sunlight, the warmth sinking into her bones, she couldn’t help but wonder.

What was it about the sun that made it so hard to look away?

The corner of her lips quirked, her tail curling loosely. It was a silly thought, one she’d never say aloud. But here, in the quiet embrace of her favorite spot, where no one could pry, she allowed herself the indulgence.

She allowed herself to feel the warmth, to let it seep into the cracks she rarely acknowledged.

And the sun, ever constant, embraced her like it always did.

Xilonen let out a soft sigh, this spot was truly perfect—That was, until the faint crunch of grass reached her ears.

Her tail flicked sharply, and her ears twitched, honing in on the sound. It was faint, irregular, as if whatever—or whoever—was approaching was trying very hard to be sneaky.

She didn’t move, her eyes remaining half-closed as she listened. The steps were uneven, hesitant. A pause, then another faint crunch. Then, unmistakably, a whispered, “Damn it.”

Her lips twitched, the beginnings of a smirk threatening to betray her calm demeanor.

Another step, heavier this time. And then a muffled, “Ow!” followed by a string of curses that she recognized instantly.

Xilonen opened one eye, her green gaze scanning the tree line. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

From behind a bush—one that was entirely too small to provide effective cover—a tuft of unmistakable fiery red hair peeked out.

“Mavuika,” Xilonen called, her tone flat.

There was a pause, and then the bush rustled violently. “How did you know it was me?”

Xilonen’s other eye opened, both now fixed on the bush. “You’re about as subtle as a volcano.”

A head popped out revealing Mavuika’s grin, sheepish but entirely unapologetic. “I was trying to be quiet.”

“You failed,” Xilonen deadpanned, crossing her arms.

“Hey, I made it pretty far before you noticed!” Mavuika protested, stepping out from behind the bush and brushing leaves off herself.

“You didn’t,” Xilonen replied, her ears flicking with faint irritation. “I heard you before you even got past the first tree.”

Mavuika groaned, throwing her hands up in mock frustration. “Fine. I’m not stealthy. Not my fault you’ve got those freakishly good ears.”

“They’re not freakish,” Xilonen muttered, her tail swishing behind her.

Mavuika’s grin returned, wide and mischievous. “They’re cute, actually.”

Xilonen’s ears twitched, and she narrowed her eyes. “What do you want?”

“Why do you assume I want something?”

“Because you’re you.”

Mavuika placed a hand over her heart, feigning offense. “I’m hurt. Truly. Can’t your Archon just… drop by to enjoy the sunshine?”

Xilonen stared at her, unimpressed.

“Okay, fine,” Mavuika relented, her grin softening. “I wanted to share my idea. A really good one.”

Xilonen groaned, letting her head fall back against the tree. “Of course you do.”

“And you’re going to love it,” Mavuika added, stepping closer and crouching beside her. “Promise.”

“Doubtful,” Xilonen muttered, though the faintest hint of a smile tugged at her lips.

She hated how Mavuika always managed to do this—turn a peaceful afternoon into chaos. But as Mavuika settled in beside her, fiery hair gleaming in the sunlight, Xilonen couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, she didn’t mind the interruption that much.

Mavuika dropped a heavy bag in front of them with a dull thud.

The weight of it reverberated through the ground, making Xilonen’s ears flatten instinctively. Her eyes darted to the bag, suspicious and slightly annoyed.

“What,” she began, her tone dry, “is that?”

“Supplies,” Mavuika said casually, as though she hadn’t just disrupted what had been a perfectly peaceful afternoon.

Xilonen narrowed her eyes as Mavuika crouched beside the bag, her movements filled with a gleeful energy that the blacksmith already knew spelled trouble.

“This definitely wasn’t a coincidence,” Xilonen muttered, more to herself than anyone else, as Mavuika started pulling things out.

“Of course not,” Mavuika said cheerfully, her fiery red ponytail swaying as she rummaged through the bag. “I’ve been thinking about this idea for weeks.”

Xilonen watched, stunned, as the Archon began arranging the contents on the ground between them. Blueprints—crude but detailed enough to be alarming—spread out like a fan. Beside them were various strange parts, some recognizable, others looking like they’d been salvaged from a scrapyard.

Mavuika held up a particularly jagged piece of metal, squinting at it like she was inspecting a rare gem. “What do you think? Could be the frame.”

“The frame for what?” Xilonen asked, incredulous.

Mavuika shot her a grin. “Just look!”

She spread the blueprints out across the grass, smoothing them with deliberate care. The edges were frayed, the ink smudged in places, but the designs were clear enough to convey her vision. She crouched beside Xilonen, her fiery eyes gleaming with excitement as she gestured to the first sketch.

It depicted something sleek and unfamiliar—a two-wheeled contraption that balanced between looking impossibly sturdy and wildly impractical.

Its frame was long and narrow, crafted for speed, with exaggerated curves and jagged details that gave it a slightly feral appearance. The wheels were large and thick, drawn with a strange tread that suggested they could grip anything from loose sand to jagged rock. Where a pedal mechanism might traditionally sit, there was instead a compartment labeled with vague notes about a "core mechanism," surrounded by chaotic arrows pointing to scribbled words like power output and heat regulation.

The front fork extended sharply, almost aggressively, and ended in a headpiece sketched with angular, flame-like embellishments. Mavuika had drawn exaggerated fins or wings along the sides—purely decorative, Xilonen suspected, though the notes insisted they were for stabilization during airborne traversal.

Scrawled in the margins were phrases like lightweight but indestructible, Pyro-reactive ignition, and handlebars, maybe? The whole design teetered on the edge of genius and madness, a fever dream of speed and strength brought to life with frantic strokes of ink.

“So,” she began, her tone deceptively casual. “Here’s the thing. It needs to be fast. Like, really fast. No slowing down, no getting bogged down by terrain. We’re talking top speed, no matter what.”

Xilonen leaned forward, her green eyes scanning the messy notes scribbled in the margins. “Uh-huh.”

“And sturdy,” Mavuika continued, tapping the sketch with one finger. “It can’t just fall apart if it hits a rock or, I don’t know, a stray Tepetlisaurus tail. It needs to hold up under any circumstances.”

Xilonen’s ears twitched, her gaze flicking up briefly. “Alright. Fast and sturdy...”

Mavuika’s grin widened as she moved to the next sketch, her ponytail swaying with the motion. “It also needs to be able to traverse… pretty much anything. Cliffs, water, skies—you name it. The quickest path is always a straight line, right?”

“Cliffs? Water? Skies?” Xilonen repeated, her voice rising slightly.

“Exactly.”

Xilonen blinked, her tail swishing behind her as she gave Mavuika a skeptical look. “You’re serious.”

“As a Pyro Archon,” Mavuika said, her grin unwavering. “But I’m not done yet.”

“Of course you’re not,” Xilonen muttered, leaning back slightly.

“It needs explosive power,” Mavuika said, her voice taking on a more serious edge. “If we run into Abyssal monsters—or worse—we can’t waste time. We need something that can fight back and keep moving.”

Xilonen’s ears flattened slightly, her gaze narrowing. “Explosive. Power.”

“And,” Mavuika added, holding up a finger, “it needs to be Pyro compatible. Summonable with a flick of my wrist.” She demonstrated the motion, her grin growing as if the idea was the simplest thing in the world.

Xilonen stared at her, unblinking. “That’s… quite the list.”

“These are my requirements,” Mavuika said, sitting back on her heels and crossing her arms. “Well within your capabilities, right, Xilonen?”

“Wha…?” Xilonen’s jaw dropped slightly, her tail flicking in disbelief. “You want me to make this?!”

“Who else?” Mavuika said, her tone bordering on playful arrogance. “You’re the best, aren’t you?”

Xilonen closed her mouth, only to open it again, her words failing her. She looked back at the blueprints, the chaotic mess of ideas somehow coming together into something… ambitious. Ridiculous, but ambitious.

“Mavuika,” she said slowly, her voice tinged with exasperation, “this is…”

“Genius?” Mavuika supplied, her grin practically glowing.

“Absurd,” Xilonen corrected, glaring at her. “And completely unrealistic.”

“Not for you,” Mavuika said, her tone softening slightly. “I know it’s a lot, but… it’s important. Really important.”

The sincerity in her voice gave Xilonen pause. She studied Mavuika’s face, the fire in her eyes tempered by something deeper—determination, maybe. Or desperation.

Xilonen sighed, running a hand through her golden hair. “I hate that you’re good at this.”

“Good at what?” Mavuika asked innocently.

“Making me care,” Xilonen muttered, glancing back at the blueprints.

Mavuika’s grin returned, this time softer, more genuine. “So… you’ll think about it?”

Xilonen didn’t answer immediately, her gaze locked on the sketches before her. Her mind raced with the possibilities, the sheer ambition of the idea. It was reckless, absurd, and…

“No.”

Mavuika blinked, caught off guard. “No?”

“No,” Xilonen repeated, her tone firm. She crossed her arms, leaning back against the tree with a huff. “This thing—it’s dangerous.”

Mavuika stared at her, baffled. “Dangerous? That’s your reason?”

Xilonen gestured sharply to the blueprints. “Mavuika, look at this. You want something fast, sturdy, capable of flying, climbing, fighting—basically a two-wheeled death trap!”

“That’s not fair! Chasca got to have her crazy flying gun thing.” Mavuika protested, her fiery eyes narrowing. “I’ve planned this out. Look!”

She scrambled to her bag, pulling out a collection of odd-shaped devices and smaller blueprints. She spread them out on the grass, her hands moving with precision as she pointed to each piece in turn. “I’ve been preparing for this. These are Source Mechanisms I found, uncorrupted by the Abyss. They’re ancient, but their designs are ingenious! And these—” she waved at the scattered blueprints, “—are schematics I copied by hand from relics left behind by the dragons themselves.”

Xilonen froze. “Dragons?”

“Yeah!” Mavuika said, her voice brimming with enthusiasm. “They fought the Abyss ages ago, and their machines were insane. Brutal, sure, but effective. I’m not saying we build exactly what they did, but if we unlock their secrets, reverse-engineer some of it, and combine it with modern techniques…” She trailed off, her grin widening. “You see what I’m saying, right?”

Xilonen sighed. “Mavuika, this isn’t just absurd. It’s—”

“What?” Mavuika pressed, her grin fading slightly.

“It’s impossible,” Xilonen muttered, her ears flattening slightly as she glanced at the designs again. “Even if I wanted to—”

“You do want to,” Mavuika interjected with a smirk.

“Even if I wanted to,” Xilonen repeated with a glare, “it’s just… How could I ever achieve this?”

Mavuika softened, leaning closer. “You’ve done the impossible before. You’re the best artisan in Natlan for a reason.”

“It’s not just about skill,” Xilonen shot back, her voice quieter now. “This thing you’re asking for—it’s dangerous. You’re not…” She hesitated, her words faltering.

“I’m not what?” Mavuika asked, her tone gentle.

“Made of glass,” Xilonen muttered reluctantly, her green eyes flicking up to meet Mavuika’s. “But that doesn’t mean I want to see you get yourself killed.”

Mavuika’s lips curved into a small, soft smile. “I know the risks. But that’s why I’ve done all this—” she gestured at the spread of blueprints and devices again “—to make sure it’s as safe as it can be.”

Xilonen’s gaze flicked back to the blueprints, her mind already piecing together solutions despite herself. The mechanisms, the schematics—if she could unlock the secrets behind them, if she could combine them with modern smithing techniques…

She sighed heavily, her resolve crumbling.

Having considered things up to this point, Xilonen looked up at Mavuika’s smiling face. The determination in her eyes, the spark of unwavering belief—it was maddening. And yet, she knew she no longer had any reason to refuse, nor did she want to.

Because what artisan would willingly miss out on making such a creation?

“Alright,” Xilonen muttered, her voice tinged with reluctant amusement. “But if this thing explodes, it’s on you.”

Mavuika’s grin returned, wide and triumphant. “Deal.”

And just like that, the first step toward the impossible was taken.

—

The workshop was a testament to their chaotic collaboration. Dusty tomes were stacked precariously on every available surface, competing for space with scattered relic fragments, tools, and a series of mismatched blueprints pinned haphazardly to the walls. A faint smell of heated metal and parchment lingered in the air, mingling with the ever-present hum of the forge’s embers.

At the center of it all, Xilonen sat hunched over a massive, leather-bound book, her green eyes scanning rows of tiny, ancient script. Her brow furrowed as she muttered calculations under her breath, the steady flick of her tail betraying her concentration.

Mavuika, meanwhile, was anything but still.

She paced the length of the room, boots tapping against the stone floor in a rhythm that would’ve been distracting if Xilonen wasn’t so used to it. Her fiery red hair swayed with every step, catching the light in flashes of gold and orange.

“So, according to this,” Xilonen began, her voice calm but tinged with focus, “the mechanism’s core should—”

“—explode if we mess up the calibration,” Mavuika interrupted with a grin, her tone far too cheerful for the subject matter.

Xilonen froze mid-sentence, her ears twitching. Slowly, she looked up, her bright green eyes narrowing. “Not the word I was going to use, but…accurate.”

“See? I’m learning!” Mavuika said proudly, pausing her pacing to lean over Xilonen’s shoulder and peer at the book.

Xilonen shifted slightly, her tail swishing in annoyance. “Next,” she replied dryly, “you learn to stop hovering so I can actually think.”

“Hovering? Me?” Mavuika placed a hand dramatically over her heart, feigning shock. “I’m just here to provide moral support.”

“Moral support doesn’t involve breathing down my neck,” Xilonen muttered, though the faint twitch at the corner of her lips hinted at her amusement.

Mavuika’s grin widened as she leaned in even closer, her chin nearly resting on Xilonen’s shoulder. “Are you sure? Maybe you just don’t appreciate my presence enough.”

Xilonen huffed, reaching back to nudge her away with the flat of her hand. “I’ll appreciate your presence when you stop being a distraction.”

“Fine, fine,” Mavuika relented, stepping back with exaggerated reluctance. “I’ll let you have your little nerd moment.”

“Thank you,” Xilonen said, her tone dripping with exaggerated patience as she turned back to the tome.

For a moment, there was silence, save for the faint crackle of the forge and the occasional rustle of parchment. Xilonen adjusted her glasses, refocusing on the intricate diagrams before her.

And then…

“So—” Mavuika began.

Xilonen sighed, closing the book with a dull thud and fixing Mavuika with a pointed glare. “What now?”

Mavuika raised her hands in mock surrender. “Nothing! Just… admiring your focus.”

“You’re annoying,” Xilonen muttered, though her voice lacked any real bite.

