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“I’ve never taken you on a date.”
Pollux spoke before they truly registered the words. Heat rushed to their ears; they slammed their mouth shut, willing away the fluster. They knew about their awful habit of speaking before thinking. Seems, even with their curse managed and memories regained, they still couldn’t hold their tongue.
It never disturbed their former benefactor – quite the opposite. Shamura always knew when to listen, and when to speak. Such gorgeous wisdom: it was one of the reasons Pollux fell for them, centuries ago.
Across the blanket, nestled under the olive tree’s shadows, Shamura returned from their mind. They placed a finger on their book to mark their last sentence. From their cleansed skull sprouted a purple rose: confirmation of their concern. “Sorry, what did you say?”
The shame swelled, but Pollux couldn’t back out now. “I... should take you on a date.”
A summer breeze stirred, drifting along the rose. “Why would you take me on a date?”
“Wha-?” Pollux caught themself, “Cause you’re my fiancée. Cause I want to.”
Cause I’m in love with you, Pollux almost said, but an embarrassed heat clogged their throat and forced the phrase to fade. The two had only returned from the Parallel Gateway’s Purgatory a mere week ago. Best not to overwhelm their recovered deity with too many declarations of love.
A simple date would do for now, even if said simplicity stung.
If Shamura seemed flattered by the invitation, they did not show it. “Dates are a mortal pastime: a scheduled moment for shortened lifespans, often to fulfill one’s need for sustenance, social interaction, and procreant relations. They serve no purpose for a god.”
The words pierced like ancient venom. “Do you really think that?”
“Do you think otherwise?”
“Well, yeah.” Pollux snatched a grape from their forgotten bowl and rolled it between their fingers, trying to squeeze an antidote from it. “A date would give us a chance to be alone. To see new places and do new things, to be proper partners.”
Damned nerves. They forced Pollux’s chin downward, hiding their flush. “It’d give us a chance to do everything we wanted to do when...”
“... When I hailed as the Bishop of War, and you acted as my Vessel.”
Now they've got it. Pollux peeked up, gaze light on their partner, to find Shamura sharing their same timid expression. It was cute on them, the way their pedipalps hid their cheeks to hide their veil of cobwebs, now lit with a rosy hue.
But then Shamura sighed, trailing their finger along their novel. They drew silk down its crease and closed the book atop its mark. “There was much you wanted to do with me.”
“And much you wanted to do with me.”
Shamura breathed a laugh. “We are still godly, Pollux. You bear the Violet Crown, and War resides in my ring. Mortal activities are not ours to indulge in.”
“Like hell they're not."
That almost broke Shamura’s composure. They stared ahead, eyes wide with astonishment – their signature, bewildered awe.
Well, when they were looking at Pollux like that...
“We’re getting married, Mura. That started as a mortal tradition. And we’ve got warm sheets to sleep in, and bruises from our training sessions, and – and this-!” Pollux held their grape out, “We’re eating! Gods don’t need to eat, yet here we are, sharing lunch!”
The knowledge passed. This fresh era was all that remained. They both knew it; Pollux could feel it in the breath between them, young and alive.
“So surely,” they hummed, “you can let me take you on a proper date.”
It was nervewrecking, the way Shamura traced their face, studying them like an oracle. But Pollux let them, for they had bared their heart, loud and true, and saw no need to hide.
Finally, Shamura surrendered, granting a smile. “When should I be ready?”
Victory. “Sundown. Yeah, yeah! I’ll-“ Pollux scrambled, shoving the bowl out of their lap, tripping as they stood. “I’ll plan it now! You! Just! Stay here! And don’t watch me! Cause I need it to be a surprise!”
Panicked as they were, they could not fret for long, for Shamura’s gentle laugh bounced shortly after. “I look forward to it, Pollux!”
The hours passed in a blur of old maps, fresh clothes, very much expected chastising from Castor (“You’re going on your first date? Aren’t you two engaged?”), and the assembly of a final, scattered plan for a romantic evening out. It wasn’t much on paper, and it probably wouldn’t be much in practice. If a follower suggested such a stroll, Pollux would recoil in offense.
