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When Flins dreams, he dreams of a young man with silver hair and a smile as bright as the sun.

It’s strange because he doesn’t even know his name. Yet Flins dreams of him every night, every time he closes his eyes. Dreams of him in combat, his movements sharp and angular. Dreams of him during the conferences, prepping food and laughing with the other Lightkeepers. Dreams of him standing at Flins’s doorway, hand outstretched towards him, voice soft as he asks, Will you keep me company tonight?

Then Flins would wake up, mouth open, like a fish out of water.

It’s not that he’s never dreamt before; he dreamt plenty before his centuries-long slumber. But he’s never had ones like these. Nothing intense enough to send his projected body hyperventilating. Nothing this wanting.

He slows his breathing and tries to go to sleep. And when he does, he dreams of the mysterious young man again, and again, and again, and again—

He doesn’t formally meet Illuga until a few weeks later.

Flins had been at the Starshyna’s office, having submitted his tedious monstrosity of paperwork. Nikita appears a little worn, like he’s been carrying the fate of Nod-Krai on his back for a while.

“Flins, could I ask for your advice?”

“You need not be so hesitant,” Flins replies. “I am always willing to indulge you with my opinions.”

“Are you familiar with my son? Illuga?”

A foreign name, yet one that tickles the back of Flins’s mind. “The one you rescued from the ashes?”

“He applied to become a Lightkeeper. I am… conflicted on whether I should take him in.”

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out why. Flins reaches for the files in front of Nikita and his gaze lands on the attached photograph.

He startles. It’s the silver-haired man who’s been appearing in his dreams.

“He’s capable of such responsibility,” Nikita continues, oblivious to Flins’s plight. “I know it. But he’s so young. I worry for him.”

Flins closes the file and passes it over to him. “From what I’ve seen, this young man appears to have a plethora of survival skills under his belt. He grew up in Piramida and was raised by you, was he not?”

Nikita pauses. “What are you suggesting, Flins?”

“I’m saying that your perspective is clouded by your relationship with your son. Illuga is clearly capable of joining the Lightkeepers. You have taught him how to fight, how to cook, and how to communicate with others most cordially. He will do well in the Lightkeepers, because you have taught him.” Flins pauses. “If you are still worried, perhaps you can let him join the logistics company instead. As a trial of sorts, a way to gauge his skills before you send him on the field.”

Nikita falls silent. For a brief moment, Flins wonders if he’s said too much.

“That is a wonderful suggestion.” The Starshyna says finally, somewhat dismissively. “Thank you.”

Flins dips his head in farewell. “My pleasure.”

Of course, he hadn’t expected to bump into Illuga on his way out.

He’d been outside of Nikita’s office, muttering under his breath as he paced around in circles. His silver hair is a mess, tangled with the red strands near his neck. He stops suddenly when Flins appears, and turns pinkish with embarrassment.

“I’m not crazy,” is the first thing Illuga says to him.

Flins chuckles and sends his gaze away. “He’s waiting for you inside.”

Illuga bows slightly and rushes past him into the office. Flins stands there for a moment before making his way back to his island.

That night, he dreams of standing on the balcony of his lighthouse. Below him, Illuga dances among the gravestones. Under the shrouded moonlight, he looks ethereal, like something out of this world.

Strictly speaking, Flins doesn’t have to sleep.

He slumbered for years once, a consequence of self-imposed exile. He found a corner of Nod-Krai to find rest in, to stretch his life over an infinite amount of time. Then he is awakened by blood and death, a cruel reminder of the brevity of life. So he lives now, having chosen to abandon his desire for eternity.

Flins should sleep once in a while, though, to regain energy. It also helps to keep up the façade that he’s human. Even if he can’t truly become one, nor imitate them completely, he should still try.

So he sleeps occasionally. He makes sure he doesn’t slumber past eight hours, so that he doesn’t oversleep. It takes a while to get used to, and when he finally makes a habit of it, he starts dreaming.

It didn’t bother him at first. It’s a little disconcerting that he can’t quite control what’s going on in his subconscious, but he learns to accept it. Humans cannot control it either, so why should he try?

But maybe he should figure out if he could. The number of times Illuga appears in his dreams lately is a cause for concern.

Flins doesn’t see much of Illuga in person for a few months after that first encounter. The next time they do speak to each other again, however, it’s during one of the Lightkeeper’s mourning banquets.

During the cup-raising ceremony, Flins slipped out of the hall and into the night. He is more than familiar with the intimacies of grief, and is not yet ready to have to face it again so soon. He isn’t the only one with the dilemma, for he spots Illuga seated by the statue of Solovei the Torchforger.

Flins shouldn’t go to him. He shouldn’t. And yet—

“Fancy seeing you here, Master Illuga,” he greets.

Illuga looks up at him, startled as a jackrabbit. He turns away before Flins could get a good look at his expression.

“I just needed to step out for a bit,” he says quietly. “I don’t mean to be disrespectful.”

It takes Flins a moment to realize that Illuga had said it like an apology, a sort of confession. It takes him another to sit down next to Illuga, who shoots him an inquisitive look.

“I completely understand,” Flins says. “The ceremony can be overwhelming.”

He hears Illuga exhale shakily next to him. They sit in silence for a little longer, before the young master speaks again.

“I didn’t know. For so long, I didn’t know the banquets were funerals. I used to try to sneak into them when I was a kid. I always wondered why I couldn’t hear any singing or laughter. Isn’t that what’s supposed to happen at banquets? Then I officially joined the Lightkeepers, and I was allowed in and… and I understood.”

Flins thinks back to the file in Nikita’s office. The pages that referenced Illuga’s background, how his parents were killed during the large-scale attack on Nasha Town decades ago. How he’d been found and adopted by Nikita not long after, and grew up surrounded by the Lightkeepers. How he mustn’t have understood the soldiers who left forever.