“And yet I haven’t been kicked out,” Mavuika said, her grin returning as she leaned against the edge of the workbench. Her fiery eyes glinted with mischief, but beneath it was something softer—an unspoken admiration for the woman before her.

Xilonen shook her head, returning to the tome with a quiet mutter. “One of these days, Mavuika…”

“One of these days, you’ll thank me for keeping things interesting,” Mavuika shot back. Ever restless she started picking up random components scattered around the workshop. She turned a jagged piece of metal over in her hands, examining it like she had any idea what it was for. Xilonen glanced up briefly but said nothing, focusing instead on the tome in front of her.

“Hmm,” Mavuika mused, tossing the metal piece lightly into the air and catching it. Then she grabbed another piece—a smooth, cylindrical object—and started juggling them.

Xilonen’s ears twitched, a sure sign she was both noticing and trying very hard to ignore the display.

“You’re not going to stop me?” Mavuika teased, tossing the pieces a little higher.

“As long as you don’t drop anything,” Xilonen muttered without looking up.

Mavuika grinned. “That’s an awful lot of trust you’ve got in me.”

Xilonen exhaled, setting her book down again with deliberate care and meeting Mavuika’s gaze. “I trust you just enough to not destroy my workshop.”

“High praise,” Mavuika quipped, catching one of the components with an exaggerated flourish before setting them both down.

Xilonen shook her head, her tail swishing lazily behind her. She knew Mavuika meant well—always wanting to help, even if her version of “helping” usually involved more chaos than solutions. Still, it was hard not to find her enthusiasm endearing.

As Xilonen turned back to the tome, Mavuika leaned against the workbench, chin propped in her hand. “You know,” she said, her tone light but teasing, “you really should smile more.”

“I smile plenty,” Xilonen replied flatly, not looking up.

“Yeah? When?”

“When you’re not around,” Xilonen shot back, her voice as dry as the desert air.

Mavuika blinked, then burst out laughing. “Oh, that’s cold. Real cold.”

Xilonen’s lips twitched, but she managed to keep her expression neutral. Her tail, however, betrayed her, flicking once with unmistakable amusement.

“Ha! See? You’re laughing on the inside,” Mavuika said triumphantly, pointing at her.

“You’re imagining things,” Xilonen replied, though the faintest curve at the corner of her mouth gave her away.

Mavuika leaned closer, her grin wide. “I knew it. I always knew you secretly found me hilarious.”

“Fine,” Xilonen said, sitting back with a sigh. “If you’re so desperate to be useful, how about this—you can get us sustenance in the form of food or something.”

Mavuika straightened, mock saluting. “Yes Boss!”

“And,” Xilonen added, her green eyes narrowing slightly, “don’t come back with anything spicy just because you think it’s funny.”

Mavuika smirked, already halfway out the door. “No promises!”

The workshop fell into a rare quiet after Mavuika’s dramatic exit. Xilonen exhaled slowly, leaning back in her chair and rubbing her temples. The blueprints and diagrams were still spread out before her, waiting for her full attention, but her thoughts were… elsewhere.

It wasn’t that Mavuika was a distraction, not exactly. When she was around, it was hard not to focus entirely on her. That boundless energy, that sharp grin, the way her eyes seemed to gleam like the embers in the forge—it was a presence that demanded attention, even when Xilonen desperately wanted to ignore it.

And that was the frustrating part, wasn’t it? Mavuika didn’t even have to try.

Xilonen picked up the tome again, scanning its faded script, but the words blurred together as her thoughts wandered. Mavuika was an enigma, a whirlwind of fire and mischief that turned every moment into chaos. But beneath the bravado and the endless demands, there was something else—a sincerity that shone through in quieter moments.

She supposed that was what made it so hard to stay mad at her.

Xilonen adjusted her glasses, forcing herself to refocus on the diagrams. She traced the lines with her finger, imagining how the mechanism might come together, but her mind kept flicking back to Mavuika.

The great Pyro Archon of Natlan. The leader who inspired countless followers, who protected her people with unwavering strength. Xilonen had heard, of course—stories of Mavuika’s bravery, her power, her unyielding resolve. But somehow, that image of a larger-than-life figure didn’t quite match the woman who paced her workshop, tossing metal components like they were toys and teasing her with relentless charm.

To Xilonen, Mavuika wasn’t all just this mighty Pyro Archon. She was just… Mavuika. Infuriating. Endearing. Impossible.

Her tail flicked absentmindedly as she returned to the text in front of her, her thoughts finally settling. Mavuika had a way of leaving an impression—an ember that lingered, even when she wasn’t in the room.

With a quiet sigh, Xilonen leaned closer to the diagrams, her focus sharpening. For now, she’d bury herself in the work.

The blueprints, ancient tomes, and scattered fragments of Source Mechanisms slowly came into sharper focus as she began connecting dots in her mind.

The Pyro compatibility issue was a nightmare, involving enough overheating and near-explosions to put anyone off the idea entirely. But Xilonen wasn’t anyone. She was the best artisan in Natlan, and if there was one thing she knew how to do, it was problem-solving.

Her green eyes narrowed as she traced the lines of a diagram, the pieces falling into place in her mind. If she could regulate the Pyro energy flow through a series of layered stabilizers—yes, like a reservoir to contain the initial surge—it might stop the mechanism from combusting outright. And if she combined it with—

The door swung open with a crash, and Mavuika strode in like she owned the place.

Xilonen flinched, nearly toppling her chair as her tail bristled. She turned to see the Archon, arms laden with an almost comical amount of food.

“That was… fast,” Xilonen said cautiously, her gaze flicking between Mavuika and the towering pile of boxes, bags, and wrapped packages. “And why do you have so much food?”

“Oh, this?” Mavuika grinned sheepishly, plopping the stack onto the nearest table. “Well, they insisted. ‘Oh, Archon, please take this! You’re working so hard! Here’s a little something extra for your trouble!’ And then it just kind of… kept happening.”

Xilonen stared, unamused. “So, what, you just took it all?”

“What was I supposed to do? Say no?” Mavuika gestured dramatically, her fiery hair swaying dramatically. “Look, I can eat it all. Probably. Maybe.”

“Uh-huh,” Xilonen said, standing and crossing her arms. “So that’s definitely not enough to feed half the tribe or anything.”

Mavuika shrugged, already peeling open a box. “I’ll handle it. Want one?”

Xilonen sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I swear...”

“And yet, here I am,” Mavuika said with a cheeky grin, holding out a skewer. “C’mon, you’ve been working so hard. You deserve it.”

Xilonen hesitated for a moment before rolling her eyes and taking the offered food. “Fine. But if you think this gets you out of helping clean up, you’re delusional.”

Mavuika smirked, grabbing a seat and digging into the food with enthusiasm. “Noted. So, what’d I miss? Any explosions?”

“No explosions,” Xilonen said pointedly, reclaiming her spot at the workbench. “But I think I might have something for the Pyro issue.”

Mavuika perked up, food halfway to her mouth. “Oh? Lay it on me, genius.”

Xilonen adjusted her glasses, leaning over the workbench as she began her explanation. Her tone was brisk, her words precise, each one layered with technical jargon that would’ve left most people reeling.

“So, if we can use a layered stabilizer system to regulate the Pyro energy flow, it should contain the initial surge,” she began, her fingers tracing the lines on one of the blueprints. “But the key is the insulation—we need something that won’t combust under high temperatures, and—”

Mavuika nodded enthusiastically, a skewer of roasted meat in one hand, the other cradling a box of dumplings. “Mhm. Right. Stabilizers. Insulation. Totally makes sense.”

She wasn’t listening.

Not really, anyway.

Her focus was entirely on Xilonen—on the way her green eyes lit up with excitement as she worked through the problem, her tail flicking in time with her thoughts. And then there was the faint smudge of soot on her cheek, the way her pale hair fell in loose waves around her face, glowing faintly in the warm light of the forge.

Mavuika bit into her skewer, chewing thoughtfully. How is she so cute and so smart?

“—If we reinforce the core with an outer layer of…Are you even listening to me?”

Mavuika blinked, caught in the act of staring. She quickly stuffed another bite into her mouth, hoping the food would buy her a second to recover.

“I am absolutely listening,” she said, her voice muffled.

Xilonen looked up, her brows raised in skepticism. “Oh, really? What did I just say?”

Mavuika froze mid-chew, her cheeks stuffed like a squirrel’s. She gestured vaguely toward the blueprints, swallowing hurriedly. “Uh… something about layers?”

“Well, try to keep up, would you? This part is actually important.” Xilonen sighed and leaned forward, pointing at the diagrams as she resumed her explanation. “So, to counteract the energy surges, we need to create a layered stabilizer system using modern smithing techniques. That way, we can regulate the Phlogiston flow without the mechanism combusting on contact.”

Mavuika nodded along, her mouth full of food. She muttered an unintelligible agreement that could’ve been anything from “Brilliant!” to “More food, please.”

Xilonen pressed on, oblivious to—or perhaps deliberately ignoring—Mavuika’s half-hearted attentiveness. “The tricky part is ensuring the stabilizers can handle the heat. We’ll need to forge the components independently and combine them in a way that allows for seamless energy transfer. It’s going to take precision work and—”

“Totally,” Mavuika mumbled through a mouthful, waving her hand dismissively. “Seamless something… uh, stabilizer thingy.”

Xilonen exhaled sharply. “Right. Anyway,” she continued, her tone growing more pointed, “the process will involve a lot of overheating, recalibrating, and, probably, explosions.”

That word seemed to snap Mavuika out of her food-fueled haze. She perked up immediately, swallowing hurriedly. “Explosions?”

“Yes, Mavuika,” Xilonen said dryly, her green eyes narrowing. “Explosions. You know, the thing that happens when you rush into things without thinking?”

“I don’t rush,” Mavuika defended, pointing a skewer at her. “I… move with purpose.”

“Sure,” Xilonen said, her tail flicking in barely concealed amusement. She glanced at the now-empty boxes and bags around Mavuika, her brows furrowing. “Speaking of purpose, did you just eat all of that?”

Mavuika glanced at the empty containers, then back at Xilonen with an unapologetic grin. “What can I say? Hard work makes me hungry.”

Xilonen stared at her, equal parts impressed and horrified.

“Don’t worry,” Mavuika said. “All that food gave me the energy to tackle this whole… overheating, explosion thing. We’ll nail it.”

Xilonen blinked at her, unimpressed. “We?”

“Yes, we,” Mavuika said, her grin wide and unrepentant. “This is fun!”

Xilonen raised an eyebrow, her tail flicking skeptically. “Fun? What is— eating?”

Mavuika laughed, her fiery hair swaying as she leaned on the workbench. “No! The whole… process! The brainstorming, the building, the you glaring at me when I make suggestions thing. It’s fun.”

Xilonen stared at her. “Mavuika, we’re trying to solve one of the most complicated Pyro problems Natlan has ever seen. Fun is not the word I’d use.”

“Really?” Mavuika tilted her head, feigning innocence. “What word would you use then?”

“Painful,” Xilonen muttered, though her lips twitched as if fighting a smile. “Exasperating. Occasionally tolerable.”

“Wait are you talking about me?” Mavuika sighed pretending to be wounded. “It’s okay. I get it. You’d be lost without me.”

Xilonen finally cracked a smile, though it was laced with exasperation. “Oh, I’d be lost, alright. Somewhere alone. And much, much quieter.”

Mavuika grinned, the picture of confidence, and leaned closer. “I can be quiet, you know. When I’m eating.”

Xilonen snorted, her tail giving an amused flick. “Well, maybe we should get you some more food then. Keep you quiet for a while.”

“Was that a joke?” Mavuika teased, her fiery eyes gleaming with mischief. “Careful. You might end up being fun.”

“I am fun,” Xilonen said, turning her focus back to the blueprints. “I just don’t need to announce it to the world.”

“Sure, sure,” Mavuika replied, watching her with a fond smile. For a moment, she fell silent, the workshop filled only with the soft rustling of papers and the distant hum of the forge.

Xilonen glanced up, her green eyes meeting Mavuika’s. It wasn’t often that the Pyro Archon fell quiet, and the sudden stillness made her chest tighten with something she couldn’t quite name. The corners of her lips twitched, but she quickly looked away, her ears flicking awkwardly. “...Anyways,” she muttered, clearing her throat, “we should probably figure out the stabilizer design before we blow something up.”

Mavuika’s grin returned, soft and teasing. “Oh, I knew you cared.”

“I care about not dying,” Xilonen shot back, though the pink tint on her cheeks deepened. “Let’s focus, shall we?”

Mavuika relented, leaning back and picking up a stray piece of parchment. “Alright, alright. Back to work, genius. But for the record, you are fun.”

Xilonen didn’t respond, but her tail swayed slightly, and her lips quirked into the smallest of smiles as she bent over the plans once more.

For the next few days, Xilonen found herself caught in a cycle she hadn’t entirely agreed to: working tirelessly on the stabilizer design while simultaneously managing Mavuika’s boundless energy and relentless curiosity.

“Out,” Xilonen said firmly one evening, pointing toward the door of the forge.

“But I can help!” Mavuika protested, arms crossed defiantly. “You can help by not hovering over me while I work,” Xilonen replied, her tone sharp but not unkind. Her ears flicked as if to emphasize her irritation.

With a dramatic sigh, Mavuika relented, dragging her feet toward the door. “Fine. But I’m coming back in twenty minutes.”

“Make it an hour,” Xilonen muttered, already turning back to the blueprints on her cluttered workbench.

Of course, it was never an hour.

Mavuika would return far sooner, often with snacks or a drink—or sometimes just herself. She’d lean against the doorway, watching Xilonen work with a mix of admiration and amusement.

“How’s it going?” she’d ask, her voice warm and teasing.

“Better when you’re not distracting me,” Xilonen would reply, though her tail swayed lightly.

On one occasion, Mavuika entered to find Xilonen hunched over a smoldering prototype. The smell of burnt metal filled the air.

“Uh, Xilonen?” Mavuika said, raising an eyebrow. “I think that’s a fail.”

Xilonen groaned, removing her goggles to reveal a streak of soot on her cheek. “Thanks for the expert analysis.”

“Anytime.” Mavuika smirked, handing her a damp cloth. “Need a break?”

“Need you to stop talking,” Xilonen retorted, but she took the cloth and wiped her face with a muttered “thank you.”

Eventually, Xilonen had enough of the forge. “We need to test this outside,” she announced, pulling on her coat and motioning for Mavuika to follow.

The two of them trekked into the valley, carrying the latest prototype—a slightly charred, heavily reinforced mechanism that looked like it had already survived a war.

“Alright, stand back,” Xilonen said, setting the device on a flat patch of ground.

“I’m not afraid of a little explosion,” Mavuika replied, but she took a cautious step back anyway, grinning all the while.

