Chapter Text
Fire Spirit stands alone at the edge of Dragon’s Valley, heat rolling off the stone beneath his feet, flames restless in his hair. He’s been pacing, which is saying something, because he doesn’t pace, ever. Fire doesn’t second-guess itself. It moves forward, consumes, and burns. Yet here he is, tracing the same stretch of scorched rock again and again, fingers flexing, unflexing, like the Valley itself might offer its guardian answers if he keeps walking long enough.
Today, he finally fesses up; the feeling has been there far too long – quiet at first, then steady, then blooming into something impossible to ignore. Since the day they first met, millennia ago, wind cornering flame with a sharp glare and pointed bow and arrow, yet a hint of curiosity rested in those emerald eyes. Fire Spirit has burned through plains, watched ages turn to ash, and still– still– Wind Archer is the one thing that has never stopped catching his heart.
He exhales, long and slow, and holds out his hand. A messenger bird forms from ember and ash, wings tracing themselves into being with careful precision. The flame guardian hesitates, just a moment, thumb hovering where the message will set. Don’t overthink it, he tells himself. Just ask him to come. You’re good at asking. You’re terrible at waiting.
The message is simple. Almost painfully so.
Meet me in the Dragon’s Valley. I want to show you something.
He sends the bird on its way with a flick of his wrist. It launches skyward, cutting through the heated air toward the Maze Grove, a streak of gold vanishing into the distance.
Five seconds go by, which he counts, before Fire Spirit spirals. “Okay,” he mutters to himself, running a hand through his flaming hair. “That’s done. That’s good. That was normal.” The Valley rumbles softly beneath him, like it’s listening. He paces again, trying not to think about everything that could go wrong. Wind Archer saying no. Wind Archer not understanding. Wind Archer smiling that gentle, distant smile and calling him a friend like it won’t absolutely ruin him–
The flame guardian stops, pressing his palms to his eyes, and takes a deep breath in. You are Fire Spirit Cookie, he reminds himself. Guardian of the Eternal Flame. You do not fear rejection. The thought does nothing.
He straightens, shakes out his hands, and forces the flames in his hair to settle, dimming them deliberately. “Get it together,” he says aloud. “You’re not burning down the forest. You’re just…talking.” Talking to the wind guardian. Easy, fine, it’s totally manageable. He looks toward the horizon, where the sun is already beginning its slow descent, and lets himself hope – just a little – that tonight might finally be the night he says the words he’s been carrying for a thousand years. He won’t lose himself because of it.
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Fire Spirit is still staring toward the horizon, arms crossed, jaw set like he’s bracing himself for impact. You’ve fought the lizards, he tells himself. You’ve stared down the end of ages. You can handle one conversation. The Valley hums beneath him, heat rolling up from the stone, lava rivers sighing in the distance. He doesn’t hear the shift in the air behind him – the way the wind curls, familiar and light, threading itself through the scorched rock.
He does hear the arrow.
It slices cleanly through the air, close enough that it ruffles the flames of his hair as it passes, a sharp whisper of wind and metal and intention. Fire Spirit jolts, flames flaring instinctively– only for the arrow to arc smoothly around him, loop once like it’s laughing, and zip neatly back into a waiting quiver. The flame guardian turns, already scowling, and stops.
Wind Archer stands a short distance away, bow lowered, expression infuriatingly calm. The wind coils lazily at his heels, smug as ever, as if it had planned the whole thing.
“…You know,” Fire Spirit says slowly, one hand pressed to his chest, “for someone who embodies serenity, you are an absolute menace.”
The archer’s mouth curves, just barely. “You were not answering your summons.”
“I was thinking.”
“That explains it,” Wind Archer replies, stepping closer, eyes bright. “Your flames always get a mess when you overthink.”
The flame guardian snorts despite himself, tension cracking like old basalt. “Next time, just say hello, Windy.”
Tilting his head, the archer’s mouth cracks a smirk. “Where is the fun in that?”
With gales settling between them, warm air meeting cool, Fire Spirit feels his resolve steady – not because the nerves are gone, but because Wind Archer is here. Suddenly, that feels like enough to begin with. “Come on,” he says, softer than he means to. He turns before he can second-guess himself, trusting the other guardian to follow. He does, footsteps falling easily into place beside the flame guardian as the Dragon’s Valley opens up around them.
It’s loud by nature: lava rivers sighing, heat shimmering in the air, the distant rumble of something ancient and awake beneath the stone. Fire Spirit threads them away from the main paths, guiding Wind Archer past scorched rock softened by time, toward a place he’s kept quiet, untouched by the Valley’s usual fury.
They reach a high overlook where the stone is warm but steady beneath their feet, the heat here gentled, almost welcoming. When the archer starts to speak, the flame guardian lifts a hand. “Sit,” he says – not commanding, just certain.
Wind Archer raises a brow but complies, settling beside him as Fire Spirit lowers himself to the stone. The heat here is gentle, almost comforting, like the Valley itself has decided to behave.
The sun begins its descent. Crimson bleeds into the sky first, deep and molten, followed by bright oranges that catch in the haze like flame in glass. Yellows linger at the horizon, thinning slowly, stubbornly, until they finally give in and fade. The wind guardian watches it without moving.
