Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Lance’s day started off just as it always had. Mundane — precisely the way he liked it. Among his on-going research, his duties to the great Republic of Ferngill, and his hard earned glory amongst the First Slash Clan, he liked his mornings to be full of absolutely nothing, apart from a quaint, menial routine that he took his sweet time with. His slow starting days were one of the few luxuries that Lance could manage to allow himself.

His solitary watchtower home in the highlands was impervious to the sudden, sweltering heat of that unseasonably warm Spring 1, and for that, Lance was grateful. Magic held the dark tower’s bricks together, magic kept the blue candle flames flickering, and magic kept both sides of his pillow cool — so he stayed in bed for a little while longer, before begrudgingly rolling out of it.

As Lance delved into his early morning workout that followed a large, protein packed breakfast, nothing could convince him that his life wasn’t ideal — nothing, until the scroll appeared on his desk. The scroll that would alter his whole existence as he knew it.

Slowly, he unrolled it, fixing his sight on the ink splotched script in the top right corner, glowing faint blue with magic.

‘Lance
A matter of great importance has just fallen into our clutches
You’ll rearrange your schedule to be stationed on Ginger Island for the remainder of this week
Someone is waiting for you’

Lance wiped sweat from his brow as he read it again and again. It was unlike Jolyne to stray from routine — or to be so cryptic. Lance dipped his pen in the special blue ink and put it to the parchment.

‘Who is waiting?’

Lance waited several moments — there was no reply. The ink’s blue glow dissipated slowly, and he knew that the parchment had become ordinary.

********

He liked Ginger Island — truly. It was his favorite station. But since that damned scroll had appeared, all he could feel as he stood on the pristine white sands was anticipation. Caldera watching was certainly no vacation for Lance, but still, he wasn’t accustomed to feeling such unease.

Two days had passed, and whoever he was waiting for still hadn’t shown up. He was beginning to think it was all some pointless ruse to waste his precious time, but then, on day three, he saw the boat arrive at the docks, and he knew that it must be the aforementioned ‘someone.’ No one ever came to the island anymore, considering that most of it had been reduced to ruins by the very same overpopulation of monsters that landed Lance a station here in the first place. Whoever had arrived had done so with purpose — he was sure of it.

Before he could even see who might step off of the old boat, Lance warped to the caldera. He still hadn’t a clue who, but he knew that anyone worth his time would meet him in the basin of the volcano. He wasn’t sure why, exactly, he got that feeling — but it was overwhelming as he stood before the enchanted forge, sweating inside his armor while he waited for some mysterious individual to warp to the top right along with him.

Hours passed before anyone came. Lance had just begun to grow dizzy from the heat when his senses alerted him to a presence. Instinctually, his hand shot down toward the hilt of the blade sheathed on his hip as the caldera’s cave mouth spit out a… girl?

For a moment, Lance was sure that his eyes must be betraying him, but sure enough, it was certainly a girl, no older than mid twenties. For whatever incomprehensible reason, when he saw her knees buckle and hit the sharp, rough volcanic stone, he wanted to run to her — to lift her up — but he only remained poised, his spine straight, his chin high, and his grip iron tight on the hilt of his sword.

As she sat, hunched over and panting with her hands and knees against the ground, Lance allowed himself a brief once over of her. Her face was obscured by her long, pearl pink hair, but he didn’t need to see her face to be intrigued by the sword strapped across her back, the welted singe marks against her pale skin, and the ruby red blood that leaked from a wound along her bicep. She was a small thing — tall, perhaps, but thin — not visibly muscular at all. Surely she hadn’t… braved the volcano’s perilous levels all by her lonesome?

Lance only grew more fascinated with each detail he took in, but when she finally raised her face to him, his breath hitched in his chest. She was beautiful — inhumanly so. Her large, vibrant teal colored eyes were fixed on him in an immovable stare, watching him carefully as she drew back on the bloodied, ripped knees of her jeans and wiped a layer of soot from her blushed, freckled cheeks. Something about her felt… familiar — though Lance couldn’t pinpoint what, exactly, that something was.

Slowly, she helped herself off the ground, uselessly dusting off the small black shirt beneath the bandolier harness tethering her sword to her body. Casually, she took her first step toward him, as if she hadn’t just bested a monster infested cavern that Lance, himself, had yet to master. She stopped approximately two feet in front of him, and only then did he notice her delicately pointed ears. He hadn’t a doubt left in his mind that she was the person he was intended to meet with — whoever she was.

She was staring at him expectantly as his shell shocked mind struggled to keep up with it all. He plastered a fake, triumphant grin across his face that he’d utilized enough times to know, without a doubt, that it was equally as disarming as it was convincing. He cleared his throat, and inclined his head toward her in greeting.