Xilonen rolled her eyes and lit the fuse, retreating a safe distance.

The resulting explosion was deafening, a plume of smoke rising into the air as fragments of the prototype scattered across the valley.

“Okay, maybe that was a little too much power,” Xilonen admitted, coughing into her sleeve.

Mavuika laughed, her voice echoing through the valley. “Are you kidding? That was awesome! Let’s do it again.”

Xilonen shot her a look. “Let’s not.”

But despite the setbacks, the two of them continued working side by side, refining the design through trial and error. Each failure brought new adjustments, and each adjustment brought them closer to success.

There were moments of triumph—and moments of chaos—like when one of their tests accidentally set a patch of grass ablaze.

Mualani’s voice was dry, her Hydro Vision fading as the last of the flames hissed out beneath her hand. “I guess I should’ve known. You two? Recipe for disaster.”

Xilonen exhaled sharply, her tail twitching in a betrayed rhythm behind her. “It’s not a disaster. It’s… iterative progress.”

“Oh, of course,” Mualani said, grinning. “And the ‘iterative progress’ required you to cling to Mavuika like your life depended on it?”

Xilonen stiffened, and her green eyes darted anywhere but at Mualani—or Mavuika, for that matter. She let out a deliberate cough, adjusting her stance as if that would somehow erase what had just happened. “I wasn’t clinging. I was… bracing.”

“Uh-huh,” Mualani said, her tone light and teasing as she crossed her arms. “Sure looked like clinging to me.”

Xilonen bristled, glancing at Mavuika, who was still grinning. 

Mualani, ever the instigator, didn’t miss a beat. “What’s that look for, Archon? You enjoying all this bracing, too?”

Mavuika placed a hand over her chest in mock offense, her grin never faltering. “Mualani, please. I was providing structural support. You should be thanking me.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Mualani said, her smirk widening as she waved her hand once more to extinguish a lingering ember. “You’re both lucky I’m around to save you from yourselves.”

“I’ll add you to the team roster,” Mavuika said with a wink, her long fiery hair swung as she turned to Xilonen. “See? We’re a team now.”

Xilonen groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Please.”

Mualani laughed, stepping back to survey the now smoke-free valley. “Well, I’ll leave you geniuses to your iterative… whatever. Try not to blow up the whole valley, alright?”

“We’ll aim for just half,” Mavuika called after her, earning a glare from Xilonen that only made her grin wider.

The artisan sighed, brushing soot off her sleeves. “I swear, you’re going to be the death of me.”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” Mavuika said, crouching to pick up a charred piece of the prototype. “You’re still in one piece, aren’t you?”

“Barely,” Xilonen muttered.

Mavuika straightened, holding the ruined part up to the light. “Alright, genius. What’s next? Because clearly, this—” she gestured to the wreckage, “—isn’t quite it.”

Xilonen exhaled slowly, her mind already piecing together what went wrong. “We need to reinforce the core housing. The Pyro energy is too volatile, and the stabilizer isn’t diffusing it fast enough.”

“Sounds doable,” Mavuika said, tossing the piece into the scrap pile. “Let’s get to it. We’re in this together after all.”

Xilonen paused for just a moment, her green eyes flicking up to meet Mavuika’s. For all her bluster, there was something steady in the way the Pyro Archon said it.

“Yeah,” Xilonen said quietly, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “We are.”

Thus, the workshop became their second home.

Xilonen was hunched over her workbench, goggles perched on her head, her focus absolute as she soldered yet another prototype stabilizer. The forge’s heat radiated around them, but neither seemed to notice. Mavuika lounged nearby, legs draped over the arm of a battered chair, her fiery hair tied up messily and soot streaked across her jaw.

“You’re like a machine,” Mavuika commented, flipping a strange rock over in her hand. She’d found it during one of her training sessions, its surface flecked with iridescent colors. “Do you ever take a break?”

Xilonen didn’t look up, her voice clipped but not unkind. “Do you?”

“Touché,” Mavuika said, grinning. She sat up, leaning forward to place the rock on the edge of Xilonen’s workbench. “Here. Found this for you.”

Xilonen paused, her eyes flicking toward the rock. She studied it briefly before setting down her tools. “It’s very…Phlogiston-rich,” she observed, picking it up. “Good density, smooth grain. This could… actually be useful.”

“Of course it’s useful,” Mavuika said, feigning offense. “You think I’d bring you some random pebble?”

“Yes,” Xilonen said without hesitation.

“Alright, fair,” Mavuika admitted with a laugh, watching as Xilonen turned the rock over in her hands. “So? Gonna add it to your collection?”

Xilonen hesitated, her fingers stilling. “It’s not really a collection,” she said, her voice quieter now. “Just… something I’ve picked up over time.”

Mavuika tilted her head, intrigued. “You have a thing for rocks?”

“Not rocks,” Xilonen corrected, setting the Phlogiston piece down with more care than she’d admit. “Just… interesting ones. They’re unique. Different. Each one tells a story, you know?”

Mavuika leaned forward, her chin resting on her palm as her grin softened into something gentler. “I think that’s cool.”

Xilonen glanced at her, one brow raised. “You do?”

“Yeah,” Mavuika said, sincere now. “It’s like… you’re finding little pieces of history. Makes sense for someone like you.”

“Someone like me?”

“You know,” Mavuika gestured vaguely, “all about craftsmanship, legacy, precision… rocks are kinda your thing.”

Xilonen shook her head, but the faintest blush colored her cheeks as she returned to her work. “You make it sound so grand. They’re just rocks.”

“Your rocks,” Mavuika concluded, leaning back in her chair with a satisfied smile. “And I’ll keep bringing you good ones. You’ll see.”

Xilonen’s tail flicked once, betraying her amusement. “I’m holding you to that.”

The quiet settled again, filled only with the rhythmic tapping of Xilonen’s tools and the soft hum of the forge. It was a peaceful kind of silence, one that had grown more natural between them over the weeks.

Mavuika, never one for long silences, eventually broke it. “Hey, so about the stabilizer—think we’ll nail it this time?”

Xilonen adjusted her goggles and picked up a fresh piece of metal. “If we don’t, it won’t be for lack of trying. Now, are you going to help, or just sit there admiring my craftsmanship?”

Mavuika laughed, standing and brushing off her pants. “Alright, alright. Put me to work, boss.”

Xilonen smirked, sliding a box of gears across the workbench. “Start with this. And don’t break anything.”

“No promises,” Mavuika said, but there was no mistaking the warmth in her voice—or the way her grin widened as Xilonen rolled her eyes.

She wasn’t as meticulous as Xilonen, nor as patient, but her hands moved with purpose, her mind churning with thoughts she didn’t dare voice aloud. The clink of metal and the faint hum of the Pyro core offered a strange kind of comfort—a rhythm that steadied her thoughts, even as they wandered.

This…creation wasn’t just some flashy project to her. It wasn’t about proving her strength or showing off her Archon power. It was about Natlan.

Mavuika had seen too much—families torn apart by Abyssal attacks, the land scarred and scorched by battles she barely survived. She’d seen the fear in her people’s eyes, the quiet desperation that they tried to mask with bravery. And she’d felt the weight of it all pressing down on her, as heavy as any barbell she’d ever lifted.

She thought of Hine, her little sister. It had been all those centuries ago since she’d seen her, but her face was etched in Mavuika’s memory—her laughter, her questions, her trust. Mavuika had left that era to protect her, to fight so Hine wouldn’t have to. But even now, even after all these years, she couldn’t shake the sadness that came with leaving.

If this creation worked—if they could build something fast enough, strong enough, powerful enough—it wouldn’t just be a tool. It would be a promise. A way to keep Natlan safe, to keep people like Hine from ever fading away completely.

Her fingers tightened around the metal she sorting, her fiery eyes narrowing with determination. This wasn’t just about the past. It was about the future.

And then there was Xilonen.

The woman who could bring the most impossible ideas to life. The woman who never hesitated to call Mavuika out on her wild schemes but still found a way to make them work. The woman whose quiet strength and sharp mind left Mavuika in awe.

It wasn’t just admiration. It wasn’t just respect.

She cared for Xilonen—more than she had words for. And maybe that was dangerous. Maybe she shouldn’t let herself get so attached. But in this moment, Mavuika couldn’t help but feel it.

I’m doing this for Natlan. she thought to herself. But I’m doing it for you, too.

Her grip on the gears softened, her shoulders relaxing as she exhaled. Her movements steady and deliberate now.

Because if the vehicle meant keeping Natlan safe, it also meant keeping Xilonen safe. And for Mavuika, that was reason enough to see it through.

She glanced back over from the gears she was supposed to be organizing, only to pause mid-motion. Xilonen had slumped over the workbench, her cheek pressed against the cool metal surface, one arm dangling at her side while the other curled protectively around a wrench.

A soft snore escaped her lips.

Mavuika blinked, then grinned. “Well, would you look at that,” she murmured to herself, setting the gears aside. “So much for ‘don’t break anything.’”

She approached quietly, crouching beside Xilonen’s chair. For someone who was always so sharp and composed, Xilonen looked almost… soft like this. Her hair fell in loose golden waves around her face, and her tail was curled loosely around one of the chair legs.

Mavuika hesitated for a moment, then gently nudged her shoulder. “Hey, genius. You’re gonna wake up with a kink in your neck if you stay like this.”

Xilonen groaned faintly, stirring just enough to shift her head slightly before settling back down. “Mm… five more minutes…”

Mavuika chuckled under her breath. “Alright, sleepy-head. Let’s get you somewhere a little less… forge-y.”

She slipped an arm under Xilonen’s shoulders and another beneath her knees, lifting her effortlessly. Xilonen mumbled something incoherent, her head lolling against Mavuika’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry,” Mavuika teased quietly. “I won’t tell anyone the great Xilonen passed out mid-project.”

As she carried her toward the worn couch in the corner of the workshop, Xilonen shifted slightly, her arms loosely draping around Mavuika’s neck. Her voice, soft and muffled, reached Mavuika’s ears.

“…you’re warm,” Xilonen murmured, her tail brushing against Mavuika’s arm.

Mavuika froze for half a second, her cheeks heating. “Uh, thanks? I think?”

“…like the sun…” Xilonen added, her words barely audible now. “Always… too bright… but… nice.”

Mavuika’s grin softened into something more tender as she gently laid Xilonen on the couch, grabbing an old blanket to drape over her. Xilonen curled into it instinctively, a quiet sigh escaping her lips.

“Sweet dreams, Xilonen,” Mavuika whispered, brushing a stray strand of hair away from Xilonen’s face.

As she turned back to the workbench, her own heart was beating a little faster than she cared to admit. For all her teasing, for all their banter, moments like this reminded her of why she stayed—why she always came back to this workshop, this forge, and this person.

And if Xilonen’s tail flicked ever so slightly in her sleep, as though chasing a dream, Mavuika pretended not to think too hard about what she may be dreaming about.

It was safe to say though, that Xilonen’s dreams these days were as chaotic as her waking life. They seemed to be an endless loop of prototypes sparking and exploding in ways she could only describe as creatively disastrous. She dreamed of tweaking stabilizers, recalibrating cores, and—of course—getting endlessly frustrated at Mavuika’s constant pacing and her infuriatingly wide grin.

And then there were the dreams where she was… sleeping.

It wasn’t just any sleep, though. In those dreams, she was sprawled out on warm grass or the couch in the workshop, her head resting on something soft, a steady heartbeat beneath her ear. The warmth of it was more comforting than even the sun, lulling her into a rare sense of peace.

In these dreams, she didn’t have to worry about Pyro cores or mechanisms or even her own stubborn pride. She didn’t have to be anything but… there. She didn’t think about the fact that the beat beneath her wasn’t the rhythmic clang of the forge, but a person.

And in the rare moments she allowed herself to acknowledge it, even in her sleep, her tail would flick involuntarily, betraying her subconscious contentment.

As Xilonen shifted slightly on the couch, a faint smile tugged at her lips, even as her brow furrowed in a half-formed expression of concentration. It was hard to tell if she was dreaming about solving another technical issue or if she was dreaming about the kind of peace she wouldn’t admit she craved.

Her lashes fluttered as the sunlight filtered softly across her face. It was warm, the kind of light that made her think of lazy afternoons and stolen moments of peace. For a few seconds, she kept her eyes closed, letting herself savor the stillness.

When she finally opened them, her gaze landed on Mavuika.

The Pyro Archon was sprawled across the opposite couch, her fiery hair spilling over the armrest, catching the sunlight like embers. Her chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, the weight of exhaustion evident in the way she was draped, as though her body had finally forced her to rest.

Xilonen blinked, surprised to see her there. Even in the workshop, Mavuika was rarely still. She was always moving, always chasing something—an idea, a goal, a challenge. Yet here she was, her features softened in sleep, her usual boundless energy momentarily at rest.

Xilonen didn’t move. She didn’t want to disturb her.

It was strange, seeing the Pyro Archon like this. Not as a leader or a warrior or a force of nature, but just as… Mavuika. The woman who barged into her workshop with wild ideas and a grin that could rival the sun. The woman who frustrated her, challenged her, and somehow made her care more than she ever thought she could.

Her gaze lingered on Mavuika’s face, tracing the lines of her jaw, the slight furrow in her brow even in sleep. It was almost funny, how even unconscious, Mavuika seemed like she was ready to fight the world.

But Xilonen knew better. She knew how much weight Mavuika carried, how deeply she cared for Natlan, for its people, for the world they were trying to protect.

And, if she was honest with herself, she knew how much she cared for Mavuika.

Her tail twitched against the couch as she let out a slow breath. The thought made her chest ache, though she wasn’t sure if it was in a good way or a bad way.

“I hope we can pull this off,” she whispered, her voice barely audible in the quiet of the workshop.

As if the faintest whisper had reached her ears, Mavuika stirred, her body moving before her mind had likely caught up. Xilonen froze, squeezing her eyes shut, desperate for just a few more precious moments of peace.

But no, of course not.

Mavuika shot up like she’d been jolted awake by lightning, stretching her arms skyward in one fluid motion, her muscles rippling beneath the fabric of her.                               shirt. Her fiery hair cascaded over her shoulders as she let out the most obnoxious yawn Xilonen had ever heard—loud and entirely unbothered by the fact that someone else was trying to enjoy the silence.

Xilonen tucked into herself, her tail curling tightly around her legs. She could feel the warmth of a flush creeping up her cheeks and buried her face a little deeper into her folded arms, trying not to think about how those ridiculous arms of Mavuika’s looked in the morning sunlight.

Big, strong, and entirely too distracting.

Not that it mattered.