Flins doesn’t think twice before he takes Illuga’s hand. Illuga’s shoulders jump again, startled, but he doesn’t pull away.

“Do not despair,” Flins says. “You may hurt now, and it may never go away, but it will get better.” He pauses. “I should know. I’ve lost much in my lifetime.”

Illuga looks at Flins for a while. Then he brings his hands to his face. Flins sits there with him as he cries his soft little heart out, sobbing for the souls who will never return home. They sit there together until the redness on Illuga’s face fades and Flins escorts him back to the banquet.

Later, Flins will wonder if he should have rubbed Illuga’s shoulder, his back, to provide him more comfort. He probably should have. Instead he just sat there next to him like a fool.

That night, Flins dreams of that quiet moment at the foot of the first Lightkeeper’s statue. He dreams of slipping his fingers between Illuga’s and squeezing their palms together. He dreams of embracing him, pressing his head against his chest, to offer more comfort than he did in the waking world.

Flins wakes up the next morning with a kind of warmth in his chest.

A week or so passes before their next meeting. It’s at Piramida again, but for a more pleasant occasion.

Flins is visiting for his monthly report when he walks by a group of Lightkeepers playing cards together. He doesn’t realize he’d been staring until Illuga waves him over.

“Come join us, Sir Flins.”

Flins is tentative at first. He expected the young master to push him away, to be embarrassed by what happened the evening of the banquet. But Illuga regards him with a smile that compels him to join the Lightkeepers.

“Have you played this before, Flins?” A fellow Lightkeeper Flins knew as Marushkin asks, gesturing to the cards before them.

“I’ve watched a few games,” Flins says, taking a seat. “I can’t say I am an expert.”

“I’m not sure about that,” Illuga says. To the other Lightkeepers, he says, “Dad says he’s a ferocious player.”

“Did he now?” Another Lightkeeper named Rollon booms with laughter. “Well then… Flins, was it? Show us what you’ve got.”

Flins shows them. By the time they’ve played through eleven games, none of the other Lightkeepers have won a single one. Even Illuga was flabbergasted as he watched Flins knock out his opponents one by one.

“I thought you’d only watched a few games!” Another Lightkeeper by the name of Olav exclaims at his sixteenth win.

“I have.” Flins dusts his hands off and prepares to leave. “Well, as much as I would like to stay, I must deliver my report to the Starshyna. He’s been waiting for a while.”

Rollon nearly falls off his seat. “Why didn’t you tell us that before you joined our game?”

Flins returns to the table after dropping off his report, only to find that the Lightkeepers had all but left. The only one who remained was Illuga, flipping through the cards as though trying to parse their secrets.

“I didn’t use any arcane arts to win,” Flins tells him.

Illuga slips off half his seat. “Sir Flins. You need to stop sneaking up on me.”

“I apologize. It is a habit of mine.”

“So I’ve heard. Olav said many of the Lightkeepers think you might be a ghost.”

“I can assure you I’m not.”

Illuga shoots him a smile that sends Flins’s heart backflipping in his chest. Flins places his hand on his shoulder, willing his body to calm down.

“Would you like to play a game with me?”

Flins blinks out of his reverie. “Of cards?”

“I don’t have much to do at the moment.” Illuga throws his gaze out to the distance, where the mountains of Snezhnaya dotted the horizon. They’re tiny, this far away. “And we didn’t get to play against each other.”

“Did you want to see if you could win against me?”

Illuga flushes. “Well, when you put it that way…”

Flins chuckles. “Of course I’ll play a game with you, young master.”

And so they play a few games together. Flins makes sure to slip up a few times, so Illuga can win some rounds. He wonders if Illuga knows what he was doing, but he never brings it up, so Flins keeps doing it. It’s worth the blinding grin on Illuga’s face.

They stop playing after the sun has long since dipped below the horizon. Illuga insists on lending Flins his spare room, despite the latter’s vehement refusal.

“It is improper for me to take residence in your place at such an hour.”

“I can hardly say we’re strangers, Sir Flins. Plus, you would be taking the guest room. There is nothing improper about it.” 

Nothing improper in Illuga’s mind, no. But the dream Flins had not that long ago is at the forefront of his thoughts, as though it had been waiting to resurface at the nearest opportunity of proximity.

Flins contemplates leaving, making a run for it. But some force compels him to say, “I would appreciate it very much.”

That night, he dreams of walking around Illuga’s house. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for until he finds Illuga’s room. The young master is awake, sitting by the edge of the bed. He takes Flins’s arms and pulls him onto the blankets as he whispers, I’ve been waiting for you.

Flins jolts from sleep, his human form practically leaping out of his lantern. The bed catches him, but his faux heart is still raging a thunderstorm in his chest. He lies awake for the rest of the night, lest he dreams of something he can’t come back from.

Flins never had a lover, not really.

He remembers the fleeting glances he would share with the Belyi Tsar, the lingering touches whenever they were close. But Flins knew his place. He was a mere noble in the fae court, nothing more. When the Tsar perished and Flins left his homeland, he buried all thoughts and feelings in the back of his mind and strove to live a life of loneliness. And it worked for him, mostly, until now.

Flins wasn’t sure what changed. Maybe it stems from him living more like a human as the years pass. Humans are known to long for companionship after all.

But some do not require such relationships. Flins hopes to be like them. He doesn’t need a lover, not at all. Especially not one in Illuga. The son of the Starshyna, a young man with a dark past and an even darker future if he continues down this road. Flins knows well the life the Lightkeepers lead. He need not burden Illuga with his presence, not after being partially responsible for leading him to this fate.

Then it’s settled. He will push these dreams to the back of his mind, just as he did with his feelings for the Belyi Tsar. It will be alright.

It will not be alright.

The more incriminating dreams come much, much later.