“Few adventurers have managed to scale Mount Kohldur,” he said with a taunting chuckle as he began circling the mysterious, blade wielding woman before him. “Once home to a great, prosperous dwarf kingdom, it’s since been reduced to a daunting, yet admittedly tedious claim to glory. What would the mighty dwarf lords think if they could see it now, with you and I standing at its apex?”

Her eyes followed him with each step he took, like an oil portrait in a fine art museum. He knew nothing of her, but as she drew the sparkling iridium blade from its sheath, Lance realized exactly how he’d like to meet his end — though preferably a great many years from now.

With a river of red and gold lava bubbling at her back and sweat forming on her brow, she smiled, angling that brilliant indigo blade at Lance’s center. Had he not been so derailed, he would have disarmed her — the moment the blade left its leather sheath.

“Aye, and I suppose you’re the final boss?” She purred in a strangely accented voice, resting the tip of her sword on his armored breastplate. Was she… playing with him?

Lance wrapped his gloved hand around the razor sharp edge of her blade, hoping to call her bluff. “Ah, but I’m merely an emissary, here to guide you on your journey, if you find yourself needing guidance at all. The feat you’ve tackled by reaching this caldera is a monumental testament to your ambition and perseverance. For that reason, I am in your service.”

Perhaps Jolyne shouldn’t have been so cryptic. Lance was willing to hazard a guess that the guild leader hadn’t meant for him to offer his services to this mysterious stranger, but for some innate reason, Lance felt compelled to do so. Fortunately, if he was only meant to keep an eye on her, he could easily manage that from a place at her side.

“And what, pray tell, would I possibly require your services for?” She asked, her plucky and now very clearly Galdoran accent caressing every last syllable as she lowered the tip of her blade.

Lance only cocked his head to the side, letting his usual poise radiate outward. “The First Slash sends their regards.”

With a final wink, Lance warped away from her, rematerializing at the base of the mountain and feeling tingly all over — and perhaps slightly unnerved. He was fairly certain that he’d maintained his usual confidence and ease, but something had him second guessing himself. As he turned away from the hollowed out entrance and took a step in the opposite direction, he felt a gust of wind at his back.

Muscle memory caused his hand to fly toward the hilt of his sword as he whirled in place — and there she stood. He was surprised to find that she could warp — apparently quite efficiently. Right then, it occurred to Lance that she’d scaled the volcano for fun — not for glory, and not for duty. She was a psychopath — a beautiful, beautiful psychopath — and Lance had never been so giddy.

“I didn’t catch your name, adventurer,” she goaded, a smirk playing at her full lips as she toyed with the tip of the red scarf at her neck that Lance had only just noticed. A Red Tail. Now, he understood Jolyne’s vague direction.

“Lance Azahar,” he announced proudly, remaining firmly where he stood, though he finally understood that she was someone to be kept at a distance. A pity, with a face like that — fortunately Lance had never been one for rules, or the consequences of breaking them.

“Litha Rosenhaal,” she replied, removing a purple and gold relic wand from her bandolier and dragging it through the air.

Lance had to have misheard her — and his eyes must have been deceiving him. He knew exactly who the mystery woman was, and where he recognized her from. It had only taken her name, and the sound of her voice. Within an instance, Lance went from believing he had a grasp on his mission, to once again being utterly confused. It wasn’t terribly often that Lance found himself derailed, but with a puff of smoke, Litha Rosenhaal vanished before his eyes.

Lance, it appeared, was not the only adventurer with tricks up his sleeve.

*********

Lance returned to his monster infested highlands that evening with more questions than answers.

The Cult of The Lady With The Red Tail was a long standing interest of the First Slash Clan. While not necessarily seen as a threat, per say, the blue cloaks were still wary of the magic wielding faction of ninjas — primarily due to a lack of understanding, Lance assumed.

And it was a lack of understanding, indeed — especially for Lance, who just couldn’t work out how, precisely, a banished Galdoran princess had managed to attain membership to an organization of magic users that typically required a lifelong commitment.

He’d recognized her as soon as she’d said her name. After years spent as a ranger in the streets and slums of Castle Village, Lance had grown acutely familiar with the land's customs, and royalty. Lance had been little more than a scout back then, when Princess Litha, The Fairy Rose of Galdora, had been disowned and banished due to the disgrace she’d brought to her royal name. She’d been the face of all things good and innocent at only 17 years old, if memory served him correctly — but the shame she’d brought upon her lineage was timeless. He wasn’t sure of the nature of her crimes, but still yet, the Galdorans had never forgotten, and therefore, neither had Lance.

Lance sat down at his desk, watching the way that the soft light of the blue flames flickered deftly across the parchment under his hand. He dipped his pen in the glowing ink, hesitating as he brought it down on the paper.