She squeezed her eyes shut tighter, willing herself back to sleep or, at the very least, into some semblance of peace. Maybe if she stayed very still, Mavuika would assume she was still out cold and not bother her.

For a moment, it worked. The sounds of Mavuika’s rustling didn’t seem to be headed her way. Maybe—just maybe—she’d be spared.

“Xilonen,” Mavuika’s voice came, low and teasing, right by her ear. “You awake yet?”

Xilonen’s ears flicked involuntarily as the Archon’s breath hit them.

“Ah-ha!” Mavuika said triumphantly, grinning as she crouched beside the couch. “I knew it. You’re the worst fake sleeper I’ve ever seen.”

Xilonen groaned, cracking one eye open to glare at her. “You’re loud.”

“Thats because I’m like, right here,” Mavuika replied with a grin so wide it was nearly blinding.

Xilonen sighed, flopping back against the couch. “What do you want?”

“Just checking on you,” Mavuika said innocently, though the gleam in her eye said otherwise. “Figured I’d make sure you didn’t overwork yourself.”

Xilonen rolled her eyes, but the corners of her lips betrayed her, twitching upward despite her best efforts. “You have too much energy.”

Mavuika settled onto the floor beside her, her energy somehow already in full force. “One of us needs it.”

Xilonen didn’t answer, just turned her head away, hiding the small, unbidden smile that crept across her face.

Mavuika leaned back on her hands, her fiery hair catching the sunlight as she grinned. “So, what’s on the agenda today, genius?”

Xilonen let out a long-suffering sigh, sitting up slowly and stretching. Her ears flicked as she considered the question. “Hopefully, perfecting this core,” she said, her voice flat. “If we’re lucky.”

“Lucky?” Mavuika raised an eyebrow, her grin widening. “With you at the helm? We’re practically destined for success.”

Xilonen shot her a look. “Flattery won’t make this any easier, you know.”

“It’s not flattery,” Mavuika said, standing with intent as if she hadn’t just woken up. “It’s fact.”

Xilonen groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose as she swung her legs over the couch. “Why do I even bother arguing with you?”

“Because you love me,” Mavuika quipped, brushing imaginary dust off her shirt.

Xilonen froze for a fraction of a second, her tail pausing mid-swish. She covered the momentary lapse by also standing up, her movements brisk and purposeful. “You’re impossible,” she muttered, heading toward the workbench.

“And yet, here I am,” Mavuika said cheerfully, falling into step behind her.

Xilonen glanced over her shoulder, rolling her eyes. “If you’re going to hang around, at least make yourself useful.”

“Always,” Mavuika said with mock solemnity, placing a hand over her heart. “What do you need, oh wise one?”

Xilonen stopped at the workbench, her fingers brushing over the scattered tools and components. She took a deep breath, her mind already shifting into problem-solving mode. “Alright,” she said, her tone businesslike. “We’re refining the stabilizer today. If we can keep the core from overheating during extended use, the rest should fall into place.”

Mavuika leaned against the edge of the bench, watching her with an almost childlike curiosity. “And by ‘fall into place,’ you mean fewer explosions, right?”

Xilonen gave her a deadpan look. “Yes, Mavuika. Preferably no explosions.”

Mavuika grinned, grabbing a tool from the bench and spinning it in her fingers. “Sounds like a plan. Lead the way, genius.”

Xilonen sighed, but as she started explaining the next steps, the faintest smile lingered on her lips. For all the chaos Mavuika brought into her life, there was a strange kind of comfort in knowing she’d always be right there. 

And because of her, the energy in the forge glowed with the intensity of a miniature sun. Xilonen stood at its heart, her sleeves rolled up and her hair tied back in a loose knot, ocelot ears flicking every so often. The rhythmic clang of her hammer echoed through the workshop, steady and purposeful. Sparks flew as she shaped the glowing metal, her focus sharp enough to cut through steel.

Mavuika hovered nearby, leaning against the wall and occasionally shifting closer to peer at Xilonen’s work.

“Need a hand?” Mavuika asked, her grin wide and playful.

“No,” Xilonen said without looking up, her tone clipped.

“C’mon, I can—”

“Out.”

Mavuika blinked, caught off guard as Xilonen swatted a hand in her direction without even pausing her work. “You’re going to mess up the airflow,” Xilonen added, glancing at her for a moment before returning to the molten core she was refining.

“Mess up the—seriously? You’re making that up.”

Xilonen didn’t dignify that with a response, the steady clink of her hammer filling the space between them.

“Fine, fine,” Mavuika said, raising her hands in surrender. She retreated to a nearby stool, crossing her arms and watching as Xilonen worked. There was something mesmerizing about the way she moved, precise and deliberate, her tail swaying as if in sync with each strike.

For what felt like hours, Mavuika stayed put, though her restless energy made her bounce her leg and tap her fingers on her thigh. Finally, Xilonen straightened, lifting the newly forged stabilizer with a careful hand.

“Alright,” she said, her voice calm but tinged with a cautious optimism. “Let’s test it.”

Mavuika was on her feet in an instant, trailing after Xilonen as they set up the mechanism. The stabilizer gleamed, its intricate design reflecting the forge’s light.

Xilonen connected the core, her movements meticulous. “Okay,” she said, stepping back. “Moment of truth.”

The stabilizer hummed to life, a low, steady vibration filling the room. The Pyro energy within the core pulsed, but it held firm, the device glowing faintly as the heat stabilized.

“It’s not exploding,” Mavuika said, a hint of awe in her voice.

“Give it a second,” Xilonen murmured, her eyes fixed on the mechanism.

The seconds stretched, the hum of the stabilizer growing steadier. Without thinking, Xilonen reached out, her fingers brushing against Mavuika’s hand.

Mavuika froze, glancing down at their hands before looking up at Xilonen, who seemed too focused to notice.

Finally, Xilonen let out a slow breath, her lips curving into a faint smile. “I think we did it.”

Mavuika turned to her, her face breaking into a grin so wide it was practically radiant. “You think?” she teased, her voice warm. “Genius, I know we did it.”

Xilonen chuckled softly, shaking her head. “Don’t get cocky.”

“Too late.”

The words hung between them, the hum of the stabilizer fading into the background. Mavuika’s eyes lingered on Xilonen’s, and for a moment, the world around them felt inconsequential. The forge’s heat, the faint glow of the core, even the ache in Mavuika’s muscles from hours of training—all of it dulled to nothing but the sharp clarity of the woman in front of her.

Xilonen glanced up, her green eyes catching the golden-red of Mavuika’s gaze. They held there, steady and piercing, like they were seeing past the jokes and the banter, down to something unguarded. Mavuika’s breath hitched, just slightly, the smallest pause in her chest before she remembered to breathe again.

Her gaze flicked downward—to the faint flush blooming across Xilonen’s cheeks, to the curve of her lips, soft and slightly parted as if she were about to speak. She wasn’t. She was just… looking back.

Mavuika shifted, swallowing the lump rising in her throat. Her hand was still close enough to feel the faint warmth radiating from Xilonen’s fingertips. Too close, maybe. The heat wasn’t from the forge this time, but something else entirely.

Her eyes flicked back up to Xilonen’s, and the look there stole any words she might’ve said. There was curiosity in those green depths, and a question Mavuika didn’t dare answer.

The space between them felt fragile, like the tension in a bowstring drawn just a moment too far. Mavuika’s fingers twitched, wanting to reach, to close the distance, but her mind raced to pull her back.

Xilonen shifted, her tail flicking once in an erratic, nervous rhythm behind her. Her ears twitched slightly, betraying the calm she was trying so hard to maintain.

Mavuika’s heart pounded, her thoughts darting like embers in a wildfire. Would she pull away? Would she stay? Would she—

“Alright,” Xilonen said, her voice low and quiet, like she was speaking around something in her throat. She stepped back, breaking the threadbare string between them.

Mavuika blinked, the spell breaking, though the ache in her chest lingered.

“Alright?” Mavuika asked, her voice coming out rougher than she intended.

Xilonen gave her a look, one eyebrow raised. “The stabilizer,” she said, tilting her head toward the core. “It’s holding.”

Mavuika exhaled, a sound somewhere between relief and frustration. “Yeah. Right. The stabilizer.”

But as Xilonen turned back to the workbench, Mavuika let her eyes linger a second longer, committing to memory the faint flush still coloring Xilonen’s neck. 

Mavuika leaned back against the workbench, still watching Xilonen as she examined her work. Her chest felt uncharacteristically tight, the weight of her own emotions catching her off guard. That’s her Xilonen. The one who could craft the impossible, who could ground Mavuika’s wild energy without ever trying to snuff it out.

And they did this. Together.

The realization swelled in her chest like a firework ready to burst. Sure, she’d fought battles, saved lives, and made Natlan proud countless times before. But this? This felt different. This wasn’t just some grand feat to add to her legacy. It was theirs.

“Xilonen,” Mavuika said, her voice softer than usual.

Xilonen glanced up, her ears twitching at the tone. “Hmm?”

Mavuika hesitated for just a second, then pushed through the flood of emotions bubbling in her chest. “Thank you. For, you know… putting up with me. And for being so damn patient when I’m…” She waved her hand vaguely. “Me.”

Xilonen’s brows rose in surprise, her tail pausing mid-sway. She stared at Mavuika for a moment, uncharacteristically quiet.

“I mean it,” Mavuika continued, her grin slipping into something more genuine. “You’ve been amazing. I know I can be a bit—”

“Imaginative?” Xilonen offered, the corner of her mouth twitching.

Mavuika laughed, the sound warm and easy. “Sure, we’ll go with that. But seriously, Thank you.”

Xilonen blinked, her gaze softening as her tail started swaying again, slower this time. Then, after a beat, she stood up straight, crossing her arms. “Alright. Enough of that.”

Mavuika tilted her head. “Enough of what?”

“The sappy stuff,” Xilonen said, though there was no bite in her voice. In fact, there was a faint pink tint creeping across her cheeks. She glanced at the stabilizer one last time, then back at Mavuika. “We’re celebrating. Barbecue. Drinks. We deserve it.”

Mavuika’s grin returned in full force, her fiery eyes lighting up. “Now that’s a plan I can get behind.”

“Good,” Xilonen said, already moving to clean up the workstation. “But you’re paying.”

“Worth every Mora,” Mavuika shot back, standing and stretching her arms overhead. She glanced at Xilonen again, her heart skipping a beat at the sight of her focused expression. 

—

The table they shared was tucked away from the crowd, a little quieter than the rest of the joint. The flames of the grill flickered in the distance, casting warm, golden light across their faces. Mavuika leaned back in her chair, balancing it precariously on two legs, a grin tugging at her lips as she swirled her drink lazily.

“This is nice,” Mavuika said, her voice quiet, almost thoughtful.

Xilonen glanced at her over the rim of her glass, one eyebrow raised. “What, being out of the forge for five minutes? Or not setting something on fire?”

Mavuika let out a low chuckle, shaking her head. “No, I mean… just this. You and me. No explosions. No stress. Just… us.”

Xilonen tilted her head, her green eyes narrowing slightly as if she were trying to decipher the intent behind Mavuika’s words. “Well, I suppose it’s a nice change of pace. You’re being quieter than usual, what’s up with that?”

Mavuika smiled softly, her gaze dropping to the table for a moment before flicking back to Xilonen. “Maybe I’m just enjoying the company.”

Xilonen’s ears twitched, betraying the flicker of emotion that crossed her otherwise composed face. “You’re laying it on thick tonight, aren’t you?”

“Maybe,” Mavuika admitted, shrugging one shoulder. “But I mean it. You’ve been… incredible. Patient, smart, putting up with all my ridiculous ideas—”

“And making them better,” Xilonen interjected, though her voice was softer now, her cheeks warming under the compliment.

“Exactly.” Mavuika leaned forward slightly, her fiery eyes locking onto Xilonen’s. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”

Xilonen held her gaze for a moment longer, something unspoken passing between them before she quickly looked away, taking another sip of her drink. “Well, it’s not finished yet. Don’t get all sentimental on me now.”

Mavuika smirked, her chair finally settling back onto all four legs as she leaned forward. “You like it when I’m sentimental.”

Xilonen rolled her eyes, “You’re incorrigible.”

“And you’re blushing,” Mavuika teased, leaning her chin on her hand as she watched Xilonen with unabashed fondness.

“Am not,” Xilonen muttered, her tail flicking behind her in a way that very much suggested otherwise.

Mavuika laughed softly, her voice warm and uncharacteristically gentle. “It’s okay. I think it’s cute.”

Xilonen set her glass down a little harder than necessary, crossing her arms and glaring at the Archon. “Do you ever stop?”

“Not when it comes to you,” Mavuika said, her grin widening.

Before Xilonen could fire back, someone from across the barbecue called out. their voice carrying over the crackle of the fire. Mavuika turned slightly, her expression faltering as the spell of their moment was broken.

“Pyro Archon!”

The voice was warm, filled with the kind of familiarity that only her people had for her. Mavuika turned, her grin softening as she was met with a small group—their faces shone with admiration.

Mavuika rose to greet them, her energy shifting seamlessly into something magnetic. She clasped hands, exchanged jokes, and gave that effortless warmth that made everyone feel like they’d known her forever.

Xilonen stayed seated for a moment, sipping her drink. She wasn’t invisible—people greeted her politely, acknowledging her skill as Natlan’s famed smith. But no one lingered for long. Why would they? Compared to Mavuika’s blazing presence, Xilonen was just the steady heat of the forge: practical, necessary, but hardly exciting.

Mavuika, on the other hand, was their leader. She was the Pyro Archon, their protector, their symbol of strength and resilience. People gravitated toward her naturally, wanting to share stories, to bask in the light of her undivided attention. And she gave it willingly, laughing and chatting as if she wasn’t carrying the weight of an entire nation on her shoulders.

But right now? Xilonen couldn’t bring herself to care about how good Mavuika was at being a leader. She didn’t want to watch Mavuika juggle small talk and graciously accept their praises. Xilonen wanted the moment back. 

Their moment.

She sat back, crossing her arms as her tail flicked restlessly against the ground. The noise around the fire felt louder now, every laugh and cheer grating against her ears. She should have expected this—of course people would want to talk to Mavuika. It wasn’t their fault. They didn’t know.

But still, the ache in her chest grew with every second that passed.

As Mavuika turned to engage another wave of admirers, Xilonen slipped away. She moved quietly, weaving through the crowd with practiced ease until the voices and the heat of the fire faded into the background.

She found herself by the edge of the clearing, leaning against a tree as she let out a slow breath. Her ears twitched at the distant sound of Mavuika’s laughter, bright and carefree. For all her teasing and banter, Mavuika had a way of making everyone feel like they mattered.