Nikita knows of Flins’s fae constitution, which means he’s aware of Flins’s lack of need for the typical Lightkeeper supplies. This arrangement works fine, but as the years pass and Flins begins acquainting himself with more Lightkeepers, this fact becomes more difficult to hide.

Especially as Illuga continues to permeate his life.

After their first card game together, after Flins spent the night at his house, Illuga started trailing after him more often. Finding excuses to speak to him whenever Flins visits Piramida to drop off his reports to Nikita. Passing him gifts, whether they’re simple snacks or little trinkets. At one point, he even gifts Flins a shiny stone the size of a fingernail.

“Is this for me?” Flins asks, inspecting the tiny treasure.

“Dad says you collect shiny stuff.” Illuga fidgets where he stands. “I found that while on patrol and thought of you.”

Flins understands what this is. The young master is infatuated with him. It makes Flins feel a little strange inside, although another part of him knows he shouldn’t entertain this.

“Thank you kindly, Young Master.” Flins bends forward into a neat bow. “I appreciate this gift dearly.”

He walks away before Illuga could elaborate further. Let him keep their relationship professional. Nothing needs to come out of this. Flins doesn’t have to admit he wants something out of this.

It works for a little while. Flins keeps his distance. Ensures that his relationship with Illuga is nothing more than the colleagues they are. Maybe Illuga isn’t searching for a more intimate relationship with him. Maybe Flins is reading too much into it, that the young man is just looking for a friend. Regardless, Flins should tread carefully. Always.

Then one day at his lighthouse, he hears someone yelling his name.

“Sir Flins! Are you here?”

Flins peeks over the balcony. The fog is thick tonight, but he can still see Illuga standing between the gravestones, with two crates of supplies behind him.

“May I come in?” Illuga hollers.

You shouldn’t, Flins thinks. Somewhere in the back of his mind he thinks about those forbidden dreams, the ones that cook up a thunderstorm in his chest. His thoughts are like explosives that will trigger at the smallest sign of aggravation.

He allows Illuga in, anyway. He can’t refuse him now, not with the amount of things he brought with him.

Flins finds himself a little self-conscious as Illuga glances around his humble abode. It is echoingly emptier than Illuga’s own home, which is filled with trinkets and picture frames from Nikita and other Lightkeepers and always smells like something is cooking in the kitchen. Flins’s place, in contrast, is barren, with the littlest necessities scattered around, and the occasional shiny stone here and there.

“It’s nice here,” Illuga says. “Minimalistic.”

“Thank you.”

Illuga plops himself onto Flins’s thin mattress and frowns. “Should I ask Dad to send you a better bed, Sir Flins? This can’t be good for your back.”

“The mattress is not an issue for me.” Flins looks away before he can imprint the memory of Illuga sitting on his bed. He, of course, fails. It’s a blessing and a loss when Illuga stands up to wander around.

“Where’s your kitchen?” Illuga runs his hands over the cupboards near the ceiling, over the dusty pantry. “Do you not store food here?”

“I often fish on the coast and cook whatever I find with my pot outside.”

“You don’t have an indoor system? Anything?”

“This place is quite old.” And Flins could eat anything. Even raw fish straight from the sea. He isn’t that picky.

Illuga purses his lips. Despite himself, Flins laughs.

“There is no need to feel bad for me, Master Illuga. I asked for this residence. This lighthouse just happened to be quite decrepit.”

“Still… this can’t be good for you.”

“I assure you, these are prime conditions. It is only lacking in human company, that is all.”

Flins is not sure why he confessed this. He just knows that seeing Illuga’s surprised expression gives him a sort of unwarranted satisfaction.

“Sir Flins, if that is so, I can ask Dad to assign more Lightkeepers here with you—”

“I was not being serious,” Flins says quickly, before any damage could be done. “I am perfectly alright on my own.”

Illuga squints at him. Flins turns away. It is not always comfortable to be watched. To be seen.

“Can you tell me a story?”

Flins blinks at him. “Pardon?”

“A story. Anything.” Illuga returns to sit on Flins’s thin mattress. “You look like someone with many tales to tell.”

Flins sits by Illuga. He winces at the mattress— it is uncomfortably thin. Perhaps he should take Illuga up on his offer for a new one.

“I have plenty of stories. Which do you want to hear about first?”

“Do you have any stories on the Snowland Fae?”

Flins’s gaze practically jumps at Illuga at this. But the young master is absent-mindedly playing with the furs on his coat.

At the silence, Illuga shrugs. “Linnea gifted me a book about them recently, saying I needed to familiarize myself with her people. But it’s a really old book and it was missing a lot of details. Like where did they come from? How important were they to Snezhnaya’s history?”

“I will tell you about them,” Flins says before he can stop himself. “But it will not be a brief tale.”

Illuga leans against the wall behind him and closes his eyes. “Take your time. I’m in no rush.”

So Flins begins with the story of the Belyi Tsar, of his rule. He talks about the Northlands, the original home of the fae. He speaks about the Tsar’s invitation to the fae, how he was willing to let them into his noble court.

Sometimes, Illuga interrupts Flins to ask him clarifying questions. Flins finds these to be endearing rather than a nuisance.

“But what do the fae really do in court? Do they act as the king’s advisors?”

“Some of them act as advisors, others are simply close acquaintances of the king.”

“Do they have any political power in the nation?”

“Most of them, not quite. Others don’t do much but serve the people in any way they can. I— Kyryll the Azure Flame, for instance, was a fae who guided lost adventuring souls.”

It is clear that Illuga wants to learn, wants to internalize this information instead of having it flow out of the other ear. Flins is certain that it will be impossible to push Illuga out of his life now.

“You should go home, Master Illuga,” Flins says after ending his tale on a gruesome battle between the Snowland Fae and the Wild Hunt. “It is now quite late.”

“I was thinking about staying,” Illuga blurts. He clears his throat. “It’s just… as you said, it’s late. It’s risky for me to sail back to Piramida on my own.”