‘Jolyne
I’ve met with the Red Tail Princess
Awaiting further instruction’

Lance stood from his desk in a hurry. He didn’t particularly want to see the reply — yet before he could turn away, it appeared.

‘Lance
I care not for her titles or affiliation
She bears the mark of The Serpent
A monster is a monster’

A monster is a monster. Lance thought back to her pretty face and her charming, taunting nature, and he knew it to be true. He should have realized a Serpent sooner — a creature of desire, and cunning — a punishment for humankind sent down from the heavens by Yoba itself, according to mythology. Lance knew better, though — for mythology was simply fear mongering.

The Serpent’s Claim was recognized by many of the world’s scientific minds and mages alike as a genetic deformity. Prior to that day, Lance had never met one — but to say the least, she hadn’t been what he expected. Long since his adventuring days had begun, he’d heard tales of entrancing beasts with teeth like that of a shark, and bodies like that of a goddess. He’d heard tales of Serpents with scales for skin, and wings on their backs, and horrible, piercing cries — but he’d never heard of a Serpent so charming, and formidable — a Serpent with the face of a mere girl. Of course, Lance was no fool. It only made sense for succubi to roam the lands in beautiful skin, like a siren with her song, or a lovely purple foxglove with its poisonous petals and seeds.

Ordinarily, Lance could spot a laid trap from a mile away — so when he realized he’d been snared like a rodent, his temper grew hot, and his chest grew fluttery. And ever the level headed adventurer, his unrest only unsettled him further. He didn’t appreciate being blindsided — not by Jolyne, and not by Litha Rosenhaal.

************

Overnight, Lance’s schedule was wiped clean of Ginger Island, only to be replaced by Pelican Town. He didn’t dislike the valley, though in comparison to Castle Village, it did feel somewhat bland, discounting the fact that he was still keeping tabs on Litha Rosenhaal, who he’d recently learned had taken up her grandfather’s reins at the dilapidated remains of old SunnyVale Farm. What had a farmer been doing, scaling a monster infested caldera? Lance hadn’t a clue, but he was undeniably eager to find out. He’d never been a thing, if not a quick learner.

Chapter Text

It would be only a few days more before Lance had his second run in with the enigma he’d come to know as Litha Rosenhaal.

He’d been warping to the Adventurer’s Summit every day since receiving Jolyne’s magic scroll. Bright and early — as there was simply no time for slow, leisurely mornings when the valley was in grave danger at the hands of a pretty pink succubus. Lance had yet to decide whether or not there was sarcasm intended, but either way, he knew that it was excitement that dragged him out of bed before the rising sun — and he wasn’t ashamed to admit it.

The third morning that Lance warped to the Guild’s modest cabin at the peak of that misty morning summit, he was faced with a surprise. He walked through the door in usual form — exuding poise and confidence — but when he spotted Litha standing in the center of the drab, dimly lit room, being strapped into gear with a look on her face that was equally as amused as it was bored, Lance froze in his tracks.

She looked up at him, just as Marlon finished securing a harness around her waist. “Good morning, Lance Azahar — fancy a deep dive?” Litha asked, a sardonic smile stretched across her sunburnt face.

She caught him off guard. He wasn’t sure if he was more surprised or annoyed, but he recovered quickly. He gestured toward the spelunking gear around her thighs and torso. “All this, just for a deep dive in Pelican Town’s old mine shaft? You’ll forgive me if I find it a bit redundant,” Lance taunted, returning her smile without fear or reservation. She could frighten every other man on the continent, yet still, Lance wouldn’t balk.

Marlon speared Lance with a deadpan glare. “Now, Lance, you know I can’t let this little lady go looking for the bottom of these mines without a safety net,” he insisted, grabbing that brilliant indigo blade of hers from where it sat on the counter.

Lance chuckled just as Litha took the sheathed sword from the older adventurer and attached it to her bandolier. He narrowed his eyes at her, and Litha only tilted her head. Lance couldn’t tell if he was being questioned, or challenged — but something about the look in her eyes assured him that she was aware that Lance had found her out — that he knew her secret. He was surprised by the thrill of it, and the gooseflesh that crept over his arms. He’d never met a woman like her, and doubted he’d meet another for as long as he lived.

He decided to appeal to both the question, and the challenge. “This is no lady, Marlon. This is a…” Litha’s eyes went wide. It was the first time that Lance had managed to catch her off guard, and it sent a flutter through his chest. She looked incrementally more innocent, this way — even if he knew better. “Farmer,” he finished, giving her a sweet smile.

Marlon seemed confused. He only shrugged. “Looks like a lady to me. Either way, can’t have anybody dying in the mines on my watch. Wouldn’t look good to the Guild.”