Everyone except her.

No, that wasn’t fair. Mavuika always made her feel like she mattered. But right now, surrounded by adoration and applause, Xilonen wondered if Mavuika even noticed she’d left.

Her tail flicked irritably as she pushed off the tree, wandering further from the noise. Maybe she just needed a moment. A moment to breathe, to collect herself, to not feel like second place to a flame she couldn’t help but be drawn to.

Xilonen settled on the cliffside overlooking the valley, her usual spot when she needed to clear her head. The little gorge below, nestled in the heart of the valley, cradled the settlement of her tribe—the Children of Echoes. From here, she could see it all. Homes built into the canyon walls, the faint glow of the forges, and the Tepetlisaurs weaving lazily between rock formations. The sounds of her people at work echoed faintly upward: the rhythmic clanging of hammers, the tapping of gem hunters testing the rocks, the quiet hum of a place always alive with purpose.

The sunset blazed through the gorge, fiery hues casting long shadows against the walls. The orange light danced across the stones, igniting them with warmth. It was beautiful, breathtaking even. But to Xilonen, it felt distant. Detached.

She drew her knees to her chest, resting her chin on them as her tail curled lazily at her side. Her green eyes traced the shapes of the shadows, her thoughts swirling as the fading sunlight burned on the horizon.

Mavuika’s laughter still echoed faintly in her ears. Bright and infectious. It wasn’t fair, really, how Mavuika could make the entire world revolve around her without even trying. She was fire incarnate—demanding, dazzling, impossible to ignore. She made everything seem so simple, so easy.

And Xilonen? She was just… here. Always here. She’d built her life on precision, on steadiness, on creating things that would last. But when it came to Mavuika—gods, when it came to Mavuika—she felt like a wobbly scaffold barely holding together under the weight of something much larger.

The ache in her chest returned, sharper this time. She let out a slow breath, the air cooling as the sun sank lower. She knew how Mavuika cared for her people. How she put Natlan first in everything she did. And why wouldn’t she? Mavuika was the Archon, the beating heart of their nation. She gave and gave, and the people loved her for it.

But did Mavuika care for her? Truly? Or was she just another piece of the forge, another tool in Mavuika’s grand vision to protect their land? The thought made her chest tighten, and she hated it—hated herself for thinking it.

She looked out at the valley again, the shadows growing longer as the canyon glowed with the last embers of sunlight. She clenched her fists, nails biting into her palms as she bit back a bitter laugh. How ridiculous to feel so much and know so little. To look out over a blazing sunset and feel nothing but the shadows of doubt pooling in her chest.

The irony wasn’t lost on her. Mavuika was the fire, the sun, the untouchable warmth. And Xilonen? She was the shadow that lingered just out of reach.

Xilonen sighed, her tail flicking idly as the last of the sunlight dipped below the horizon. The world was quiet now, save for the distant hum of activity in the valley. She didn’t know what she was going to do, didn’t know how to move past the frustrating ache in her chest.

“Thought I might find you here,” a familiar voice broke the stillness. Xilonen didn’t need to look to know who it was—the unmistakable cadence of Mavuika’s voice carried warmth and certainty, even in the quietest moments. Xilonen let out another sigh, but didn’t turn around. 

“This is one of the spots you go when you’re avoiding me.”

“Well, if you know that, then why are you here?” Xilonen asked, her tone just sharp enough to betray her flustered frustration.

Mavuika chuckled softly, the sound like embers crackling in the fire. “Because I’m stubborn. And because I’m bad at leaving you alone.”

Xilonen finally glanced over her shoulder, her sharp green eyes meeting Mavuika’s fiery ones. For all her grinning bravado, there was something softer about her now. Mavuika moved to sit beside her, the rocks crunching faintly underfoot as she settled down with a quiet sigh.

“The sunset’s nice,” Mavuika said after a moment, her gaze fixed on the horizon. The sky was painted in vivid hues of orange, pink, and red, the light casting a warm glow over the valley below. “Don’t you think?”

Xilonen hummed in agreement but didn’t respond. She wasn’t sure what to say.

Mavuika leaned back on her hands, tilting her head to watch the fading light. “I’ve always loved sunsets. They remind me of why I do what I do. Why I’ve done it for so long.”

Xilonen’s ears twitched, and she glanced at Mavuika, whose expression had softened into something almost wistful.

“When I first forged my plan to stop the Abyss, all but five hundred years ago, I swore this sun would burn for my people. That no matter what came, Natlan would always have light. Always have warmth. That future generations would stand where we’re sitting now and see this same sun, this same valley.”

Her voice was steady, but Xilonen could hear the weight in it—the burden of centuries, of carrying a nation on her back.

“It’s not easy, though,” Mavuika admitted, her fiery eyes glinting as she looked back at Xilonen. “Sometimes it feels like I’m holding it all together with my bare hands. Like one wrong move and everything comes crashing down.”

Xilonen frowned slightly, her tail curling at her side. “Mavuika…”

“But that’s why what we’re forging is so important,” Mavuika continued, her voice growing steadier, more resolved. “It’s not just about speed or power. It’s about protection. It’s about making sure I can get to my people when they need me most. That I can face whatever’s coming and still keep that promise I made all those years ago.”

Mavuika’s voice lingered in the air, the weight of her words settling like the fading warmth of the sun. Xilonen’s green eyes remained fixed on her, a mix of curiosity and something deeper flickering within them. She didn’t want to sound selfish but the question came quietly, almost hesitant.

“And me?” Xilonen asked.

Mavuika blinked, startled. “And… you?”

“Am I important?” Xilonen clarified, her voice even but her tail flicking slightly at her side.

Mavuika let out a short, breathless laugh. It wasn’t mocking, just filled with the kind of disbelief that left her momentarily speechless. How could she put into words the weight Xilonen held in her life? How could she possibly explain how the forge felt like a second home, not because of the work but because of Xilonen? That every moment spent beside her, every exasperated glance and half-hidden smile, chipped away at the walls Mavuika didn’t even realize she’d built around herself?

Xilonen was watching her closely now, searching Mavuika’s face for an answer. The intensity of her gaze made Mavuika’s chest tighten, made the words she couldn’t seem to find press harder against her ribs.

“I…” Mavuika started, but her voice faltered. She dragged a hand through her fiery hair, the other fidgeting with a loose thread on her sleeve. “Xilonen, you—”

Her voice cracked, and she shut her mouth quickly. She could feel her own frustration bubbling up, at herself, at her inability to say what she wanted to say. Her heart pounded painfully in her chest as Xilonen’s brows knitted, her ears tilting slightly forward in silent anticipation.

The air between them grew heavier, stretched tight as a bowstring. Mavuika opened her mouth again, closed it. Her eyes flicked to Xilonen’s—steady, unflinching, impossibly green. They were close, so close, and for the first time, it struck Mavuika how much she wanted to close the space between them.

Her hand twitched, as if reaching out on instinct, but she stopped herself. Xilonen tilted her head, just slightly, and it was like a spark igniting a dry field.

“I—” Mavuika began again, her voice barely above a whisper. But then Xilonen’s lips parted, her breath hitching ever so slightly, and suddenly it was all too much.

She didn’t think, couldn’t think. She leaned forward, slowly at first, almost unsure. Xilonen’s eyes widened briefly, her tail flicking sharply before going utterly still. And then Mavuika’s forehead was close enough to brush hers, their noses barely touching, her breath mingling with Xilonen’s in the narrow space between them.

For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Mavuika froze, caught in the fragile balance of the moment. Xilonen’s lips quirked upward, ever so faintly, and her voice was so soft it barely reached Mavuika’s ears.

“Archon, if you’re going to do it, just—”

Mavuika kissed her.

It wasn’t fiery or rushed, but slow, deliberate—like the first step across a fragile bridge neither of them had dared to approach before. Xilonen tensed, her breath hitching audibly, but the hesitation melted as her hand found Mavuika’s sleeve, a gentle anchor in uncharted waters.

The world seemed to fall away, the quiet hum of the valley fading to nothing. Mavuika’s heart thundered in her chest, wild and uncontrollable, like the unstable cores they’d both seen fail—but if this was how she’d burn, she couldn’t imagine a better way to go.

Xilonen’s lips were warm, softer than Mavuika had expected, and each brush of them sent shockwaves through her. Her hand slid from Xilonen’s cheek to the nape of her neck, drawing her closer, the space between them dissolving into something infinite. Xilonen’s tail brushed Mavuika’s arm, curling instinctively, and the sensation pulled a quiet smile from Mavuika, still pressed softly against her lips.

Xilonen pulled back with a breathless, trembling laugh as her gaze flickered up to Mavuika’s.

“Took you long enough,” she murmured, her voice teasing but undeniably soft.

Mavuika exhaled, her grin returning. “Yeah… guess it did.”

And for a little while, the sun could set without either of them caring. 

———

The workshop had never been busier—or more chaotic. Now that the core was stable, the real work could begin: building outward, taking the heart of their creation and giving it form.

Mavuika was practically vibrating with excitement, her fiery hair pulled back in a high ponytail to keep it out of her way. She had dragged every spare piece of scrap metal, wire, and tubing into the workshop, piling it high in what Xilonen could only describe as organized chaos.

“I’m just saying,” Mavuika said, spreading her arms wide, “we should add some flame decals on the sides. You know, for the look.”

Xilonen, perched on her stool with a sketchpad balanced on her lap, glanced up with a skeptical tilt of her head. “And how exactly are decals going to help with aerodynamics, structural integrity, or literally anything useful?”

Mavuika rolled her eyes, crouching beside one of the blueprint piles. “It’s not always about function. Sometimes it’s about flair. Personality.”

Xilonen’s pencil paused mid-sketch, and she sighed, her tail flicking in exasperation. “Mavuika, this thing is supposed to save lives, not win a beauty contest.”

“Why not both?” Mavuika said with a grin, tossing a piece of tubing over her shoulder as she rummaged through the pile. “C’mon, you can’t tell me you don’t want it to look cool.”

“I want it to work,” Xilonen replied dryly, though the corner of her lips twitched. “Efficiently.”

“Efficiently,” Mavuika mimicked, pulling a gear from the pile and holding it up like it was some priceless treasure. “Fine. You handle the practical stuff, and I’ll handle the fun stuff.”

Xilonen shot her a look, but it lacked any real bite. She returned her focus to her sketchpad, adding notes to the rough outline of the machine. “It needs to handle all terrains. Cliffside scaling, water traversal, high-speed maneuvering. And the materials need to be lightweight but durable enough to withstand Pyro energy output.”

Mavuika flopped onto a nearby bench, stretching her legs out in front of her. “Sounds doable.”

“For a team of twenty with unlimited resources, sure,” Xilonen muttered, flipping the page to a fresh sketch.

“Good thing you’ve got me,” Mavuika said, lacing her fingers behind her head.

Xilonen snorted softly, though she didn’t look up. “Yes. Because you’re so helpful.”

“Hey, I’m the Archon, aren’t I?”

“You are,” Xilonen admitted, her voice softening just slightly. “But this is where the real work starts. This is where we see if all your wild ideas actually have a shot at coming together.”

Mavuika leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees as she watched Xilonen sketch. The faint glow of the forge lit up the workshop, casting warm light over Xilonen’s face, her green eyes sharp with focus. Mavuika felt her chest swell with something she didn’t quite know how to name.

“You know,” Mavuika said, her voice quieter now, “you’re kind of amazing.”

Xilonen paused, her pencil hovering over the page. She glanced up, her brows furrowing slightly. “Where’s this coming from?”

“Just saying,” Mavuika replied with a shrug. “You’re, like, this genius who can take all my crazy ideas and make them… not crazy. That’s pretty cool.”

For a moment, Xilonen didn’t respond. She looked at Mavuika, really looked at her, and whatever she saw made her tail swish once behind her.

“Thanks,” she said finally, her voice softer than usual. “But don’t think that means I’m letting you off the hook. You’re still doing half the work.”

“Deal,” Mavuika said with a grin. “But I’m still calling dibs on the decals.”

Xilonen rolled her eyes. “Okay, Miss Decal,” Xilonen said, pointing toward the cluttered workbench. “Hand me that blueprint over there.”

Mavuika hopped off the bench with an exaggerated salute. “Yes, ma’am.” She shuffled through the piles, triumphantly pulling the parchment from the mess and holding it out with a flourish. “Here’s your masterpiece.”

Xilonen snorted, taking the blueprint from her and spreading it out across the table. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah, but you like it,” Mavuika teased, leaning casually against the workbench. She crossed her arms, her grin sharpening as her eyes settled on Xilonen, who was already scanning the design with practiced focus.

Xilonen muttered to herself, pencil in hand, sketching out adjustments with a precision Mavuika couldn’t help but admire. The soft fur of her ears twitched slightly as she worked, catching the glow of the forge. Her messy blonde hair fell in loose waves around her shoulders, and Mavuika had to bite back a smile at how utterly absorbed she was.

“You’re staring,” Xilonen said without looking up, her tone flat but not entirely unamused.

Mavuika grinned wider, shifting her weight as she tilted her head. “You’re cute when you’re in the zone.”

Xilonen’s pencil paused, and she finally turned her head to look at Mavuika, one brow raised in exasperation. “Argh! Mavuika, stop staring.”

“Can’t help it,” Mavuika said, her voice dropping just slightly. She leaned in closer, her grin softening into something more sincere. “You’re kind of mesmerizing.”

Xilonen’s ears twitched again, but this time it wasn’t from concentration. “I’m working,” she said, her voice quieter now, less firm.

“So am I,” Mavuika replied, her gaze locked on Xilonen. Her grin faded into a small, lopsided smile, her eyes gleaming with something warmer, deeper. “Working on something really important.”

Before Xilonen could respond, Mavuika moved closer, her hand brushing against Xilonen’s as she steadied herself against the table. For a moment, the air between them buzzed, heavy with something unspoken yet unmistakable.

And then, Mavuika kissed her. 

Again.

Xilonen’s tail swished behind her, curling instinctively, and for a brief, stolen second, she leaned into it, the warmth of Mavuika’s lips melting something in her she hadn’t realized was frozen.

But Mavuika wasn’t done. The tentative press of her lips deepened, and her hand slid up to cradle the back of Xilonen’s neck. The warmth of her fingers was searing, her touch firm but careful, as if afraid to break the moment. Xilonen gasped softly, and that tiny sound was enough to make Mavuika bold. She tilted her head, letting the kiss deepen, her body pressing just slightly closer.

Xilonen’s hand lifted, instinctively gripping the edge of the workbench for stability. But as Mavuika’s thumb brushed lightly along the base of her neck, she couldn’t stop her hand from curling into Mavuika’s jacket instead, clinging to her like she might lose her footing entirely. A quiet hum escaped her throat, unbidden, and the sound sent a spark shooting straight through Mavuika’s chest.