“Unlike your abode, I have no guest room. Where shall you stay?”

“Do you… have a backup mattress?”

“I can sleep on the floor, and you can take my bed.”

“What? I can’t do that.”

“Then you must return home to Piramida. There is no other option.”

Illuga shoots Flins an almost helpless look, but he gives in. Flins follows him to the dock, where he can see the tower of Piramida even among the mist. It’s a little comforting to know that he could see Illuga’s home from his own. He braves a glance at the young master, who is pointedly avoiding his gaze. He looks a little embarrassed. Flins can feel himself soften.

“I enjoyed your company.”

Illuga looks up at Flins.

“I am used to the lack of human companionship on my island. But it is nice to have guests. If you’d like to visit me again, I wouldn’t be opposed to it.”

Illuga smiles at him then. It is bright, much like the lighthouse’s gleam over their head. The mist had disappeared at some point during their stay. Flins can see the moon more clearly in the night sky.

“Can you tell me more stories next time?”

“Of course.”

“I’ll bring you more supplies, too.”

“I don’t think that would be necessary—”

“I insist.”

“Okay.”

Flins stays on the dock when Illuga’s ship departs. He doesn’t move until the ship is completely out of sight.

That night, Flins sleeps on the mattress. His nose catches a whiff of a kind of seasoning, something like warm soup. It takes him a moment to realize it must have been Illuga’s scent, imprinted onto the blankets from where he sat.

In Flins’s dream, he sees Illuga seated on his bed, fully clothed. There’s nothing wrong with it, then. But then Flins moves forward and cups Illuga’s cheeks, tracing his thumb over his bottom lip.

“Flins,” Illuga whispers. The ghost of his breath tickles Flins’s face.

Flins lunges forward and kisses Illuga open-mouthed on the lips.

He startles awake and curses himself. Not again. This isn’t supposed to happen. He isn’t supposed to be dreaming of Illuga like this. Flins ignores the flush rushing through his body, even though he has no blood to speak of. No, even without blood, he could feel himself turning red, turning warm, turning into a man in love.

An easy solution to these dreams would be to not sleep at all. Flins can just spend the rest of his days awake. To avoid the images haunting him at night.

He attempts this, for three days. It doesn’t work as well as he hoped. Flins finds himself drained, his movements slowed. During one incident, his lantern was almost destroyed by a creature of the Wild Hunt sneaking up on him from behind. This has never happened before.

Is he becoming more human? Does that explain the blushing, the dreams, the fatigue? The longing for companionship?

Even so, Flins must be careful. He knows he’s not going to die as easily as other humans will. He will outlive most of his Lightkeeper colleagues. He will outlive Illuga.

Illuga starts visiting him once to twice a week. He doesn’t stay for very long, since the journey from Piramida to the cemetery island is not as close as Flins hoped it were, but it is still frequent enough that he had to raise his eyebrows.

“You need not visit me this often, Master Illuga.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Illuga slaps the crates of supplies behind him. “Plus, you don’t have enough food and necessities here. Really, how are you still alive?”

And so with each visit, Flins’s home flourished. A potted plant finds its way on his windowsill. Frames of a few Lightkeepers decorate his walls. Fancier food fills up his table and fridge. Illuga even helps him to get the indoor kitchen working again, so he wouldn’t have to go downstairs to cook all the time.

The best part about Illuga’s visits, however, is the storytelling sessions.

Illuga brought a couch to lighten up the interior of Flins’s lighthouse, and that is where they often spend these sessions. It is much better than seeing Illuga on his bed, or Flins’s mind would go somewhere… less appropriate.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t counted on Illuga being a touchy person.

“So… what’s the story of this lantern?” Illuga pokes at the lantern by Flins’s waist.

It sends a shiver down his spine, one of anticipation and wanting. Flins clears his throat and sets his lantern on the coffee table as slowly as possible to avoid suspicion. “It’s just an ordinary lantern.”

Illuga squints. “Are you sure? It’s very purple. I don’t think I’ve ever seen something like it.” He hums knowingly. “And it’s the same shade as your hair.”

Flins needs to distract him. “Would you like to hear a tale about it?”

Illuga’s eyebrows jumped. “Yeah?”

Flins spins a tall tale about a warrior faction of the Lightkeepers of the north, who fought with greatswords forged in stone and ice. When he is finished, Illuga stares blankly at him.

“Sir Flins, that contradicts everything you told me before.”

“Who said it was a true story?” Flins chuckles. “Or that everything I’ve said before was true?”

Illuga takes a couple of Flins’s hairs and tugs them lightly. “That better not be the case about the history stuff. Otherwise, my coworkers will find out I’ve been scamming them.”

Flins rubs the back of his head. “You tell them about my stories?”

“Of course I do.” Illuga’s cheeks turn slightly red. “They’re what I always look forward to when I visit.”

Flins pauses, then looks away. He can feel the temperature in the room rise. It’s overwhelming. He doesn’t know what to do with himself.

He feels another tug on his hair. He is about to turn around when Illuga prods his shoulder to keep him in place.

“Don’t move. Let me try something.”

Flins remains still. He feels Illuga separate his hair into three strands, and tugs at them for particular intervals of time. It feels like a massage, and Flins finds himself nodding off.

“Sir Flins.” Illuga wakes him up by whispering into his ear.

He blinks awake. For a moment, he thinks he’s still dreaming. Illuga’s smiling again, that bright white-toothed smile akin to the sun, as he holds a braid of lavender hair in his hands.

“Look,” he says.

Flins procures the mirror Illuga brought for him and admires the braid hanging from the back of his head. It’s ridiculously neat, each segment carefully woven into another. His stomach does a flip.

“Who taught you how to do this?” Flins asks.