But it suited Shamura’s tastes. And for them, Pollux would do anything.
The sun met a distant horizon, bleeding crimson into violet. Pollux approached Shamura’s home with their heartbeat in their throat. Hopefully, none of their neighboring siblings would hear it.
They raised their hand to knock-
...
... Should they knock?
They, well, yeah, they should knock, but how many times? How fast? Too hasty, and they could seem nervous, but too slow could make them look uncaring. Which was absurd, Pollux cared about this date more than any sermon or meeting. They pulled their hand back, tugging at the furs around their neck. This cloak was the only garment covering their upper body, but even with the evening’s breeze on their chest, they still boiled in the heat of unease.
Four times should be enough. Yeah. Just four casual knocks. Pollux lifted their hand to the door, knuckles inches from its stance, and-
It slid open with a quiet creak. Red eyes peeked from the interior’s darkness, then fell. “Hello, Pollux.”
Blood froze. Pollux retracted their hand in rigid, broken movements.
They should say something. Anything.
“... Hi.”
Anything but that.
“Shamura, this, well,” Pollux forced their hand down, resisting the urge to hide it in their pocket. “Hi. Or, hello. How are you?”
Pollux expected a sly remark, or, perhaps, something proper. But Shamura’s stare only flickered, dancing across the grass as they sank further into their home’s shadows. “... I am quite nervous, too.”
The words shouldn’t sound as pleasing as they did. Pollux eased, shoulders falling from their chin.
Slender fingers curled around the door, and slowly, Shamura opened it and flowed outside. Instead of their usual black robes, they wore shrouds of white silk held by silver finery. It poured over them like moonlight, trailing their long limbs in relaxed grace, lending them plenty of space to climb comfortably.
Oh, great hells. They were... they were...
“Kallamar suggested I wear white." Shamura hid their cheek behind their hand, only to inadvertently display their engagement ring. “He insisted it was a leisurely color, suitable for an uncomplicated date.”
Hardly. Pollux recalled their first encounter with the Tailor and its stylists, whose thoughts berated them for the entire three hours of their visit. “Why would The Goat commission so many white outfits? Don’t they know how quickly they stain? We save these for special occasions for a reason!”
Weddings were one of those special occasions. Kallamar knew that. That slimy little squid was probably cooped up in his home, pondering his scheme while cackling like a madman.
“You didn’t, Mura, I know...” Pollux was stuttering again. They squeezed their hands, forcing a string of coherent thoughts. “You look good. It suits you.”
“You look quite well yourself.” Shamura stepped further outside. Jewels rattled along their silk, curled like their crescent sigil. “So, what did you have planned for our date?”
Dusk faded to night, but Pollux and Shamura found peace in it, slipping through Silk Cradle like stars through their sky. The caverns were long abandoned: Castor’s first crusades eradicated most of the Old Faith, and any remaining heretics fell to Pollux’s blade years later. None dared to dwell in the dark, leaving the new God of Conquest alone with their lover.
It felt like a tryst, almost. It felt familiar.
Pollux forced their focus on the moon instead. With or without them, those damned memories always caused a problem.
“We’re close,” they whispered. “Bet you recognize where we are, huh?”
A word waited on Shamura’s lips. They scanned the trees, the cliffs, the violet skies. “... No.”
“Really?”
“Much has changed.” Shamura let their eyes fall to Pollux again. Not once did their hand squeeze or slacken: it slid through their lover’s like a thread through its needle, as it was meant to. “Even so, I... Where are you taking me?”
Oh, this was perfect. Pollux could surprise Wisdom itself.
They tugged on Shamura’s hand, surging to a strut. “Just follow me.”
Walls of stone climbed and fell. Downward slopes ran through ravines. They trailed deeper, deeper still, into the ancient history of forgotten gods. Pollux never truly understood it, and yet, they held this wonder-
Until Shamura lurched.