Mavuika’s other hand found Xilonen’s waist, pulling her just a little closer, and for a moment, it felt like the world had narrowed to just the two of them. The forge’s warmth wrapped around them like a second skin, the faint scent of metal and soot mingling with the heady pull of the kiss.

Xilonen pressed back, her lips moving against Mavuika’s with more certainty now, her tail curling tighter, fingers grasping on Mavuika’s jacket, and for a moment, it was all-consuming—too much and not enough all at once.

Mavuika shifted, her hand slipping from Xilonen’s waist to her lower back, pulling her flush against her. The movement was instinctive, a reflection of everything she was feeling—wild and untamed, like fire itself. Xilonen’s lips parted with a soft gasp, and Mavuika took it as an invitation, her heartbeat hammering in her ears as the kiss deepened further, toes curling against the cool floor of the workshop.

That’s when Xilonen’s mind caught up with her body.

She broke away abruptly, her hands braced against Mavuika’s chest as she pushed her back—not roughly, but enough to put space between them. She was breathing hard, her chest rising and falling as her flushed cheeks burned against the cool air of the workshop. Her green eyes were wide, searching Mavuika’s face like she was trying to piece together what just happened.

“Mavuika!” Xilonen’s voice was breathless, shaky, though it carried a sharp edge. “What are you doing?”

Mavuika stepped back slightly, her hands raised as if to surrender, though her expression was anything but apologetic. Her lips were red, her hair slightly mussed, and her grin—soft, dazed, and utterly infuriating—told Xilonen everything she needed to know.

“Getting carried away,” Mavuika admitted, her voice low and rough. “And I’m not sorry for it.”

Xilonen pressed her lips together, her tail swishing wildly as she looked anywhere but at Mavuika. She took a deep breath, willing her racing heart to slow, but the ghost of Mavuika’s hands lingered, warm and unshakable. 

“You’re impossible,” she muttered finally, though her voice lacked any real bite.

“And you’re irresistible,” Mavuika countered, her grin turning crooked. “Guess we’re even.”

Xilonen groaned, turning away to face the workbench. “Just… I need to focus, Mavuika.”

But Mavuika could see the faint smile tugging at the corners of Xilonen’s lips, and knew—no matter how much Xilonen protested—she hadn’t imagined the way her hands had clung to her just moments ago.

Xilonen hurriedly resumed scribbled something on the blueprints, her pencil tapping against the edge of the workbench as she worked through the logistics. “Flying… going over water… climbing…” she muttered to herself, her green eyes narrowing in focus. “The core will hold, but distributing power to all of that without overloading—”

“Imagine it!” Mavuika’s voice interrupted, clearly recovered and brimming with excitement. She leaned forward, practically hovering over Xilonen’s shoulder as she gestured animatedly. “Wings! Huge, fiery wings coming out from the back. Like a phoenix taking flight. It could soar over valleys, leave trails of fire in the sky—”

Xilonen gave her a flat look. “Trails of fire. Sure. Because that won’t scream, ‘Hey, everyone, look at me, here’s where to aim!’”

Mavuika rolled her eyes, crossing her arms but not backing away. “Oh, come on. It would be amazing. Functional and dramatic. Two birds, one stone. You should be thanking me for the brilliant idea.”

Xilonen sighed, her ears flicking in exasperation as she set her pencil down. “Mavuika, we’re already pushing the limits of practicality. Do you have any idea how difficult it would be to engineer something like that?”

“Of course I do,” Mavuika said breezily, waving her hand. “That’s why I have you.”

Xilonen gave her a long, tired look, her tail swishing irritably behind her. “Right. Because clearly I have nothing better to do than figure out how to give your impossible machine fiery wings.”

“Exactly,” Mavuika said, her grin wide and unrepentant. She leaned her hip against the workbench, completely ignoring the way Xilonen groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Admit it, you love the challenge.”

“I love peace and quiet,” Xilonen muttered, turning back to the blueprints. “Which I will never have as long as you’re here.”

Mavuika laughed, the sound warm and infectious as she tapped the workbench. “Alright, fine. I’ll give you some space. But don’t think for a second I’m letting go of the fiery wings idea. It’s gonna happen.”

“Sure it is,” Xilonen deadpanned, not bothering to look up. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be? Like, I don’t know, running Natlan or something?”

“Probably,” Mavuika said, smirking as she straightened up. 

Xilonen sighed deeply, but there was no hiding the faint tug of a smile at the corner of her lips as Mavuika finally, blessedly, stepped away—though not without one last cheeky wave over her shoulder.

The door closed behind her and Xilonen muttered under her breath, “Fiery wings. Honestly.” But the spark of an idea had already taken root, and she found herself sketching, just to see if it was possible.

Fiery wings, a vehicle that could fly, glide over water, climb jagged cliffs—it was absurd. It was ambitious. And it was starting to look… feasible.

She frowned, muttering to herself as she scribbled out one idea and started on another. “The flow has to fit in the body. Compact, seamless… phlogiston from the core to the mechanisms…” She trailed off, tapping her pencil against her chin. “But the wheels. What material would even work for that? Something sturdy, resistant to heat, puncture-proof… and it has to switch modes smoothly. Rocks to water to air…”

She sighed, rubbing at her temple. The transition mechanisms alone were enough to give her a headache. One moment it needed to be grounded and stable; the next, agile and airborne. And through it all, it needed to endure Mavuika’s… unique driving style, which, knowing her, would probably involve a lot of sudden turns, jumps, and pushing the limits of its capabilities.

“This thing,” she muttered, glaring at the sketch in front of her, “is as insufferable as she is.”

Her pencil paused. Woman and machine. Both fiery, chaotic, and relentless. But just like the vehicle taking shape in her mind, Mavuika had a way of pushing her to the edge of reason—and then just a little further.

“Why am I even doing this?” she asked the empty workshop, though the answer was already there, unspoken but undeniable.

She wanted to prove it could be done. For the challenge. For herself. But mostly, for Mavuika. Because when she thought about the way Mavuika’s eyes lit up when she talked about her dreams, when she imagined the fiery determination behind every wild idea, she couldn’t bring herself to let it go.

With a resigned sigh, Xilonen picked up a different set of tools and started sketching a rough draft of what the wheel mechanism could look like. The material would have to be custom-forged. Lightweight, heat-resistant… maybe with a flexible inner layer for shock absorption. But the transition mechanism was still tricky.

Her tail flicked behind her as she reached for another piece of parchment. The core power was stable, but transferring it between modes without losing efficiency would require a whole new level of precision.

“Woman and machine,” she muttered again, shaking her head. But her lips curved into a small smile. “Both impossible. Both…worth it.”

Xilonen sighed, reaching for her protective goggles and sliding them into place. Her focus narrowing as she began the next phase of the design. The world around her shifted slightly, the lenses filtering the light of the forge into something softer, clearer. Her tail flicked again as she set the parchment aside and began gathering her tools.

This was going to take a long time.

But she wasn’t one to shy away from meticulous work. If anything, she thrived in the quiet intensity of the forge, where every spark and every strike of the hammer was a step closer to creating something extraordinary.

She inspected the core one last time, running her fingers over the smooth surface of the stabilizer. Mavuika’s wild ideas had always tested her limits, but this—this felt different. Bigger. And in the moments when she let herself think about it, the weight of what they were building together felt heavy in her hands.

“Alright,” she murmured, adjusting her gloves. “Let’s see if this ridiculous idea of yours can actually work.”

With the tools in hand and the forge roaring behind her, Xilonen set to work. The sparks flew with each strike of her hammer, the rhythmic clang echoing through the workshop. The phlogiston distributors needed to be just right, threading seamlessly through the core without overheating or compromising power. She concentrated, the lines of her sketches flashing in her mind as she molded and shaped each piece.

Without Mavuika’s constant chatter in the background, the forge felt almost… too quiet. She would never admit it, but part of her missed the ridiculous energy Mavuika brought with her—how she could turn even the most tedious task into something fun. But that same quiet allowed her to focus, to slip into the flow of creation.

Piece by piece, she worked, her mind racing ahead to the next challenge even as her hands finished the current one. Reinforced alloys for the wheels, flexible enough to absorb impact but strong enough to handle rough terrain. Wings that could deploy seamlessly, powered by the core’s energy. It was all coming together—slowly, but steadily.

And yet, even as she worked, she knew this was just the beginning. Mavuika’s vision was ambitious, and bringing it to life would push them both to their limits. But for all her complaints, for all the frustration Mavuika’s ideas brought her, there was a small, unshakable part of her that couldn’t wait to see it finished.

—

Xilonen took a step back, her tail swishing nervously as she looked at the machine standing in the center of the workshop. The first iteration of Mavuika’s vision. It gleamed under the forge’s light—silver, polished, and unadorned, its intricate mechanisms visible in the exposed metalwork. The phlogiston exhaust pipes at the back stood out, their nozzles angled perfectly for dispersing the energy that would create the fiery “wings.”

Mavuika circled it like a predator sizing up its prey, her fiery hair swaying as she walked. She crouched slightly, resting her hands on her knees as she squinted at it. “Hmm. Why is it silver?”

Xilonen’s ears flicked, her green eyes narrowing. “Why is it silver?” she repeated, incredulous. “It’s not colored because if it decides to crash and burn during the test, I wouldn’t have wasted pigment on it.”

Mavuika straightened, her grin wide and teasing. “Yeah, I know. I was just trying to annoy you.”

Xilonen exhaled sharply, her tail swishing behind her. She was about to get frustrated, her usual retort ready on her tongue, but then she caught the glint in Mavuika’s eyes—the playful spark that was uniquely hers. Instead of snapping, Xilonen found herself smiling, soft and unbidden.

Mavuika had a way of drawing emotions out of her, of making the walls she put up feel less necessary.

“So,” Mavuika said, stepping closer, her hands on her hips. “Can I try it?”

“No,” Xilonen replied instantly, her tail flicking in irritation. “Well, yes, but not yet. I-It might not work properly.”

Mavuika leaned in, her grin turning mischievous. “So let’s find out! Come on, Xilo. We didn’t put all this work into it to just look at it.”

Xilonen sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “We’re taking it outside to test the systems. But no one’s riding it. Not until I’m absolutely sure it won’t explode, overheat, or… whatever else it might decide to do.”

“Deal,” Mavuika said, already heading to grab her gear to move the machine. “I’ll try to contain my excitement.”

Xilonen shook her head, but there was no mistaking the warmth creeping into her chest as she watched Mavuika’s enthusiasm. As much as she worried, as much as she wanted to ensure everything was perfect, she couldn’t deny the thrill of seeing their creation come to life.

Together, they carefully wheeled the vehicle out of the workshop and into the open expanse of the valley, the sunlight glinting off its silver, unadorned frame. The machine looked out of place against the rugged landscape—sleek and modern in a world of stone and fire.

“Alright,” Xilonen said, adjusting the controls as she crouched beside it. “We’ll start with the basics. Ground traversal first, then see how it handles some terrain. No flying. No fiery wings yet.”

“Fiery wings later,” Mavuika promised, her grin wide as she watched Xilonen work. She couldn’t help but feel a flicker of pride as Xilonen’s skilled hands adjusted the mechanisms.

“Ready?” Xilonen asked, glancing up at Mavuika.

Mavuika nodded, stepping back and crossing her arms as the machine roared to life.

Xilonen adjusted the rig one last time, her fingers deftly securing the stabilizers and setting the mechanisms into place. The machine hummed faintly, its core glowing with a soft, steady red light. The rig she’d set up would allow the vehicle to accelerate on its own, removing the need for anyone to ride it—just in case.

Her tail twitched nervously as she stepped back, her green eyes fixed on the machine. “I’m scared,” she admitted quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I want it to work. For you.”

Mavuika blinked, her fiery eyes softening as she stepped closer. She placed her hands gently on Xilonen’s shoulders, the warmth of her palms grounding. “Xilonen, you’ve worked so hard on this. We’ve worked so hard on this. If anyone can make it work, it’s you.”

Xilonen glanced up at her, her nerves flickering in her eyes. Mavuika gave her shoulders a reassuring squeeze, her grin steady and confident. “We’ve got this,” she said. “Together.”

Xilonen exhaled slowly, her lips twitching into the faintest of smiles. She nodded, her hands steady as she reached for the final switch. Mavuika moved to her side, their shoulders brushing as they both leaned in to press it together.

The moment the switch flipped, the vehicle roared to life.

The hum of its core deepened into a steady growl, the phlogiston exhaust pipes flaring briefly as it jolted forward. The machine shot off like a streak of silver fire, its wheels kicking up dust as it tore across the open field.

Mavuika let out an exhilarated laugh, her eyes gleaming as she watched it speed away. “It works! You did it!”

Xilonen’s lips curved into a smile, her tail flicking with relief and pride. “It’s working,” she said, her voice soft with wonder.

And then, as the vehicle disappeared over the horizon, her smile faltered. “Wait. Where did it go?”

Mavuika’s laughter stilled, her head tilting as she squinted after the disappearing machine. “Uh… So, how do we stop it?”

Xilonen froze. “I… I didn’t set up a braking mechanism yet.”

Mavuika turned to her, her fiery hair swaying. “You what?”

“I didn’t think we’d need one yet!” Xilonen shot back, her ears flattening. “It’s just a test!”

Before either of them could panic further, a faint crash echoed in the distance.

“Oh no,” Xilonen muttered, her hands flying to her head. “Please tell me it didn’t hit anything important.”

The two of them sprinted toward the sound, their hearts pounding as they followed the trail of dust and faint scorch marks. It didn’t take long to find the vehicle—or what was left of it.

The poor machine was nestled—no, crashed—right into a Tepetilasarus nest, surrounded by startled and very irritated Saurians. The adults hissed protectively as the hatchlings peeked out from behind them.

“Oh no, no, no,” Xilonen groaned, her ears drooping as she slowed to a stop. “This is bad.”

Mavuika raised her hands in surrender, her grin sheepish. “Uh… hey there, big guys. Sorry about the, uh, intrusion.”

Xilonen glared at her, but Mavuika only stepped forward, carefully approaching the nest. “It’s okay,” she said, her tone soft and soothing. “We’re not here to hurt you.”

The Tepetilasaurs eyed them warily, their hisses softening but not ceasing entirely. Xilonen followed Mavuika’s lead, her heart pounding as she crouched to inspect the nest.

“Are they okay?” Mavuika asked, her voice low.

Xilonen nodded, relief flooding her as she saw the hatchlings unharmed. “They’re fine. The nest took most of the hit.”