Litha laughed quietly, and Lance found the sound to be sweet, and melodic. A lovely laugh for a lovely girl. “Aye, fret not, friend. There’s na need for you to worry for me — I’m sturdier than I look.”

Lance nodded at the gross understatement. “I can vouch for Litha’s… durability,” he said, leaning casually against the counter as Marlon strapped a helmet over her high pigtails, thinking back on the exact moment he’d seen her break through he cave’s mouth and land on her knees on the caldera floor. Lance could live a thousand years, and he was certain he’d never see another sight so breathtaking.

“You two know each other?” Marlon asked. Lance knew that he didn’t truly care, but was just trying to make small talk. Lance was spectacularly bad at small talk.

“Lance and I are good friends,” Litha purred, buckling the strap under her chin dramatically. “And what are good friends for, if not accompanying one into monster infested mines?”

What could he do, apart from bend to her will?

**********

It had been a long, long time since Lance had embarked on a mindless killing spree, but as he and Litha ravaged their way through the plentiful levels of the abandoned mine shaft, he realized that he, in no way, had lost his touch.

Unsurprisingly, the ousted princess at his side was a force to be reckoned with once her blade left its sheath. Every time she swung it, the heavens seemed to sing, and Lance, himself, was merely harmonizing with the choir. It was art, watching brutes, golems, slimes, and skeletons fall before her, turning to bloodied pulp at her command.

Before the creaky old elevator reached the first available floor, Litha had shed her plentiful spelunking gear, leaving only a small white shirt and some tan cargo pants in its stead, which were both presently covered with filth and ambiguous fluids. Suddenly, Lance felt like a fool in his signature breastplate, but he didn’t disclose as much to her — especially not as they began mowing through swarms of wretched creatures.

Once they reached the 50th floor, Litha was perspiring and soot covered, with breath heavy in her chest and an animalistic smile stretched across her soft, full lips. Lance was smitten by the 10th floor, and come the 30th, he wasn’t really paying attention to the task at hand anymore.

He’d meant, at some point, to ask her why she bothered with these decrepit old mines, but when he finally got around to saying something, it came out all wrong. “Don’t you have farm work to be doing, princess?” He asked, unintentionally sounding more patronizing than curious.

Just as Litha swung her sword through the torso of the last skeleton on the 65th level, sending it clattering to the ground bone by bone, she turned to face him, assuming a wide stance, complete with bared teeth and heaving shoulders. Whatever Lance was witnessing… it was primal, and it felt doubly as sinister in the now silent cave. “The farm is barren at the moment, if you must know,” she remarked ruefully. “Something has to fill my time in this wee bleak town.”

Lance thought that was a bit harsh. Pelican Town could be monotonous at times, of course, but it had its charms, for anyone willing to find them. “And you prefer killing to farming?” He prompted, watching her carefully as her posture loosened slightly.

She took a step closer, and then another. “Killing… drinking,” she stood right in front of him now, and her finger trailed down the center of his breastplate as she stared up at him with those staggeringly bright turquoise eyes, glinting mischievously as her breathing remained ragged. “…among other things.”

Lance couldn’t help but notice the way that the soot was smeared across her freckled cheeks like war paint as she sized him up. He’d never felt giddy around women before but this… this was no mere woman. “Other things, such as?” He prompted, against his best judgment.

“Such as…” she trailed off, her finger traveling down, down, down the center of his armor.

Just as she neared the armor’s edge, Lance caught her hand in his, staring down his nose at her. Litha looked surprised. “What are you doing, princess?” Lance asked in a teasingly snide tone, raising an eyebrow at her as a smirk tugged at her lips.

She leaned in closer — her face mere inches from his, her lips just barely hovering in front of his own. Lance could feel her breath against his tongue as her top lip grazed his bottom lip. “Don’t call me that,” she whispered into his mouth. “I’m na your princess — I’m not anyone’s princess.”

Lance could feel the anticipation bubbling to life in his chest as he released her hand, catching her chin instead. He angled her face up toward his, and noticed right then that Litha always seemed to have this look in her eyes, like the whole wide world around her simply existed at her mercy. The awe that Lance held for Litha was strong enough to cloud his judgment — to make him question his place in the world. He was fascinated by her bravery, and her audacity, and the way that she made his breath hitch in his chest. He brushed a kiss across the corner of her mouth, just barely. “What would you prefer that I call you?”

“Call me what I am, Lance Azahar — a monster,” she said stiffly, her narrowed eyes never leaving his. “How did you come to know of my… affliction? My former title? Any of it, really?”