They morphed their ring into its signature spear and threw it towards a distant clatter. Pollux didn’t see the revived skeleton until after it was struck, collapsing around the blade in its splintered neck.
Shamura raised their hand and the spear returned, melding as a tear back into its ring. “Where are you taking me?”’
Pollux spared a frown at the cluster of bones. “Nowhere dangerous. Probably.”
“Probably.”
“Not dangerous for us.” They held their hand for Shamura to retake. Their fingers met; Shamura’s ring greeted them with renewed warmth. “Guess it makes sense that skeletons are here. Should’ve seen this coming...”
“Why is that?” asked Shamura. “It is rare for the deceased to revitalize. There must be several bodies – each too ancient to wake, but too restless to settle. Battlegrounds commonly hosted the phenomenon.”
Fog rolled along the grimly grass. In its veil waited the outskirts of their destination: Pollux could see it through the murk, stabbing straight through coiled vines.
“Burial sites could conjure them as well.” Behind, Shamura was still muttering, more to themself than to Pollux. “Though, they must be special. Sacred. Favored by the divine, forged from...”
Their words trailed. Standing before the warring couple, stifled in secrets, was a wrought iron fence. It pierced the heavens with rusted metal yet hid behind overgrown ivy.
Pollux pressed against the front gate, wincing at its metallic creak. “It’s not much, but it reminded me of you. Even back then.”
The ring grew warmer. Shamura’s stark eyes glowed against the haze.
“You can leave the skeletons to me,” continued Pollux, “but if you want to leave at any point, we’ll go. I’ll-“
“Leave?” Something surged in Shamura’s spirit; they raced with it, zipping through the gate the second it opened. “Is this... is this what...”
Suddenly, they stopped, releasing Pollux’s hand to raise their own. War glowed on their finger; they summoned it, casting a deep purple light that sparked and spread like fireflies. Glints of purple bounced in the mist. Dark gray faded at its flare.
And finally, they could see it: a stretching graveyard and its holy cathedral. With Shamura’s light, it almost looked alive again.
A sudden squirm lurched through Pollux’s stomach. Now that they were looking at it, it wasn’t the most romantic option for a date. “Honestly, I don’t know what this place is, or why it even reminded me of you. I was kinda...” Infatuated. “Distracted. You were on my mind a lot when we were in Silk Cradle.”
Shamura remained silent. The past rolled like ancient fog.
“Uh, but Cas didn’t have any books on it, so I just kinda gave up.” That was true, for the most part. Secretly, Pollux wondered what their former benefactor knew of the crypt, hoping their memories would answer for them.
But Shamura only watched the cemetery as if it were unravelling before them. Something fresh danced in their eyes: impatient curiosity. “You truly do not know where we are?”
The squirm curled like an illness. “No... No. I don’t.”
“But this is, it has to...” They froze; a flurry of irises bloomed from their skull. “I remember – yes, I-!”
They released Pollux’s hand, found the nearest grave, and kneeled to it. “Born of blood, youth of sky... And that name: common only among the children of the earth.” Then they stood and rushed to the next tomb, unbothered by the dewdrops dampening their robes. “A poet and her love. And, did they have any… ? Yes! A daughter! She rests here, beside them. See?”
Pollux crept closer, hooves scraping along the cobblestone, only for Shamura to rush to another headstone. “Oh, but if my theory is correct… it is! The closer one rests to the temple, the higher they were in the hierarchy! This man: a disciple. And his daughter was a scholar. But the matriarch of the household... Ah. A soldier. Fitting for us to see this.”
Finally, Pollux met Shamura’s side again. They lingered by the tomb and read its faded verbiage.
Rhemo
Born of blood. Youth of sky.
Soldier. Fell to the blade of They of Might.
May duty keep you far from home.
Pride lapped at their heart. Part of them wanted to smirk with it, but that last line-
“Pollux!” A sudden tightness grabbed Pollux’s shoulders. They jumped to it, finding Shamura right in front of them, grinning ear to ear. “Do you see it now? Do you know where we are?”