“Good,” Mavuika said, turning her gaze to the adults. “We’ll fix it. Promise.”

Together, they worked to reconstruct the nest, carefully gathering stones and soft materials to rebuild what had been damaged. Xilonen couldn’t help but mutter under her breath the entire time, her frustration at the situation barely contained.

“This wouldn’t have happened if someone hadn’t distracted me with the idea of fiery wings,” she grumbled, placing another stone in the nest.

Mavuika snorted, her grin never faltering. “Sounds like you’re projecting.”

Xilonen shot her a look but didn’t reply, focusing instead on soothing one of the Tepetilasaurs with a gentle pat.

Once the nest was repaired and the Saurians had calmed, Xilonen stood, brushing dirt off her hands. She turned to Mavuika, her green eyes narrowed. “Next time, we’re adding the braking system first.”

“Agreed,” Mavuika said with a laugh, slinging an arm around Xilonen’s shoulders. “But hey, at least it worked.”

Xilonen rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips. 

“Just admit it, I have great ideas,” Mavuika teased, guiding her back toward the remains of the machine.

Xilonen huffed, but she didn’t pull away. Not this time.

As they walked back to the workshop, the vehicle’s battered frame wobbled on its uneven wheels, leaving faint tracks in the dirt. Xilonen pushed it forward with measured care, her green eyes scanning every creak and groan it made. Mavuika, ever the shadow, stayed close by her side, her usual boundless energy tempered by a quiet attentiveness.

“You okay?” Mavuika asked softly, her fiery gaze flicking to Xilonen.

Xilonen sighed, her tail swaying tiredly behind her. “I will be. Just… a bit drained.”

Mavuika nodded, her hand brushing against Xilonen’s arm as if to reassure her without words. She glanced at the wobbling machine and let out a low chuckle. “It’s still standing. Kind of.”

“Barely,” Xilonen muttered, but the faintest tug of a smile touched her lips. “Wheels are a disaster, alignment’s off, and don’t get me started on the frame. But it didn’t explode.”

Mavuika grinned. “Progress.”

When they reached the workshop, the two of them worked in silence to push the vehicle inside. Once it was parked—crooked and teetering slightly—they both stepped back, surveying the wreckage.

Xilonen let out a deep, exhausted sigh. “I need a nap.”

“Can’t blame you,” Mavuika said, flopping down onto the nearest bench with a groan. She stretched her long arms overhead, the motion lazy and unguarded. “Think I’ll just… collapse here.”

Xilonen raised an eyebrow, her tail flicking as she crossed her arms. “The forge isn’t exactly the most comfortable place.”

Mavuika smirked, her fiery hair catching the warm glow of the workshop lights. “Could say the same for you. You nap everywhere.”

Xilonen huffed, her ears flicking in mild irritation. “I don’t nap everywhere.”

“Sure you don’t,” Mavuika teased, but there was no edge to it, just a fondness that softened her grin. “Anyway… can I join you?”

Xilonen blinked, caught off guard. “Join me?”

Mavuika shrugged, trying for nonchalance but failing to hide the sincerity in her tone. “Yeah. We’ve been working nonstop, and, well… you deserve the rest. And I don’t know, maybe I could use some too.”

Xilonen stared at her for a moment, the corners of her lips twitching as if to smile. She didn’t answer immediately, instead turning toward one of the back cots they kept in the forge for long nights.

“Fine,” she said finally, her voice soft. “But if you snore, I’m kicking you out.”

Mavuika laughed, following her without hesitation. “No promises.”

They settled onto the cot, the small space forcing them closer than either expected. Xilonen curled onto her side, her tail draping lazily over the edge, while Mavuika lay on her back, staring at the workshop ceiling.

For a while, the room was quiet, the hum of the forge their only companion. Then, just as Xilonen’s breathing began to even out, Mavuika spoke, her voice a soft murmur.

“Hey, Xilonen?”

“Mmh?” Xilonen replied, barely awake.

“Thanks for… all of this. Really.”

Xilonen’s lips curved faintly, her words slurred with sleep. “Don’t mention it.”

She shifted, turning over on the narrow cot to face Mavuika. The movement was slight, tentative, like she wasn’t entirely sure why she’d done it. Mavuika felt the shift and turned her head, their gazes meeting in the dim light of the workshop.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Xilonen’s green eyes held a softness Mavuika wasn’t sure she’d seen before, like the edge had been taken off her usual sharpness. The glow of the forge cast faint shadows across her face, but it was her gaze that held Mavuika in place. Steady. Grounding. Warm.

She let out a quiet laugh, her voice almost shy in the stillness. “You’re staring.”

Xilonen’s tail flicked lazily behind her, the faintest sign of embarrassment. But she didn’t look away. “You’re warm,” she murmured, the words slipping out before she could catch them. “Like the sun.”

Mavuika blinked, her grin softening into something more tender. “Oh? Thought you liked basking in the sun.”

Xilonen huffed a quiet laugh, her lips curving just slightly. “Maybe I’ve found something better.”

Mavuika’s chest ached at the words, though she couldn’t quite place why. She shifted, turning onto her side, and their faces were close enough now that she could see the faint gold flecks in Xilonen’s green eyes.

Without thinking, she reached out, her hand settling gently on Xilonen’s waist. The touch wasn’t rushed or teasing, just… steady. Her thumb brushed against the fabric of Xilonen’s shirt, her grin softening further. “C’mere.”

Xilonen hesitated for just a second, her ears flicking as though catching something only she could hear. Then, slowly, she leaned in, tucking herself into Mavuika’s side, her head resting just beneath Mavuika’s chin. Her tail curled lightly around Mavuika’s leg, and the Archon’s arms wrapped around her instinctively.

The quiet hum of the forge filled the room again, but this time, it felt less like a companion and more like a backdrop. The warmth between them eclipsed everything else, the world narrowing to just the two of them.

Xilonen let out a slow, contented sigh, her cheek pressing against Mavuika’s collarbone. “Don’t let me regret this.”

Mavuika smiled, her voice low and teasing. “You won’t.”

For Xilonen, it was like basking in the sun after a storm, the kind of warmth that seeped into your very bones and made you believe, just for a moment, that everything would be okay.

And for Mavuika, it was the realization that she didn’t need to chase the horizon to find her light—it was here, right here, in her arms.

—

The day had started with promise. Xilonen and Mavuika stood side by side in the open valley, the vehicle tethered to a long, reinforced rope. The fiery “wings” arched high, glowing against the bright sky, and the machine hovered with a steady hum.

“It flies,” Mavuika breathed, awe and pride in her voice. “It actually flies.”

Xilonen, holding the rope with both hands and standing braced against the pull, gave her a sideways glance. “Of course it flies. I built it.”

Mavuika grinned, her fiery hair catching the wind. “We built it.”

“Right,” Xilonen muttered, though her lips twitched upward.

The vehicle soared higher, the fire from its wings casting warm flickers of light against the valley walls. It glided, agile and smooth, as the rope strained against the tension.

“Look at that beauty!” Mavuika declared, practically vibrating with excitement. “I told you the wings were a good idea!”

Xilonen huffed. “Don’t celebrate yet. It still needs—”

A sharp crack interrupted her, the sound echoing through the valley. Both their heads snapped toward the rope. The material, stretched taut and glowing faintly from the heat, had started to fray.

“Uh…” Mavuika began, her tone no longer as confident.

Xilonen’s eyes widened. “The rope—oh no.”

With one final snap, the rope gave way, the vehicle launching itself into the sky with all the enthusiasm of an unrestrained firework.

“Runaway—er—Flyaway machine!” Mavuika shouted, shielding her eyes as the vehicle soared off into the distance.

They stood frozen for a moment, watching their creation spiral out of control. The faint sounds of chaos reached them from farther down the valley.

Hours later, Chasca arrived, looking utterly disgruntled and dragging the battered vehicle behind her, a rope attached to its front. She was covered in dust, her feathery hair tangled from the wind. Hat haphazardly tilted on her head. Beside her was a Qucasaurus—its feathers puffed in visible offense—keeping a wary eye on the contraption.

“Do I even want to know?” Chasca asked flatly.

Xilonen and Mavuika exchanged sheepish glances.

Chasca sighed, patting the Qucasaurus as though to reassure it. “You scared the poor thing half to death. It thought it was being attacked by some flaming predator.”

“It’s not a predator,” Mavuika protested, stepping forward and rubbing the back of her neck. “It’s… innovation.”

“Sure,” Chasca muttered, gingerly pushing the vehicle forward. “Take your ‘innovation.’ Just keep it away from the Qucasaurs, or you’ll be in charge of their therapy bills.”

Xilonen winced as she inspected the vehicle’s charred and dented exterior. “We’ll… fix it. Again.”

Chasca raised an eyebrow. “You’re lucky. The Flower-Feather Clan doesn’t usually take kindly to giant flaming things invading our skies.”

“We appreciate your help,” Mavuika said, clasping Chasca’s hand with her signature grin. “And your patience.”

“Patience,” Chasca echoed, narrowing her eyes. “You owe me for this, Archon.”

Mavuika laughed, though it was a little nervous. “Put it on my tab.”

As Chasca made a dramatic exit, Mavuika and Xilonen stood over the smoldering vehicle.

Mavuika placed a hand on her hip, staring at the vehicle with a mix of pride and exasperation. “So… not bad for its first flight?”

Xilonen shot her a look. “Not bad? It nearly caused a diplomatic incident.”

Mavuika grinned, slinging an arm around Xilonen’s shoulders. “Hey, progress, right? Besides, it’s not like the Saurians were mad mad. Just… startled.”

“They were terrified, Mavuika,” Xilonen said, her tail flicking sharply behind her. “And for good reason.”

Mavuika shrugged, feigning innocence. “They’re just protective. I get it. If I had a bunch of adorable little baby Saurians, I’d be just as upset if some weird flaming… thing dropped out of the sky.”

Xilonen sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You’re not helping.”

“I’m just saying,” Mavuika replied, holding her hands up in mock surrender. “We’ll figure this out. No more startled Saurians. No more runaway machine. Just smooth sailing.”

Xilonen arched a brow. “I’m officially nervous to test it on water now.”

Mavuika’s grin softened into something more reassuring. “We’ve got this. Let’s just make sure we don’t overlook anything this time. The last thing we need is a Koholasaur getting curious and… y’know, chewing on it. They’re sweet, but they can be terrifying.”

Xilonen nodded, her expression still thoughtful. “Good point. I don’t think the bike could handle a Koholasaur deciding it was lunch.”

“Exactly. So, let’s reinforce, make it sleek, and totally un-chewable,” Mavuika said, giving Xilonen a playful nudge. “You’re the genius here. I’m just the big-picture gal.”

Xilonen sighed but allowed a faint smile to creep onto her face. “Alright. But no more crazy stunts for now. We’re testing this carefully.”

Mavuika winked. “Careful. Got it.”

—

Xilonen knelt beside the machine, her fingers working nimbly as she adjusted the reinforced hull. The vehicle gleamed faintly under the sunlight, its sleek design now sturdier and, hopefully, ready to take on the water. She glanced toward the edge of the testing area, where Mualani stood with her arms crossed. If there was one person who could keep the testing zone safe, it was her.

“Alright, you stubborn machine,” Xilonen muttered under her breath, tightening one last bolt. “This time, no flying off, no scaring Saurians, and definitely no sinking.”

“Talking to it now? That’s cute.”

Xilonen didn’t bother looking back, but her tail flicked in mild annoyance. “If you’re going to hover, at least make yourself useful, Mavuika.”

“Oh, I can be very useful,” Mavuika teased, crouching down beside her. She rested her chin on her palm, her fiery hair tumbling over her shoulder as she watched Xilonen work. “But it’s so much more fun watching you.”

Xilonen sighed, her hands pausing mid-adjustment. “Why are you like this?”

Mavuika grinned. “Because it’s entertaining. And you make it so easy.”

Shaking her head, Xilonen went back to work, trying to ignore the way Mavuika’s gaze seemed to burn brighter than the sun. She was used to this, wasn’t she? The teasing, the proximity, the way Mavuika always managed to get under her skin. And yet, every time, it felt like a new challenge—one she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to win.

“Seriously, though,” Mavuika said, her voice softening slightly. “You’ve done an amazing job. I mean it.”

Xilonen froze for a moment, her fingers tightening around the wrench. She turned her head just enough to meet Mavuika’s gaze, there was no teasing, no grin—just sincerity.

“Thanks,” Xilonen said quietly, her green eyes flicking back to the vehicle. “But it’s not done yet. There’s still so much that could go wrong.”

“And so much that could go right,” Mavuika countered, her tone as warm as the sun filtering through the trees. “You’re the best at what you do. I know this is going to work.”

Xilonen’s lips quirked into a small smile despite herself. “Flattery won’t get you out of helping clean up when this thing inevitably leaves a mess.”

“Who said I was trying to get out of it?” Mavuika replied, leaning in just slightly, her voice dipping lower. “Maybe I just like spending time with you.”

Xilonen’s breath hitched, her tail stilling as her hand faltered on the wrench. Mavuika was close now, her fiery eyes locked onto hers, and for a moment, the world narrowed to just them.

“Mavuika…” Xilonen began, her voice steadier than she expected.

“Yes, Xilonen?” Mavuika replied, her grin returning but softer this time.

“You’re distracting me.”

“That’s the point,” Mavuika whispered, leaning in just a fraction more.

The sound of Mualani clearing her throat from across the body of water broke the moment. “Hey! Are we testing this thing, or are you two just going to stare at each other all day?”

Xilonen jerked back, her face flushing as she scrambled to finish tightening the bolt. Mavuika, on the other hand, laughed, standing up and giving Mualani a wave.

“We’re almost ready.”

Mualani rolled her eyes but smiled, her stance relaxing as she turned back toward the water. Xilonen muttered something under her breath, focusing intently on her work to avoid meeting Mavuika’s gaze.

Mavuika leaned over one last time, her voice low and teasing. “You’re adorable when you’re flustered, you know that?”

“Let’s go, Mavuika,” Xilonen shot back.

The hum of the vehicle filled the air as Mavuika and Xilonen wheeled it toward the water’s edge. Even the Koholasaurs, lounging in the shallows, lifted their heads to curiously eye the strange contraption. The reinforced tether glinted faintly in the sunlight, firmly secured to ensure there wouldn’t be another runaway incident.

Mualani stood a little farther back, hands on her hips, her bright, curious eyes gleaming with anticipation. “Alright, Archon, let’s see if this thing can actually float without, you know, sinking or flying off.”

Mavuika gave her an exaggerated thumbs-up, her grin as fiery as the vehicle’s core. “You’re about to witness history, Mualani.”