“Linnea,” Illuga says. “She says it’s a skill I should practice, just in case. I’m not sure what to use it for, until I saw your hair.” He swallows. “I thought you’d like it.”

Flins can’t believe he is awake. This isn’t something that just happens to him in reality. He feels like a child who’s just been gifted a pile of sweets.

“Thank you,” he says. “I adore it.”

The joy on Illuga’s face can fuel his flames forever.

His dreams have begun reflecting his desires more wantonly as of late.

It’s different from his original dreams, which are often snapshots of Illuga’s lives with other people, most of which Flins’s subconscious completely made up. But now that he’s gotten to know Illuga more personally, and having spent more time with him, the dreams have become extended scenes of the time they spent together.

There are dreams of Illuga lying on his lap as Flins weaves an epic tale of the Snezhnayan warriors. There are dreams of them eating together, a mix of Flins’s simple cooking and Illuga’s elaborate dishes. There are dreams of Flins and Illuga lying on the mattress, tracing lines on each other’s skin.

When Flins wakes up, he does not harbor shame as easily as he used to. On days Illuga doesn’t visit, he hurries to sleep, praying to the gods that he can see him in his dreams.

At some point, Illuga starts sending him letters.

Despite his promises to visit Flins often, Lightkeeper work inevitably got in the way. It doesn’t despair Flins as much as he thought it would. After all, it was a unique kind of joy to open his mailbox and see a letter from Illuga sitting there, waiting for him. Soon, it became the highlight of his day.

He would read the letters as he fished, sorted through his paperwork, or rearranged his shiny rock collection. Illuga writes about anything and everything. There is no rhyme or reason to the contents of his letters. That is perhaps what he loves about receiving them. Flins has no idea what to expect.

Dear Flins. I am writing to you from the coast of Hiisi Island. Dad says he wants us to spread the message that the Lightkeepers are looking for recruits. Isn’t that a little ridiculous? Why would members of the Frostmoon Scions join us? Don’t tell him I said this, but I think Dad’s going a little crazy.

Dear Flins. I am writing to you to inform you of the ambrosia that is Lakkaberry Krumkakes. We’re visiting the Clink-Clank Krumkake Craftshop to restock on supplies, and there’s this robot lady who offered to make some for us. They’re really really good! I’ll ask her for the recipe and I’ll make some for you so you can try them.

Dear Flins. Dad promoted me to the investigation squad! It’s called the Nightmare Orioles. It’s only been a year since I joined the Lightkeepers, but he trusts me so much. If I’m being honest, I’m a little afraid of disappointing him. I hope I can keep up.

Flins can’t always write back to him. But he tries to set aside a certain time of the day to write, even if he never finishes. Mostly, he lies on his new thick mattress, a gift from Illuga, and reads them again and again, until he has their contents memorized.

There’s one of Flins’s dreams of Illuga that recurs, no matter what he does or thinks about in the day.

In this dream, Illuga visits while a thunderstorm rages on the island. Flins takes him into the lighthouse for shelter. In the dream, he is nervous with anticipation, as if waiting for Illuga to make the first move. But instead, Illuga sits by the window, watching the weather rage outside.

“Come join me, Flins,” he’d say.

And Flins would join him. He’d sit on the other end of the windowsill, watching the rain slam against the graveyards below. It’s peaceful, in a weird inverse way. Then Illuga would take Flins’s hand in his, and request:

“Dance with me.”

And Flins would indulge him, because of course he does, because this was Illuga. They’d dance around Flins’s tiny room, where his bedroom and kitchen are barely distinguished from one another, careful not to bump into anything. They’d dance until the rain disappears, until sunlight shines through the windows again. Then Illuga would take Flins’s cheek in his hand.

“There’s nothing to be sad about anymore, Sir Flins,” Illuga says with a smile. “I’m here.”

Flins wakes up silent.

There’s nothing he can do anymore. It’s too late. He’s in love, deeply so.

It doesn’t mean he knows what to do about it.

Illuga finally comes around to visit. He’s grown a bit since they last saw each other. His bangs have now reached his cheekbones. Flins is overpowered by the urge to brush them away. He wonders if Illuga would let him, one day.

“Will you please continue that story on the northern Lightkeepers?”

“Of course.”

It’s a pleasant day. The sun is out for once at Flins’s gloomy lighthouse, and so they sit out near the cooking pot and enjoy the breeze. In the distance, they can see the moonglow fireflies bobbing up and down, and the birds hopping around the grass together. 

Illuga leans against Flins’s shoulder where they sit on the bench. Flins bites his lip and decides not to object, praying that Illuga cannot sense the turmoil under his skin. To distract himself, he tells the story, goes on and on about the politics of the Nod-Krai of the past.

Regardless, there’s something different in the air. Flins can tell. He can tell because Illuga’s hands have returned to his hair, threading them into a braid once again. He can tell because Illuga’s legs have slowly folded up on the seat, and are now draped over Flins’s thighs. He can tell because Illuga’s eyes keep flitting to Flins’s mouth, something burning in his gaze.

Flins can’t focus on his tale anymore. He clears his throat.

“Young Master.”

“Yeah?” There was something mischievous in his tone. “What is it?”

“May I ask you to cease what… what you are doing? I can’t quite focus on the story, and I would like you to listen to its entirety before it gets dark.”

“What am I doing?”

Flins takes hold of Illuga’s wrists. “Toying with me.”

“Toying with you?”

There’s anger there, suddenly. Flins blinks, perplexed.

“I apologize. Have I said something wrong?”

Illuga swings his legs to the side and stands up. Flins feels the loss of warmth immediately. The young master began to pace around the table, his fingers tapping incessantly on his sides.

“Master Ill—”

“Stop.” Illuga raises his finger at Flins. “Stop it.”

Flins obeys. He keeps staring at Illuga until he finally looks at him. When he does, his expression is complicated.