“Uh, no, but...” Their face was so close. Pollux tried not to stare.
But Shamura only came closer, far too comfortable with the lack of space between them. “You brought us to The Necropolis!” Shamura whipped their head up, gasping at the graves. “I spent centuries of my godly reign searching for this place. And here it is. Here it is.”
So, perhaps a visit to an ancient graveyard had been the right move after all. Maybe Pollux didn’t suck at dating.
That didn’t stop them from catching Shamura’s words. “The Necropolis? Isn’t a necropolis just... any big graveyard?”
“By definition, yes, but The Necropolis differs from ordinary memorials.” Finally, Shamura released their skin-tight grip, only to guide a hand towards the towering temple. “Have you recognized that architecture anywhere else?”
Beyond their hand, large, concrete arches bent to the sky. Each brick climbed over the other as enemies would in a battlefield. Ornate columns rose to the moon, far fewer and flashier than the ones Shamura built for their sacred sites.
Pollux saw it as one would see an old friend. “Not... I mean... It’s not unfamiliar.”
“You have no idea what to think, do you?”
A sigh. “Nope.”
Shamura only giggled, fangs poking out of their lips. “I took inspiration from what few establishments remained from the Bellicose Galvar.” Pollux opened their mouth to speak when- “Ah, apologies. He was one of the First Ones I slaughtered during the creation of my crown. That must have been... six? Seven millennia ago?”
The title struck. “He was a First One?”
“Indeed. And quite the troublesome foe.” They turned again to the temple, surveying its front. “Those claw marks on the centered gable must have been his. Or... no, those are too small, and I doubt he would visit a grave like this so frequently... perhaps one of his fledglings?”
The claw marks, in question, were large enough to gouge the front corner of the roof entirely, leaving nothing but gaping slashes in its wake. “You sure a fledgling made that?”
“Well, only two survived the initial brawl, and I killed them before either matured fully. But if not them, who else could it be...?”
They said it far too simply. What must have been one of history’s bloodiest brawls lived in Shamura’s memory as ordinary recollection. It sent a fresh flush of fervor through Pollux’s chest.
They acted on it. “Wanna go in?”
The glint on Shamura’s lips was far too mischievous.
They met the temple’s hollow arch with surging nerves in their ears. Sultry smog clogged their senses, drowning the air in violet mystery. Moonlight poured through it, combing its fingers along broken walls, tracing ruptured bricks and rising foliage like a mother would her child.
What an odd conglomeration: a union of life and death. Something War could only dream of.
Pollux scanned the scene, now grateful for their heavy cloak. “Who was the Bellicose Galvar?”
For a long moment, Shamura did not answer. “... Galvar was his name. He earned the title from his crown. War earned its malice from him.”
On their head, the Violet Crown buzzed. Pollux ignored it. “So, he was cruel?”
“Quite. As most First Ones were.”
A breeze drove through the shattered windows, whistling in the wind. “I thought most of them were just, kinda, brainless. That’s what Cas said.”
“Brainless and bellicose.” Shamura huffed a laugh. “I wonder, what is the difference?”
The words faded like ancient curses. Pollux knew better than to pry.
At the back of the temple waited a mural, carved in stone as one would carve legends. Straight lines and square faces lingered on the wall, each etched from short, harsh cuts. No names met their eyes; few faces stood out.
“This must be their family tree,” whispered Shamura.
“You sure?” Pollux grazed one of the lines, following as it trailed from one fractured face to another. Moss and murk coated their fingers. “Looks more like a bracket for tournaments.”
“... To Galvar, there was no difference.”
A chill seeped. Pollux lifted their chin, watching the glow of their crown illuminate their lover.
“He had multiple broods,” they started, “each with a different, powerful acolyte. They bore his children. They raised them proudly.”
Shamura lifted a hand to the stone. They traced each portrait as one would calm an egg.
Yet when they spoke, no heart found their voice. Either that, or they shunned such softness. “Then Galvar would send them to their deaths.”