Xilonen, crouched beside the vehicle for a last-minute adjustment, rolled her eyes. “Less theatrics, more focus, Mavuika. Let’s not give the Koholasaurs a new chew toy.”

“Relax,” Mavuika said, nudging her gently with her elbow. “This baby’s going to be perfect.”

Xilonen muttered something under her breath. She stood and gave Mavuika a small nod. “Alright. Start it up.”

The vehicle roared to life, the fire flared out from the back with a soft whoosh of heat. Mavuika carefully guided it into the water, her hand steady on the tether. For a moment, the machine wobbled, the water lapping at its sleek sides.

And then it floated.

“It’s floating!” Mualani exclaimed, clapping her hands together. The Koholasaurs backed away slightly, their large eyes blinking at the sudden motion as the vehicle began to glide across the water.

With a quick adjustment, the wheels shifted outward, stabilizing it for the surface. Mavuika gave the tether a light tug, and the vehicle responded, cutting through the water with speed and ease. It moved smoothly, glowing like an ember streaking across the waves.

“Oh my gosh!” Mualani said, her voice high with excitement. “It’s so fast! Look at it go!”

Xilonen stood a little straighter, her arms crossed, but the faintest of smiles tugged at her lips. “Not bad,” she murmured, more to herself than anyone else.

Mavuika, however, wasn’t holding back. “Yes!” she whooped, throwing her fists in the air. She turned to Xilonen, her grin as wide as the horizon. “We did it! It works!”

Xilonen raised a brow, trying to feign nonchalance. “It’s functional, yes. We’ll need more tests, of course—”

“Stop being modest,” Mavuika interrupted, throwing an arm around her. “You’re brilliant, and you know it.”

Xilonen’s cheeks warmed as she lightly pushed Mavuika away. “Focus on reeling it in before your ‘brilliant’ machine ends up halfway across Natlan.”

With a laugh, Mavuika did just that, tugging the vehicle back toward them. It skimmed the water smoothly before finally settling at the edge, glistening like a silver jewel in the sunlight.

Mualani bounced over, practically vibrating with energy. “That was amazing! I mean, seriously, you have to bring this when we go surfing next. I want to see how it compares to a good old-fashioned wave.”

Mavuika laughed, leaning against the vehicle. “I think this thing might give even you a run for your money, Mualani.”

“Big words, Archon,” Mualani teased. “You better back them up.”

As Mualani rambled on about surfing competitions and the mechanics of speed over water, Mavuika’s eyes drifted back to Xilonen. She was standing a little to the side, running a hand over the vehicle’s hull with a quiet, contemplative smile. There was a lightness to her that Mavuika hadn’t seen before, and it warmed her heart more than any fire ever could.

In the middle of Mualani’s monologue, Mavuika threw Xilonen a sweet, lingering look. It was brief but full of unspoken gratitude, admiration, and something deeper.

Xilonen caught it, tail swishing slightly as she glanced away, pretending to inspect the tether. But the small, shy smile that crossed her lips didn’t go unnoticed.

—

The final test was the most daunting yet: scaling vertical walls.

The cliffs of Tequemecan Valley loomed high above, their jagged edges casting long shadows in the late afternoon sun. The machine sat at the base of the cliff, it's sleek frame reflecting the light as Mavuika adjusted the stabilizer for the climb.

Xilonen stood at the top of the cliff, her arms crossed as she looked down at the scene below. “You sure about this?” she called, her voice carrying easily across the distance.

Mavuika gave her a thumbs-up, her fiery hair catching the sunlight. “Absolutely. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Xilonen groaned, rubbing her temples. “Don’t say things like that. The last thing we need is for it to—”

“It’s okay,” Mavuika interrupted, crouching beside the vehicle. “I’ve triple-checked everything. It’ll be fine.”

“I’ll believe that when it’s at the top and not in pieces,” Xilonen muttered, though her tail flicked with nervous anticipation.

Mavuika grinned as she secured the tether and gave the machine a final once-over. The reinforced wheels had been designed specifically for this—gripping uneven rock and shifting seamlessly to accommodate changes in terrain. She adjusted the ignition and stepped back, her voice steady as she called up to Xilonen.

“Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Xilonen replied, her green eyes narrowing in focus.

Mavuika flipped the switch, and the bike roared to life, its firey ignition flaring briefly before retracting into sleek exhaust pipes. The wheels shifted, expanding slightly for better grip, and the machine launched forward, its powerful core propelling it upward.

The sound grinding stone echoed through the valley as the machine climbed. Its wheels dug into the rock face, gripping with precision as it scaled the cliff at an almost impossible angle.

From her vantage point at the top, Xilonen’s heart raced as she watched the machine ascend. She couldn’t deny the elegance of its design, the way the mechanisms worked in perfect harmony. And yet, her fingers tightened into fists as she silently willed it to stay steady.

“It’s holding!” Mavuika shouted from below, her voice brimming with excitement.

Xilonen didn’t reply, too focused on the bike’s progress as it neared the summit. For a moment, the machine wobbled, its front wheel slipping against a loose patch of rock. Xilonen’s breath hitched, her tail going still.

But it recovered, stabilizing itself before continuing its climb. When it finally crested the top of the cliff, Xilonen let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

“It made it!” Mavuika yelled, her voice echoing up from below. “I told you it’d be fine!”

Xilonen crouched beside the vehicle, inspecting it closely as it came to a halt. The core was stable, the wheels unscathed. She ran her fingers along the hull, her lips curving into a small, relieved smile.

Mavuika appeared moments later, launching herself up the path with her usual boundless energy. “So? What do you think?”

Xilonen stood, brushing off her hands. “It works,” she admitted, her voice soft. “It actually works.”

Mavuika beamed, the kind of smile that could outshine even the sun. “See? I told you we’d get there.”

Xilonen looked at her, the warmth in Mavuika’s gaze stirring something deep inside her. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “We did.”

Mavuika stretched her legs out in front of her, leaning back on her hands as the machine hummed faintly beside them. She tilted her head to catch Xilonen’s profile in the soft, golden light of the sun. It wasn’t fair, Mavuika thought, how effortlessly stunning she looked—like she belonged here, a part of the land itself, woven into its warmth and quiet beauty.

“You’re quiet,” Mavuika said, her voice casual, though the words held a little nudge. “Not like you.”

Xilonen raised a brow, her tail flicking lazily against the rock behind her. “I’m always quiet.”

“No, you’re thoughtful,” Mavuika corrected, grinning. “There’s a difference.”

Xilonen gave her a side glance, her lips twitching faintly at the corners. “I’m just… thinking,” she admitted, her voice softer now.

“About?” Mavuika nudged her shoulder lightly, teasing but not too much. She didn’t want to push too hard—just enough to see that flicker of honesty in Xilonen’s green eyes.

Xilonen hesitated, looking out over the valley, her gaze following the stretch of the cliffs, the shimmer of the distant river catching the light. “Just… everything. This. You. Us.”

“Us?” Mavuika’s tone lifted with interest, the grin widening on her face.

Xilonen turned her head sharply, her ears flattening in annoyance—or maybe embarrassment. “Don’t make it a thing.”

“It’s already a thing,” Mavuika said, leaning closer, her voice dropping into something softer. “And I don’t mind. You can talk to me, you know.”

Xilonen sighed, her shoulders sagging slightly. She looked down at her hands, then back at the vehicle, the machine that had taken weeks—months—of their lives. “I wanted this to work,” she admitted, her words quiet. “Not just for you, or for Natlan. But because… I don’t know. I guess I wanted to prove that I could.”

Mavuika’s grin faded into something gentler, the teasing gone from her tone. “You didn’t have to prove anything to me.”

Xilonen turned her head, her green eyes meeting Mavuika’s, wide and searching. Her tail twitched again, curling slightly. “Mav…You’re everything, you know that?” she murmured, the words escaping before she could think better of them.

Mavuika’s breath hitched, her heart pounding a little harder in her chest. She smiled, small but radiant. “Yeah,” she whispered. “And so are you.”

Xilonen’s ears twitched at the words, but she said nothing, her tail swaying softly behind her. Instead, she turned her gaze back to the machine standing proudly before them. It reflected the sunlight like a polished gem, its sleek design a testament to both their hard work and determination.

“Does it have a name?” Xilonen asked after a moment, her voice quiet but curious.

Mavuika’s grin returned, wide and full of that infectious energy that always seemed to spark something in Xilonen. “Flamestrider.”

Xilonen blinked, rolling the word around in her head. “Flamestrider,” she repeated, testing it like it was one of her creations. “Why?”

Mavuika tilted her head, her gaze drifting toward the horizon. “Because it’s not just a machine. It’s a promise. To always be where I’m needed, as fast as I can get there. To blaze through anything that tries to stop me. It’s a stride forward—for Natlan, for our people.” She paused, her fiery eyes softening. “For us.”

The words lingered in the air between them, and Xilonen felt a warmth rise to her cheeks, though she wasn’t sure if it was from the sunset or Mavuika’s words. She let herself lean against Mavuika’s shoulder, her head resting there lightly, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Flamestrider,” she murmured again, her lips quirking into a small, content smile. “I like it.”

Mavuika’s grin softened into something gentler, her arm slipping around Xilonen’s back as they both stared out over the valley.

“Well, I like you,” Mavuika said softly, her grin taking on that unmistakable mischievous edge that always seemed to get under Xilonen’s skin—and somewhere deeper, though she’d never admit it out loud.

Xilonen turned her head, giving her a pointed look. “You better.”

The playful retort lingered between them, and Mavuika’s grin widened as she shifted slightly, her fiery gaze locking onto Xilonen’s. Her arm tightened ever so gently around Xilonen’s back, pulling her closer.

Xilonen arched an eyebrow, feigning indifference. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Mavuika said innocently, though the way her free hand brushed against Xilonen’s waist told a different story. “Just… enjoying the view.”

“Oh, sure,” Xilonen deadpanned, though her tail twitched behind her, curling in a telltale sign of nerves—or anticipation.

Mavuika leaned in, her voice dropping to a low murmur. “You’re the best view here.”

“Smooth,” Xilonen muttered, but her breath hitched slightly as Mavuika tilted her head, their faces now impossibly close.

For a moment, neither of them moved, the weight of the moment settling between them like the final stroke of a hammer on molten metal. And then, as if pulled by an unspoken force, Mavuika closed the gap, her lips brushing against Xilonen’s in a kiss that was slow, deliberate, and all-consuming.

Xilonen’s resolve crumbled instantly, her hands instinctively finding Mavuika’s shoulders as she kissed back, her usual practicality forgotten in the face of this fiery, overwhelming connection. Mavuika shifted, pulling Xilonen fully into her lap, her arms wrapping securely around her waist as the kiss deepened.

Xilonen let out a small sound of surprise, quickly swallowed by Mavuika’s fervor, her fingers curling against the fabric of Mavuika’s jacket. “Mavuika,” she managed to murmur between kisses, her voice both a protest and a plea.

“Hmm?” Mavuika hummed against her lips, clearly in no hurry to stop.

“Right here?” Xilonen asked, her tone half exasperated, half breathless.

Mavuika chuckled, pulling back just enough to meet her gaze. “Why not? It’s just us, the valley, and…the Flamestrider.”

Xilonen groaned, though her hands didn’t move from Mavuika’s shoulders. “You’re impossible.”

Mavuika grinned, her voice soft but teasing. “You like me anyway.”

Xilonen didn’t respond—not with words, at least. Her lips found Mavuika’s again, this time with more intent, and the rest of the world faded away, leaving nothing but the two of them and the fire they’d finally stopped fighting.

—

The Flamestrider stood as a testament to ingenuity, stubborn determination, and, most importantly, the partnership between the Pyro Archon and her brilliant, begrudging blacksmith. The final design was breathtaking—sleek yet imposing, with every curve and detail echoing power and precision.

The frame was forged in deep crimson steel with golden accents that flickered like embers when the Phlogiston core was active. Its two massive, angular wheels, reinforced with experimental materials, promised unmatched durability and agility across even the roughest terrains. Patterns of flame etched along the body glowed faintly, almost alive, pulsing in rhythm with the core’s energy.

From the back, two exhaust pipes curved upward like the wings of a mighty dragon, releasing bursts of fiery energy whenever the engine roared to life. When in motion, these flames flared outward, forming brilliant, almost ethereal wings that made the vehicle look like it was flying even when grounded.

The cockpit was minimalist yet functional, with handlebars crafted from heat-resistant alloys, fitted with intricate controls for terrain adjustments and speed regulation. The seat, while rugged for stability, held a subtle elegance, ensuring comfort even at top speeds.

Every inch of the Flamestrider spoke of its creators—Mavuika’s relentless drive and flair for the dramatic, and Xilonen’s meticulous craftsmanship and practicality. It was not just a machine; it was a masterpiece, a symbol of their shared effort.

No one had ever seen such a beastly creation with such powerful capabilities before, and word spread quickly. People from across Natlan gathered to witness the unveiling, eager to catch a glimpse of this marvel that would surely redefine their world. Applause erupted as Mavuika proudly presented the Flamestrider, her grin as bright as the flames it wielded.

Thus did the leader who protects Natlan gain yet another guaranteed source of strength.

Mavuika waved off the flattery, her grin turning sheepish. “Alright, alright. Let’s not get carried away now. It’s just a vehicle. A very fast, very fiery vehicle.”

Beside her, Xilonen stood with her arms crossed, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at her lips. She’d let Mavuika take the spotlight—it suited her better, anyway—but her chest swelled with quiet pride as she watched the machine she’d poured so much of herself into roll across the plaza.

As the demonstration continued, Mualani nudged Xilonen and asked why she wasn’t joining Mavuika for the big test ride.

“Oh,” Xilonen said smoothly, her tone so casual it was almost suspicious. “I forgot to make a second helmet.”

The Archon, from atop the Flamestrider, shot her a knowing grin, her voice carrying over the crowd. “Forgot or conveniently neglected to make one?”

Xilonen’s tail flicked behind her, betraying. “It’s not my fault I value my life,” she muttered, though her cheeks flushed.

“Sure,” Mavuika teased as the Flamestrider’s engine roared to life. “You’re just scared I’ll drive circles around you.”

“Scared of the nausea,” Xilonen corrected dryly, though her lips quirked into a reluctant smile.

With a wink, Mavuika sped off, the Flamestrider’s fiery exhaust blazing in her wake. The crowd cheered, their voices rising with excitement as the machine roared through its paces.

And as Xilonen watched from the sidelines, her heart swelled, not with envy or regret, but with a quiet, enduring pride. This was their creation—tribute to what they could achieve together.

Even if, next time, Mavuika did insist on a second helmet.