Lance was quiet for a moment, sizing up his opponent carefully as he sorted through his options. He decided not to disclose his assignment, or the interest that Jolyne had taken in her — if only for his own safety. He was exploring uncharted waters, after all. “The well-being of the valley is a great interest of mine,” he mused, dragging a thumb through the cave filth that clung to her smooth, freckled cheek as her jaw rested in his palm. “You’ll find me privy to most of it’s more… arcane… wonders.”

Litha chuckled, jerking her head to the side quickly enough to catch his thumb between her teeth. She bit down — hard — and then released. “An arcane wonder, am I?” She teased, her voice dropping an octave as her bright eyes seemed to swirl.

Suddenly, Lance felt a bit dizzy, but not quite severely enough to disorient him. He swept his thumb across her cheek again, half hoping for another bite. “We should go,” he ground out, the words sounding tight, and forced. He hadn’t had such an exciting day in a long, long time — so of course he wasn’t ready for it to end, despite the warning sirens blaring in his skull, thanks to his guard being lowered, deep in the mines, where no guard had any business being lowered.

“But we’re just getting started,” Litha pouted, tracing her finger along his armor's south-most edge. “What’s the rush?”

Lance could feel a slight tingling at the base of his spine as he looked around the vacant cavern, weighing his options meticulously. The silence was indication enough that the level was free of monsters — save for the one standing before him, of course, looking at him like he was the only person left in the vast expanses of the universe. He sucked in a deep breath, gritting his teeth as his fingers slipped into her hair, catching a gentle fistful at the nape of her neck. He tilted her head back, and his mouth found the soft, warm skin beneath her ear hastily. How many people had she entangled herself with already, within the short amount of time she’d spent in the valley thus far? How many had she killed? He wasn’t sure if he cared.

Her skin tasted like salt, and sweet wine, and when a near silent gasp escaped her, Lance tightened his grip on her hair. He could feel the heat of her body warming the layer of armor between them, and something about that felt… pivotal — in a strange, nostalgic sort of way.

Just as Litha’s fingers hooked into the waistband of his pants, Lance drew back. What was he doing? “We can’t,” he strained, though his hold on her hair remained. “Not here.”

A sly smile crept over her lips as he kept her head tilted back. She was so lovely — Lance wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen another thing so lovely. “Aye. Somewhere else, then?” She prompted.

He nodded, slowly. If this was some bizarre test of Lance’s loyalty to the clan, surely he was failing. Perhaps he didn’t mind failing. “Somewhere else.”

She watched him from her periphery, her glimmering eyes heavy lidded and mischievous. “Lead the way, adventurer,” she purred.

**********

As Lance emerged from the mines with Litha trailing close behind, he was surprised to find that the sun had long set. The Guild’s cabin was closed, with only the faint flickering of tired candles to illuminate the dusty window sills. He’d spent his whole day in the mines, mowing through monsters, as if he’d become a teenager all over. He may have been a fool to even let the thought cross his mind, but without question, he’d do it again.

“Time is relative, lad,” Litha said from his side, dragging the back of her hand through the soot that clung to her sweaty forehead. “It loses all meaning, if you stop paying it so much mind.”

She’d read his mind, apparently — though he’d never heard of a Serpent possessing such magic. Perhaps he was easier to read than he liked to think. Lance nodded. “Would you like a drink, Litha?” He asked coolly, disguising his overall curiosity with his trademark air of confidence.

Litha leaned closer to him, brushing her shoulder against his. “I like the sound of my name on your lips,” she mused, keeping her eyes straight ahead as they descended the summit. Suddenly, she maneuvered her pack over her shoulder, and dug deep into the fathomless pocket full of loot. From it, she drew a diamond, its facets shining brightly under the light of the moon. “Are diamonds legal currency here, or must I barter for a drink?” She asked flippantly, studying the sparking gem between her fingers.

Lance watched her closely as they walked, fascinated by the way that the diamond seemed alight, just for her. “I know you’ve a sack of gold in that pack — why would you waste your time bartering with the barkeep?”

Litha snickered. “I take Gus for a gambling man, truthfully. I heard the barkeep loves a nice chunk of diamond, but how’s he to know it’s real?”

“Everything’s a game to you, isn’t it, Litha?” Lance asked. It seemed that, lately, he had a tendency to sound bolder than intended.

Fortunately, Litha seemed to be tolerant. “Aye. What’s life, if not a boastful, pointless bloodsport? I find my fun where I can.” She shrugged, and Lance found it odd.

“That’s a bit morose,” he remarked, tilting his head back to observe the scattered stars in the unpolluted night sky. One of Pelican Town’s greatest charms — and Lance knew right where to look.

Litha only gave him a small smile as they reached the center of town. Lance realized then that they could have warped, but he was immediately glad they hadn’t. The walk had been enjoyable.