Right. Fables like this never ended well. “He made an army with his own children. Can’t say I’m surprised.”
“No. Not an army.”
That made Pollux halt. Their arms crossed their chest, loose but attentive.
“Each child was a test. Each sibling was a guide. Each wife was...” Shamura forced their eyes shut. “... He did not marry. Marriage started as a mortal tradition.”
Not as something the First Ones indulged in. Pollux wanted to take their hand, to soothe the ring on Shamura’s finger.
“He built a hallowed nest,” continued Shamura, “and guided them to its branches. His was a brood worthy of only the strongest. It was a finite title; First Ones hungered, and resources were scarce.”
Gods did not hunger, Pollux wanted to think, until a warm pulse on their brow reminded them otherwise. The crowns were a melded mass of other crowns – other godly beings. Only after centuries of feasting did their appetites dwindle.
Each demolished portrait told its story. Pollux skimmed their way to the final two victors: the fledglings Shamura referred to earlier. “Looks like he had sixty-four chicks. That’s... I mean, I can't judge, but you gotta be just a little fucked in the head to make all your kids kill each other.”
To that, Shamura remained silent.
“Good thing you took him out,” started Pollux, “... right?”
“Murdering him, feasting on his flesh, imbibing his crown into my own, it – it was not enough.” Something frantic surged in their eyes, terrified beyond containment. “I still loathed him. His heartlessness. His apathy. His-” a shuddering breath, “his devotion to victory.”
Yellow bloomed on their skull, pointed with thorns. Pollux watched the sick color twist in a rabid, maddening dance.
Shamura confessed it as a sin. “I envied it.”
The words were a noose, thick and lethal. Pollux forced themself to breathe through their sound.
“I knew my burdens. My heart. My family. I knew the First Ones had no such worry.” Yellow petals wilted and died. Their mind changed as quickly as their words. “To not feel. To not love. To not grieve, and grieve, and grieve.”
Leshy’s wild camellias. Heket’s buoyant mushrooms. Kallamar’s thick seaweed. They unraveled, unconditional and unbounded.
“But what is the purpose of infinite life, if not its love? What is grief, if not love’s absence?” Their hand curled on the stone, and finally, their brother’s dark roses sprouted on their skull. “I cannot believe I was so callous. So shortsighted.”
With the roses came their onslaught of thorns. Cobwebs split at the pricks; an old wound threatened to open. “Such cruelty is what slaughtered the First Ones – no, no, what tore my own family apart. I loved him. My bro- my… Such love was imprudent – I believed, but the fear, the fear of it – and I envied, I envied...”
A sob choked through their whispers, familiar and true. “I should have loved him through it. I made my choice to love. To grieve. We all did. And we should have stood by it, should have spoken, should have... how dare I envy such a vile thing-”
Rage unfurled on their skull. They could not feel the vines burrowing through or sense each web as it split. Pollux couldn’t heal them like this. The thorns were growing too fast, and Shamura spoke so restlessly, and their voice, great hells, the pain in their voice, the ache in their throat-
Free them. Pollux knew their duty.
“Shamura.”
The name caught. Shamura found them through their thorns like moonlight through clouds.
“Do you trust me?” asked Pollux, low and steady.
Their plea was a mournful whisper. “More than myself.”
“Then step behind.” Pollux let the fumes of their crown act as a guide. Shamura followed the light, tongue caught in their teeth.
Like this, Pollux could see the mural fully. What an ugly thing it was, forged by the fray, lacking the art of care. “This god never loved. That’s why he sent his children to the battlefield, and why he didn’t want his mortal soldiers to return home. Isn’t it?”
Shamura did not blink. Such an act would sentence them to something worse than death.
But Pollux had paid that price, would pay it forever, for grief would always be worth the bliss of love.
They rose – paused – burned. Violet smoke curled in their palm, forming into the handle of a hammer. Weight fell forward. Rage powered through it.