“I don’t understand you,” Illuga says. “You keep looking at me like you expect something from me. Like you want me. But there are other times where… you keep pushing me away, and I don’t know why. It’s confusing, Sir Flins. I don’t know what you want, or what you want me to do.”

Oh, how Flins wishes to tell him the truth. How much he wants Illuga to go with him up into his lighthouse, to invite him to his bed, to kiss him until daylight comes. But Flins keeps thinking back to the black fires that run around the Nod-Krai islands, keeping everyone in a constant state of terror. He keeps thinking about the Lightkeepers buried around his cemetery, their lives lost to a cause greater than them. He keeps thinking about Illuga’s excitement about being promoted to the investigation squad, and his own life flickering in the purple lantern from his waist. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Master Illuga.” Flins ensures his tone is calm and cool.

Illuga stares. Flins wishes he wouldn’t do that. It makes him feel as though he were being undressed.

“I can’t believe it.” Illuga runs his hand through his hair again and turns away. Flins hears a sniffle and is reminded of that day during the banquet. “You… really. You have no idea what I’m talking about? Are we going to play this game?”

Flins remains silent.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?”

Flins closes his eyes. His heart burns to leap out of his chest, to have him rush forward and pull Illuga close to him. The urge to be with him forever is overwhelming, consuming him from the inside. But he says nothing.

Illuga lunges forward. Flins raises his arms to defend, but Illuga grabs his chin instead. Traces his gloved finger along his jawline. Illuga’s breath ghosts his bottom lip and Flins feels like he might erupt into flames. But even then, even after all that, he says nothing.

Illuga pulls back. He isn’t looking at Flins anymore.

“Goodbye, Sir Flins.” He says. “Please don’t wait for me.”

He walks away, leaving a desolation in his wake. Flins can’t do anything but watch him walk away. It’s as if something were keeping him frozen.

The sun has long gone, replaced by a dark cloud. Soon it will rain. The moonglow fireflies will disappear, and the birds will go into hiding. And unlike in Flins’s dreams, Illuga won’t be there to keep him company through the dark.

Flins places his hand on his hair. His braid had untangled itself.

Illuga keeps his word. A few weeks pass, and he doesn’t show up at Flins’s lighthouse. The letters don’t come either, even as Flins pesters the poor mailman about them. Flins ends up spending all his waking moments on the balcony, staring off at the towering structure in the distance that is Piramida.

When Flins dreams now, it’s all about losing Illuga.

Illuga, falling through a ravine. Illuga, lost at sea. Illuga, drowned by the Wild Hunt, his throat crushed and his limbs broken. Illuga, dead on Lightkeeper duty, because of him, all because of him.

Even when Flins jumps after him, reaches for him, he will never catch him. Illuga will always slip through his fingers. And he will wake up in his bed in the lighthouse, all alone.

When Flins finally visits Piramida, he immediately visits Illuga’s house. He knocks on the door several times, but an answer never comes.

“You haven’t heard?” Dragana, a Lightkeeper tending to Illuga’s flowerbeds, asks. “Illuga and his squad have been sent over to Kipumaki Cliff. They’re settling on the base near there, since it’s known for high Wild Hunt activity. I don’t think he’ll be back in a while.”

“I see,” Flins says, unable to quench the unease in his chest. “Thank you for this information.”

There is nothing to do but visit the Starshyna, as was his original duty in the first place. Nikita seems to sense that Flins has been up to something, because he shoots him an inquisitive look when Flins practically slams the paperwork on the desk.

“I assume things aren’t going well, Sir Flins?”

Flins can’t look at Nikita. He’s seen that expression before. It reminds him so fondly of Illuga that it hurts.

“Not quite so well, no.”

Nikita hums. “Would you like to have a drink with me?”

Flins has nothing better to do, so he accepts the offer. They sip their Fire-Water as they watch the dancing fires, casting long shadows in the hall.

“I sent Illuga to set up Cliffwatch Camp,” Nikita says. “He was the one who insisted I do so.”

Flins busies himself with his glass. “Is that so?”

“He is very fond of you, you know.”

The ghost of Illuga’s tug on his scalp cuts through him like a knife. “I… am aware of this fact.”

“Does he know that you are equally so?”

Flins looks up from his glass. Nikita has a knowing, almost triumphant look on his face.

“It seems my instincts have not failed me yet.”

“Please do not misunderstand. I have no ill intentions towards him.”

Nikita guffaws. “You wouldn’t be drinking with me if I thought you did.”

It is a comforting thought to end on, so Flins continues sipping his drink. They listen to the crackling fires until Nikita speaks up again.

“Have you talked to him about it?”

“To some extent.” Although Flins isn’t sure if their fight counted as one.

“Do I have to assign you to Cliffwatch Camp for this conversation to happen?”

Flins shifts uncomfortably. “There is no need to take such drastic measures. I don’t think the young master would appreciate that.”

“Perhaps a push is what you two need.” Nikita drains the rest of his Fire-Water and sets the glass aside. “You know what it’s like for people in our profession. If you find something that makes you happy, hold onto it tight and don’t let go. You may be a Fae, but the end of your lifetime will come for you soon, too, won’t it? So why not pursue the things you love while you still have life to live?”

Flins stares at his drink. When he doesn’t respond, Nikita waves at him.

“Leave my office. Gather your wits and go to Cliffwatch Camp.” He pauses. “And maybe bring a gift with you. He’ll be a little less mad then.”

The night before he sets out to see Illuga, Flins dreams of the Belyi Tsar.

He’s at the Zapolyarny Palace again. It’s been so long since he walked through its marble hallways. His memories of this place are blurred in this dream— he can no longer see the faces on the hanging portraits, nor the details of the frieze decorating the top of the walls.

But when he sees the Tsar, he recognizes him immediately, even if he can’t make out his features.