They rounded the corner next to the saloon, and Lance was surprised to find Marlon and Magnus Rasmodius standing in the shadows, having a whispered debate that seemed rather heated. Litha and Lance froze in their tracks as the two older men glanced at them.

Lance cleared his throat, ever the diplomat. “Gentleman,” he began, putting on his winning smile. “Would you care to join the lady and I for a drink?”

They were silent for a long moment as Marlon scanned Litha up and down quizzically, his dark eye narrowing with each pass. For whatever reason, Lance could feel tension rising in the air. He assumed it came from Litha, who undoubtedly believed she’d been found out.

Finally, Marlon spoke. “Thought you said she was a farmer, not a lady,” he said gruffly.

Seconds more ticked by, and Litha burst into laughter. Despite being surprised, Lance couldn’t contain himself, and neither could the other two men. Within a short time, the tension had evaporated, and the four of them were all laughing as they slipped into the saloon rather noisily.

The group took seats at a rickety round table in a corner of the bar. The blue haired tavern maid approached cheerily, wearing a wide and genuine smile as she greeted them. Litha ordered a round for the table.

As the liquor kept coming, so did the anecdotes. Tall, tall tales, told by the only three people that Lance could ever hear such accounts from and not scoff in disbelief. As Litha spoke, he marked the way that Marlon and Magnus had pushed to the edge of their seats. She told harrowing stories of blood, and magic, and mishap, slaying monsters from the snowy mountain peaks of Galdora, to the shining hot sands of the Calico Desert. All the dips of the plentiful valley and the dense, lush jungles of Gotoro were no match for the warrior Princess spinning tales at the filthy tavern table, and before he even noticed it, Lance, himself, was enthralled as well.

Though each accented word that slipped past her lips was equally as gritty as it was entrancing, Lance could tell that Litha was not attempting to ensnare them. Even if it was perhaps second nature to her, she seemed to be simply… at ease — sharing accounts of her travels with three men that she seemed to consider friends.

As Marlon was theatrically wrapping up his recollection of the day he and Gil had narrowly escaped a collapsing mine shaft with their lives still intact, Lance felt Litha’s arm drape across his shoulders. He glanced over at her, only to find her eyes fixed on his face and a small, mysterious smile on her lips. She leaned closer, and brushed a kiss across his cheek.

“Will you come with me to the back? There’s something I want to show you,” Litha whispered, her chin balanced on his shoulder.

Lance felt a chill dance across his skin. “What could you possibly have to show me in the back of the saloon?” He asked.

Litha only smiled. “You’ll just have to see.”

Before he could take another breath, she’d tugged him to his feet, holding his wrist as she dragged him across the bar. Just as they were crossing the threshold out of the main room, Lance noticed a villager staring at them, huddled into a booth all by his lonesome as his bloodshot pale blue eyes followed the pair across the floor. He couldn’t place the man’s name, but upon little to no inspection, Lance could tell that he’d seen better days. His slightly overgrown black hair was oily, and the stubble on his jaw shaded in a tired looking 5 o’clock shadow. His frowning face was puffy, and his hand was clasped around a glass beer mug so tightly, Lance wondered how it hadn’t cracked. A stained blue jacket appeared to be pulling tightly at the seams against his chest and shoulders.

Litha didn’t seem to notice the gaunt villager as they breezed by him. While Lance didn’t think him particularly handsome in any sort of conventional way, he was surprised to find himself doing a quick double-take. Maybe he had been beautiful, many years ago — before whatever was eating at him had visibly eaten far too much. Only pain seemed to be left in place of whatever charm he’d once possessed.

The crystal blue of the villagers irises was the last thing Lance saw before the darkness of the long hallway ahead swallowed he and Litha whole.

Chapter Text

“What is it?” Lance asked breathlessly, shielding his eyes from the phosphorescence emitting from Litha’s cupped palms.

“A relic,” she replied, wonder dancing in her bright eyes as the beaming chunk of raw mineral nestled between her hands casted a heavenly light across her face. “You’re familiar, I assume?”

Hesitantly, Lance reached for it, gently dragging his fingers across the smooth, yet craggy surface. “I’ve never seen anything like this,” he mumbled, breathless with awe as he observed the way that the gem had illuminated the dank storage room around them like a tired candle. “Where did you find it?”

“Deep, deep in the jungles of the Gotoro Empire,” Litha said with a rueful chuckle. “I stole it.”

Lance felt his brows bunch together as he looked up at her. “You stole it? Why?” Lance knew well, judging by the gold in her pack and the royalty in her lineage, that Litha could afford most anything her heart desired.