They slammed the hammer into the mural, crushing the only portrait that captured Galvar. Stone shattered at the force. It did not break, but the fractures it left behind needed only a strike to fully collapse.
“A loveless faith." Pollux hoisted the hammer up and rested its weight on their shoulder. “We’re not gonna tolerate that anymore.”
We’re. The word hitched in Shamura’s breath.
“Cas and I grieved, bled, and loved far too much to let this remain.” They gestured again to the mural, now damaged by their hammer’s might. “So have you.”
An understanding washed over them. Shamura’s face stilled; thorns wilted to fickle stems. “I am only here because Fate granted me a second chance.”
They wanted to act. To fight. To flourish in the imprudence of love. Pollux could see it in the slight twitch on their arms, the rush in their eyes.
Thank the heavens Pollux found Shamura, of all gods. No other being could make them fall this hard.
“Then use your second chance to the fullest,” they said, “and love the way a mortal would.”
It was all the permission Shamura needed. They made up their mind at once, raising their arm to summon their spear. Pollux grinned at the fury in their fingers, the zeal in their heart.
Shamura struck the crevice of Galvar’s ruptured portrait. It pierced the stone, shattering its structure, cracking it until stone slabs flew away.
They pulled their blade back and did it again. And again. And again and again until they lost themself to the frenzy, screaming wordless rage at a god long dead. A spear was far from the best weapon for demolition, but purpose be damned – Shamura was going to destroy this mural no matter what it took.
Pollux chuckled at their resolve and hoisted the hammer back up. Whatever pieces Shamura broke off, they would find, and pummel them until all that remained were dusty memories.
Ten minutes passed before Shamura finally stopped. They stabbed their spear into the wall one last time, gasping in the frigid fog. Sweat dripped from their brow. Hands slid along their weapon.
A broken laugh cracked through. “This, hah... I doubt this is how mortals court their partners.”
"Think I care? Wrecking shit’s more my style anyway.” Pollux watched their hammer morph into a crown, letting it glide to rest between their horns. “They- Oh, Mura, your skull.”
“The webs are falling apart, aren’t they?” Shamura lifted their hands and- “Ah, as I thought. I should not have grown such a temper.”
Pollux was already reaching for their wound. “Let me heal it for you. Might take a while, though.”
“Then we shall rest.” Shamura skimmed the broken ceiling, finding a hole along the roof that crawled to the walls. “Best to cleanse our wounds in a comfortable environment.”
The hole Shamura found was the perfect place to weave a hammock of silk. It swayed along the roof, gliding between splintered panels and fractured bricks, to dwell in the moonlight as a crescent companion. Shamura, being the faster of the two, finished their construction right as Pollux reached it. “You did tell me you were a great climber. Now I can finally see it in practice."
“Oh, I did, didn’t I?” Pollux cringed at the memories: a wise god and their wild vessel, both so stuck on flirting yet unable to even touch. Now, all Pollux had to do to earn affection was crawl into a silk hammock. “C’mere. Let me see you.”
Instantly, Shamura fell to them, resting on their side to face Pollux fully. They tangled their limbs in Pollux’s, splayed their hands across their bodies, and tilted their skull towards their lover’s chin. Such lack of subtlety; Pollux chuckled at it, pressing a quick kiss to the bone, then lifted a charmed hand.
Healing godly wounds never felt so intimate. Legs did not weave, nor did hearts beat together - yet here they were, closer than Fate ever let them be. Pollux traced their fingers along Shamura’s skull, watching cobwebs string together, binding fragments of broken skulls in thick lines of silk. The warmth of their pacified curse bled through their touch. Shamura hummed at it: a beautiful sound, murmured and carefree. Their hands roamed along Pollux’s cashmere with tender familiarity.
“Can’t believe you remember that,” Pollux finally whispered.
“Remember what?”
“When I told you I was a good climber, all those years ago,” Pollux spoke softly against the webs, careful not to taint them. “Do you remember when... Did you think I looked good in your stole? You never answered-“
“Yes.”