“Your Majesty.” Flins bows before his feet. “It is an honor to be invited to your gala.”

“Kyryll Chudomirovich Flins.” The Tsar’s voice has long been worn and old. “Welcome.”

Flins sits by him, watching as the other nobles from the court wander into the ballroom and greet the Tsar formally. From his periphery, he could see the Tsar sneaking glances at him. As if waiting for something.

“Am I bothering you, your Majesty?” Flins asks, ensuring to keep his eyes down.

“You are not,” the Tsar answers, and continues to greet the guests. “You are a pleasure to have around, Kyryll.”

The warmth begins in Flins’s chest and spreads through the rest of his body. “That is a delight to hear.”

Flins continue to stand by the Tsar’s side. The ruler continues to sneak glances at him. It keeps going until Flins’s patience reaches a breaking point, and he asks the Tsar what he wants.

“There is no need to be so afraid, Kyryll.”

Flins blinks. “What are you referring to, your Majesty?”

The Tsar stares straight at him. This man has been dead for a long time, but Flins’s dream has cleared enough that he can see his light blue eyes, glowing like moons.

“For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve never adopted a companion. Why is that?”

Flins shrugs, forcing himself to keep looking at the Tsar, even if he feels like all he wants to do is return to his lantern. “I’ve never desired one.”

“I do not think that is the case. You are always so distant from the other fae. Do they not excite you?”

“They are mere colleagues.”

“And I?”

“You are the Tsar. I must obey your requests.”

“I see. Our relationship is much too professional, it seems.”

Flins waits for the Tsar to elaborate, but he doesn’t. Instead, he says:

“When you do finally meet someone with whom you desire companionship, you mustn’t fear to pursue it. It is a beautiful gift after all, to love someone.”

It’s been so long. The body of the Tsar has begun to fade, along with the rest of the dream. Flins reaches out to him.

“I miss you,” Flins says. The confession hangs in the air.

He can’t see the Tsar’s face. But maybe he’s smiling, granting Flins a final goodbye.

Flins doesn’t know if this is a memory from long ago or something his subconscious completely made up, influenced by Nikita’s words. But it gives him the courage he needs, all the same.

Kipumaki Cliff is under attack when Flins arrives.

The Lightkeeper camp, thankfully, appears to be in one piece. But the Wild Hunt presses against the frontlines, threatening to break through their barriers.

“Flins!” Ivar hollers at him from behind. Rollon is fighting the Wild Hunt behind him, and he waves at Flins. “Thank the gods you’re here!”

Flins makes quick work of the Wild Hunt around the perimeter. When he is done, he finds Ivar and Rollon, and upon seeing them he asks, “Where is Illuga?”

“The captain went ahead into the cliff with Marushkin and Olav,” Rollon explains. “He told us to stay behind, but—”

“Which way?” Flins demands.

“Sir Flins—”

“Which way did they go?”

“They’re too far away,” Ivar interrupts. “You can’t catch up to them now, it’s too dangerous.”

“I am capable of taking care of myself. Please tell me where they went.”

They eventually show him the way, and Flins takes off immediately. He barely encounters the Wild Hunt, but he can feel the air pushing heavily on him as he marches up the cliff. As he ventures on, he finds himself praying to the gods, to the departed soul of the Belyi Tsar, for Illuga to be safe, more than anything.

Flins had no idea how long he had been running for. But he makes it to the top of the cliff eventually. Here, the Abyssal energy is overwhelming enough that his limbs feel like they’ve been liquefied. There is still no sign of Illuga.

Then, a shout. Flins turns to see Illuga directing Aedon towards the Wild Hunt. He trips while avoiding his opponents’ attacks, nearly falling off the edge to his death. It is not so different from his dreams where Flins sees him die a million times.

It will not happen in reality. The flames in Flins’s lantern jump over the distance before he can, so that to onlookers he appears to have teleported. He catches Illuga in time and dodges the Wild Hunt with ease.

“Sir Flins?” Illuga’s tone is undecipherable.

“I’m here,” Flins says. He tries to smile, but he is filled with fury. He sets Illuga aside and raises his own spear. “I will fight by your side.”

Illuga doesn’t respond, but Flins knows he didn’t imagine the small smile that flitted over his face. They jump into the battle again, weapons waving.

After two gruesome hours, they manage to chase the Wild Hunt away. Illuga’s legs give out, but Flins is there to catch him. He feels the young master shake where he breathes against his chest.

“The others. They didn’t— they—”

“I know. I know.”

“I couldn’t save them. I tried. I really tried.”

“I know you did.” Flins brushes the hair from Illuga’s eyes. “You tried your best.”

Illuga sniffles. This time, when he cries, Flins kisses his cheeks, so that his tears are wiped away.

Cliffwatch Camp is uninhabitable for now, thanks to the heightened Abyssal energies after the attack. The Lightkeepers of the Nightmare Orioles have mostly perished, save for Illuga and a heavily injured Ivar.

Despite his more than healthy state, Nikita insists that Illuga rest in Piramida for several days and bans him from leaving the house. It’s a lonely endeavor, so Nikita also reassigns Flins to live in Piramida for a bit, to keep the young master entertained.

It’s difficult sometimes. The incident was a constant in Illuga’s mind, and more than once Flins finds him sitting by the side of the window, staring into the distance where Kipumaki Cliff is. Sometimes, he would lose his appetite, and Flins would have to spoon-feed him despite the protests. Sometimes, he would burst into tears, and Flins would stay by his side, running his hands through his hair in hopes it would soothe him.

It’s difficult, but Flins isn’t going to leave Illuga’s side, not this time.

After a week— mostly in part to Flins’s passionate insistence— Nikita allows Illuga to leave the house, by which Flins takes the opportunity to walk around Piramida finding gifts for him. When they finally return home, Illuga’s arms are overflowing with presents, a fact that makes him quite sheepish.