A feline smile curved her lips, her eyes narrowing in a way that was equally as daring as it was titillating. “I earned it,” she said. Lance noted the razor edge to her tone, though he wasn’t sure of the reason for it. “And though I may have stolen it, my pursuit of it cost me more than you could ever guess. It was a trophy, once — but now it’s little more than a bitter reminder. So take it, Lance, I insist — for good luck.” Litha flipped his hand over and transferred the glowing mineral into it. It nearly filled his palm, and it was cool against his skin, like metal.

He had so many questions, but no voice to ask them. Litha grew more mysterious with each word that left her mouth, and Lance imagined that he’d never truly know her. Even if they spent every day for the next twenty years together, she’d still be an image-less jigsaw puzzle without corners that never quite fit together the way it was supposed to. He couldn’t work out why, exactly, he found that prospect so enticing — the unendingness of her, and the way that her multiple facets sparkled like the diamonds in her pack.

Litha cupped his hand with both of hers, closing his fingers around the gem. She leaned over to kiss his knuckles, peeking up at him through long lashes.

“Why… are you giving this to me, Litha?” Lance asked, his words catching in his throat.

She shrugged. “I enjoy you, Lance — though admittedly, I’m…”

“Spoken for?” Lance prompted. It wasn’t quite what he was going for, but it sounded better than any of the alternatives. Plus, considering the way that the eyes of that miserable looking villager had followed her all across the saloon, perhaps he wasn’t far off.

She chuckled. “Not quite. But, despite my affliction, I’ve recently found myself trying to be… good — in honor of this new beginning I’ve found myself tasked with.” Her hands were still wrapped around his, and she gave it a firm squeeze. “I’m giving you this relic because I think you could use some luck, adventurer. For me, it has served its purpose. But for you… who knows.”

“Why does it feel like you’re saying goodbye to me?” He asked, schooling the hints of desperation out of his tone.

Litha gave him a small smile, shaking her head. “Dunno, laddy. You’ll be seeing me around.”

************

He didn’t see her around — not again until Fall 20. At some point, he actually got the notion that she was avoiding him all together. Lance was stationed in the Valley for her, specifically, yet she couldn’t seem to give him the time of day. He faithfully arrived at the guild cabin, every morning like clockwork, but after that first day he’d seen Marlon strapping her into some ridiculous harness, he didn’t have the pleasure of her company again.

By the time he finally realized how frustrated it made him feel, he was angry with himself for even giving it a second thought. He had no business getting hung up on a monster — even a monster as pretty as Litha. He wouldn’t let himself be lost to his musings, despite the glowing rock beneath his pillow every night that served only as a reminder of how much less lucky he felt since he’d met her.

On that morning of Fall 20, the air had already begun to grow chilly, and if only because of his cold blooded nature, Lance opted to spend his day in the scorching hot Galdoran desert rather than the thin-aired mountain summit that would inevitably stay cold, despite the cresting of dawn. Not to mention that if Lance had to spend another day listening to Marlon and Gil bicker like an old married couple in the confines of that decrepit cabin, he was going to lose his mind.

Every second he spent at the guild cabin, he spent waiting for Litha to storm in, and say something mysterious that would make the hairs on his neck rise and his brain turn to hot soup. It was becoming tiresome — and what better way to blow off some steam than spending a day in the Crimson Badlands? Perhaps she’d ignited something in him, after their day spent in the mines. Lance had believed his bloodsport days to be well behind him since he’d taken on his duties as a sworn protector of the Ferngill Republic, but if he was being honest, that day they’d spent together… it was fun. Killing monsters was fun — and it was the first fun he’d had in a long time.

He warped to the wasteland shortly after he rolled out of bed, strapped on his armor, and filled a small pack with bombs and elixirs, blatantly disregarding Jolyne’s direct orders, and the apparently dire peril of Pelican Town at large. Lance was greeted in the railway cavern by Isaac, the monster hunting adventurer that manned the abandoned mineshaft serving as a gate to the vast, monster infested dunes of the Badlands. Isaac never had much to say, apart from cryptic warnings to be vigilant, so when he simply nodded, it came as no surprise. Judging by the grisly scar that marred his right eye, Lance was keen on taking his advice, despite the fact that that particular Fall 20 perhaps wasn’t the best day for a Badlands run. Lance was… distracted, to say the least.

Isaac scarcely even glanced in Lance’s direction as he sauntered through the cavern, but Lance had never been good with social cues. “Anything notable lately?” He was trying to sound casual, but truthfully, Lance was nosy. He hadn’t been spending as much time in Galdora as he once had, and being out of the loop physically pained him.