Healing halted. Pollux peeked down at Shamura, who suddenly buried themself in the crook of their neck. Their breath was warm against Pollux’s cashmere, teeming with life. “Though, that is, well... you spoke with quite the tone. Pursuing what most would never dare to glance at.”
A foolish sight to avoid, truly - Shamura carried the beauty of the night itself, sharp as the moon and peaceful as the sky. Fixated, Pollux resumed their healing, watching Shamura thrive under their palm. "My kiddish flirting worked. Great hells."
They let the silence settle, skimming their fingers along Shamura’s skull to heal the rest of their wound. Shamura’s body laxed under their own; something Pollux tried not to focus on. But how long had they waited for this? Shamura’s hands on their cashmere, bodies flush against each other, limbs entangled in a mess of comfort - how long did they yearn for this? How many nights passed, visited by dreams of distant desire, to finally-
“I love you.”
...
How long had they waited to hear those words?
Shamura rose, rested their head across from Pollux's, and did not hide their smile. “Did you think I was incapable of saying it?”
“No, no! Just-“ Pollux tried to conceal their shock, but failed pathetically. “I just know you’re cautious about that. About, love, and stuff.”
“And I am done with being cautious.” Shamura took Pollux’s hand from the top of their skull, and with a swift breath, kissed along their ring finger. “The absence of love leads to the absence of civilization. But a hesitation of love creates even greater tragedies. I see that now. I see that, because of you.
“No more. No more destruction. No more waiting." Their red eyes seemed softer in the moonlight, deep like roses. "I want to love completely, powerfully, the way you and your gorgeous mortality taught me to."
Pollux's ears burned again, whether from inhibition or infatuation, they did not know. Nor did they care.
“I want to love with everything I am.” Shamura's eyes fell to their lips: a fervid, fleeting glance. “May I do that, Pollux? May I love you?”
Their wish was answered eons ago.
“Please. Please, Shamura, I-“ Pollux nearly choked on their desperation. “I love you, too. I’ve loved you for centuries. Even when I forgot you, I loved you.”
A sound escaped Shamura, clear and hopeful. Pollux grinned at it, tilting just the slightest when Shamura moved to cradle their cheek. Fingertips pressed against the back of their head, sliding between strands of cashmere, to hold their face in its entirety.
It was one thing to feel this touch as a memory. It was another for Pollux to lean into it, to press their lips against the softness of Shamura's, to know what they shared was real. These fictions were no longer a craving. Now, Pollux could draw them in, could feel the way their hand scratched at their scalp, could breathe their life through a conscious kiss.
What a gorgeous thing, that treasured life. This was the life they brought, the love they found, the sacred sense that would make their fight with grief worth every turmoil.
Pollux parted, languidly, to savor the sigh that slipped from Shamura. They opened their eyes to a waking dream. "I still love you. And I'm always going to."
The promise lingered. Shamura eased into it, staring ahead through lidded eyes, answering the oath like second nature. "I will love you, Pollux. Until the end of our days, and beyond."
They spent the rest of the night like that, limbs intertwined, hearts unbound. Stories passed with lazy kisses, trailing until the dusk lulled them into peaceful slumber.
But unlike nights centuries prior, Pollux did not wake in solitude. Distant birdsong bounced like morning dew, flitting their eyes open with gentle stirring. In their arms waited Shamura, still sealed in sleep, breathing gently in the inch between them.
Their healed skull grew a bouquet of hope.
Overnight, Shamura's wound cleansed, sprouting flower after flower along their body. Irises grew again, now paired with dainty lavender herbs. No thorns pried their way, yet white and purple roses bloomed, spelling their love for all to see. It sent a dizzy spell through Pollux's heart.
No more waiting, as Shamura said. Pollux leaned closer and pressed a kiss to their nose, then closed their eyes and drifted off in their arms.
They made their vow together, souls entangled, spirits alive. This, Pollux swore, would remain the love they dreamed of - the life they would fight for, until the end of timeless mortality.