“Sir Flins, you really didn’t have to get me all of this.”

“Nonsense,” Flins says as he holds the door open for him. “You deserve it all.”

Flins thinks he saw Illuga’s cheeks turn pink, but the young master disappears into his room so quickly he must have imagined it. When he reemerges, he immediately slips into the kitchen. The smell of fresh onions wafts through the air not long after.

“Master Illuga,” Flins tuts disapprovingly as he peers after him, where Illuga fusses over a pot of soup. “You should let me perform the domestic duties. Your father may have let you leave the house for now, but you are still recovering.”

Illuga raises an eyebrow. “Did you forget that he’s also my dad and is therefore biased?”

“I see you’ve entered your rebellious phase.”

“That’s not—” Illuga sighs. “Fine. Just let me finish heating this soup.”

Flins hadn’t expected Illuga to give in so easily. “I was merely messing with you. I trust that you are fit enough to make your own soup, young master.”

Illuga flushes. “I see.” He coughs and busies himself with the flames.

Flins contributes instead by prepping the table, setting up two bowls and soup spoons. Illuga appears with the boiling pot and a ladle, already preparing to distribute the soup. As they take their seats, Flins thinks about how he should pretend to eat. His lantern is by his side. Perhaps his flames can covertly dive into his soup.

Just as he is about to attempt this, Illuga speaks.

“You came all the way to Cliffwatch to see me.”

Flins looks up. Illuga’s gaze is fixed on his soup as he stirs it. He doesn’t take a bite.

They’ve been silent about the matter at Flins’s lighthouse despite the time they spent together. Flins could feel his skin buzz with anticipation. They were finally going to have this conversation.

“I did.”

Illuga meets his gaze. There’s something sad about it, almost vulnerable.

“After I told you not to wait for me?”

“I wanted to see you.” Flins swallows. “I wanted— would like— to tell you, Master Illuga, that I—”

He can’t find his words. This is new. He feels himself turning pink again, despite the lack of the mechanics for it.

Illuga frowns at him. “You’re blushing, Sir Flins.”

Flins coughs. “So I am.”

“Do you need something to drink?”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

Illuga continues to look at him. It’s too much.

“Young Master, I won’t be able to gather my thoughts if you keep looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

Illuga knows what he’s doing. Flins can see him smile a little.

It appears that Flins has no other choice.

He stands up, walks over to Illuga’s side, and places his hands on the chair behind him, so that his arms frame Illuga and trap him in place.

The young master’s eyes widen as Flins looms over him. “Sir Flins, what are you—”

“You’re a little red yourself, Master Illuga,” he says. He hadn’t intended it, but his voice is slightly deeper as he says this.

“Well… you’re really close.”

“I wanted to say that I have great affection for you, and I would like to know if you feel the same way.”

Illuga blinks at him. “Really. You have great affection for me.”

“Well, yes. I thought that much was clear.”

Illuga folds his arms. “You know, I don’t believe you.”

Flins clears his throat. It appears he must spell this out. And so he does.

“I dream of you. I’ve been dreaming of you before we met. My soul longs for you when you are not here, and when you are, I long to be by your side. I know that I have been unclear about my affections, and let me tell you now that it has nothing to do with you, but rather my own blunders.” Flins reaches out to push the hair out of Illuga’s eyes. He really should get his bangs cut. “I would like to spend my life with you, if you would permit that.”

Illuga’s face is so crimson now that Flins could feel the heat radiating off his cheeks. The young master turns his head to the side, insistently avoiding Flins’s gaze.

“What in Kuutar’s name are you saying? You need to be more specific, Sir Flins. Maybe with something more direct.”

He’s blushing like a maniac, but he’s smiling like one too.

“I see,” Flins says, realizing he’s being toyed with. “You leave me no choice.”

Illuga’s lips part in preparation of a question when Flins interrupts him with a kiss. Flins has never done this before outside his dreams, so he isn’t sure what he should be doing. But when he pulls away, Illuga is blushing all the way to the tip of his ears.

“That was—” He coughs. “I—”

“Not what you expected?” Flins asks.

“That was so brief,” Illuga snaps.

Flins is taken aback. He laughs, throwing his head back. Illuga tugs at his collar, unable to hide his embarrassment.

“I’m not trying to be greedy here! I just think that you’re— you should have—”

“Did you enjoy it, young master?”

Flins can’t help but tease him. Illuga hangs his head and continues to tug at Flins’s collar.

“I do. I want you to do it again.”

Flins laughs. “Of course. Neither of us is in a hurry after all.”

So the next time he kisses Illuga, he takes it slow. He savors this moment, reminding himself that this isn’t a dream anymore, but his reality.

“Sir Flins?”

“Yes, Master Illuga.”

“You’re not… human, are you?”

“What gave you the impression?”

“The night you saved me, you moved so fast, I thought— for a second I thought I saw— I thought you were—”

“Well, you’re quite correct about that. I am not human. In fact, I am a vampire.”

“…Really.”

“I jest. Would you like to hear more stories about Kyryll the Azure Flame?”

“I don’t see why not. He sounds like a fascinating character.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

When Flins dreams, he still dreams of Illuga and his silver hair and shining smile.

Sometimes, the dreams make his skin flush, wake him in the middle of the night feeling a little melancholic and empty. Other times, the dreams make his heart race and his palms sweat, and he wakes up fighting the urge to find Illuga and ensure that he is safe, to confirm that his dreams are nothing but false premonitions.

Most times, however, he dreams of an endless plain of flowers stretching far beyond the horizon. In the middle, Illuga sits with a crown of winter iceleas on his head. When he turns around, his joy is so apparent that Flins can’t help but smile back at him.

“Join me, Sir Flins.”

And Flins will join him, weaving wreathes out of the flowers in the field. Somewhere behind him, the sun shines over them like a protective halo, a witness to their love.