Watching him, the fire in the flame guardian’s core steadies, dimming to something careful as Wind Archer’s eyes reflect the sky – reds and golds caught in green, the wind around him still as if the world itself is listening.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, reverent, eyes never leaving the horizon.
Fire Spirit swallows silently. Not as beautiful as you are. The thought rises unbidden, dangerous in its honesty. He lets it burn, contained, locked behind his ribs where it can’t hurt anything. He says nothing, only shifts a little closer, shoulder brushing the archer’s, offering warmth instead of words.
He knows Fire Spirit is watching him. Not in the casual way one guardian watches another, not with curiosity or passing interest, but with something that lingers, something that weighs it. Wind Archer has felt it before, caught himself turning his head just a fraction too late, finding the flame guardian’s gaze already there. Waiting and warm.
If he is the honest cookie that he claims to be, he would have returned it long before.
The realization didn’t come all at once. It crept in slowly, like dawn through the Maze Grove. A pull he couldn’t name, a sense of rightness in Fire Spirit’s presence that quieted the wind without asking. Confusion, at first, and then something softer. Something frightening in its gentleness.
He spoke to Millennial Tree about it. The ancient divine guardian listened without interruption, leaves whispering as time shifted around them. When the archer finally fell silent, unsure how to frame feelings that didn’t belong to storms or skies, Millennial Tree only smiled – patient and knowing. Love, he had called it. Not a force to command, not a duty to bear, but a choice. Something learned. Something shared.
Wind Archer doesn’t understand all of it. Mortal bonds were…strange, brief, fragile in ways the wind is not. However, he understands enough to know this: whatever this feeling is, it is not something he wants to face alone. He wants to try, learn it, with Fire Spirit.
The thought settles in his chest, calm and certain, as the sun slips lower and the Valley glows around them. Wind Archer exhales softly, finally turning his head just enough to meet Fire Spirit’s gaze.
The wind stirs around them again, gentle this time. Not as a retreat, but as an invitation.
Inhaling to steady himself, the flame guardian opens his mouth. “This place,” he starts, gesturing vaguely toward the horizon, the Valley, the sky, everything. “I thought you should see it because I— because it’s—” He stops, because Wind Archer has turned fully toward him now. Up close, it’s worse– Better? Devastating. The fire in Fire Spirit’s chest stutters, heat pulling inward instead of flaring out as he meets the archer’s eyes properly – emerald catching maroon, calm threading with something unmistakably intentional. The words he’s carried for millennia scatter like ash.
“I,” he tries again, quieter. “I just—” Nothing comes out. The pull between them is sudden and undeniable, magnetic in a way that has nothing to do with flame or wind and everything to do with choice. Fire Spirit doesn’t remember moving, only that the space between them is shrinking, breath warming breath, the world narrowing down to this one fragile moment.
The wind guardian doesn’t pull away. If anything, he leans in – just slightly, just enough. With their foreheads brushing, the flame guardian hesitates there – suspended, giving the other time. An out. A breath. Wind Archer doesn’t take it.
Their lips meet; it’s soft, careful even. A question more than a statement – but the answer is there, clear and steady, as the archer kisses him back. Fire Spirit exhales shakily, fire blooming warm and bright beneath his ribs, not consuming, not wild – just alive.
The Valley hums as the sun slips below the horizon. For the first time in a thousand years, the flame guardian doesn’t have to say the words. They’re already there, shared in the quiet space where flame and wind finally stop circling and come to rest.
Fire Spirit pulls back first – and immediately regrets it. His curls are fully aflame now, embers dancing through them like they’ve lost all sense of decorum, heat blooming unchecked across his cheeks. He laughs, breathless and a little stunned, like he’s just tripped over joy and doesn’t know where to put it.
“Okay,” he blurts, absolutely failing at composure as he looks away. “Okay, wow. That– I– did you– because I’ve been–”
Wind Archer chuckles, low and fond, the sound tugging something warm and dangerous loose in Fire Spirit’s chest. “You’re glowing,” he says, amused.
“Rude,” Fire Spirit replies weakly. “I’m having a moment.”
The other guardian doesn’t tease him further. Instead, he reaches up, fingers cool and steady, and cups the flaming cookie’s face in one hand. The contrast – cool wind against hot flame, calm against sparks – grounds him instantly. Fire Spirit goes quiet, eyes widening just a fraction. Before he can say anything else, Wind Archer pulls him back in.
The second kiss is different. There’s no hesitation this time, no question hanging between them. It’s deeper, surer, as the flame guardian melts into it with a soft sound he doesn’t bother hiding. His hands find the wind guardian’s waist as if they’ve always known where to go, heat settling instead of flaring, fire finally understanding its purpose.
In that kiss, questions answer themselves.
This is real. I want this. I choose you.
Words they never spoke aloud – never needed to – pass between them anyway, carried in breath and warmth and the gentle press of lips that know where they belong. When they finally part, Fire Spirit rests his forehead against Wind Archer’s, careful of the other’s gem, smiling so hard it almost hurts.
“…So,” he murmurs, curls still aglow with flame, “just to be clear – this isn’t you just messing with me, right?”
The wind guardian smiles back, serene and certain. “No, my flame,” he says softly. “My heart is yours for eternity. Just make sure you do your duties.”
Fire Spirit laughs again – bright, giddy, and utterly undone in a good way – and leans in for one more kiss, just because now he can.