Isaac chuckled. It was a rueful sound. “Why don’t you find out for yourself?” he suggested, tilting his head toward the rail cart that carried brave adventurers through the barrier spell that kept the maladies of the Badlands from spilling out into civilization — or rather, where the rail cart should have been. The inlet was empty — a sound indication that someone had arrived just before Lance had. He stared at the empty space for a few seconds too long, the thoughts clanking around in his head noisily like glass marbles.

He felt the breath gathering in his chest as the cart squeaked back down the tracks and stopped at the end, dreadfully empty, just as Lance had feared. “Who?” Lance demanded, the tone of his voice tinged with command, despite the fact that he had no authority here. It was an involuntary vibrato, specifically reserved for when Lance was out for blood.

His colleague only smirked, his lips curving upward with nothing but contempt. “What is it, Lance? You think you’re the only adventurer bold enough to brave the Badlands?”

Lance couldn’t afford to waste another moment on the pathetic excuse for a conversation — not when his heart was about to explode. He had a terrible feeling as he made a beeline for the cart and hopped into it, wracked with the horrendous knowledge that no one — absolutely no one — was stupid enough to brave the Badlands. No one but himself… and a certain pink haired farmer with a penchant for chaos.

Lance was confident in Litha’s abilities — almost as much as he was confident in his own. After all, he’d seen her best Mount Kohldur, and he’d watched her mow through every variety of creature that Pelican Town’s mines had to offer. But even without discounting her formidability, or the fact that she was a Galdoran native… Lance wasn’t certain that she knew what kind of treachery she’d just stepped foot in.

Monsters and magic and spilled blood might have been mere child’s play for the banished Galdoran princess… but the Crimson Badlands — they were something more. Something of a different world, entirely, where the sands were searing like a brand, despite the sun being blanked out from the sky, and the horrors seemed to never die.

What would she do, when she saw the face of a fallen adventurer, broken and weathered and abandoned in the wreckage? Would she know better, or would she go to them? How close would she get, before she saw their glowing red eyes, and gaping maw lined with sharp, jagged teeth?

Lance couldn’t fathom it — and couldn’t let her go it alone. What had begun as a day of leisurely bloodsport had quickly morphed into a mission of its own. The straits had never seemed more dire as the telltale red glow formed at the end of the railway tunnel, giving way to blustery burning hot sands, and the perpetual death rattle of the worldly perversions that lay beyond the barrier’s protective magic. He unsheathed his sword, bracing himself for the heat.

The cart came to a screeching halt, jolting lance forward as the rusty old wheels met violently with the end of the tracks. He used his spare hand to propel himself over the side of the cart, unwilling to release the iron tight grip on the weapon in his other hand. He’d been here a few times before — not frequently enough to know the terrain, but once was all it had taken to know better than letting his guard down.

Immediately, Lance was greeted by a corrupt serpent, its slithery, dark tendrils whipping through the arid wind like shadows as its glowing, blood colored eyes fixed on him like a death promise. He raised his blade to it, wrapping both hands around the hilt and digging his feet into soft red sands, bracing for impact. He glanced up for just a split second, against his better judgment, at the hazy, haematic sky — the dusky crimson smog, and the rays of sweltering sun that scarcely managed to part the clouds. This land was made for no mere mortals, and as Lance slammed his blade upward through the long, leathery column of the serpent’s plated neck, he sent up a silent thanks to Yoba that he hadn’t been a mere mortal for a long, long time.

He withdrew his weapon from the beast, shaking the black blood off of it as though it were little more than water. As if he hadn’t just taken a life, regardless of how little humanity or sentience said life form possessed. Long ago, Lance had theorized that the beasts were once human, and whatever blight plaguing this land had taken them, and morphed them in its image. He couldn’t really picture how the flying serpents had ever been anything even close to humans, but still, it was the best theory he had. He moved on, quickening his pace as he heard wails and shrieks sounding in the distance. It pained him to be eluding rather than killing, but this trip had become far less about pleasure than business.

‘Find Litha. You have to find Litha,’ his conscience insisted.

Moments later, three more serpents descended on him, their strange cries piercing the heavy air like a hot knife. Nearby, he could hear a foul squelching, wriggling sort of sound — reanimation. The fallen, coming back to life. Lance had killed nothing but serpents, and the trail of their torn bodies still remained in his wake, their black blood staining the sand like tar. She was close, and she was killing mummies — or rather, she was trying to kill mummies.

Lance didn’t let her possible proximity derail him from his task at hand. He finished off the last of the three flying beasts, slamming the edge of his blade between its open jaws, dragging it back toward its throat. He watched as its body clatter to the ground, falling atop that of its two companions, mangled, bleeding, and still cloaked in shadows. He stepped over them, advancing quickly toward the quivering remains of a horde of corrupt mummies as he worked to remove a bomb from the pack over his shoulder. He pulled the pin on it and tossed it to the ground, advancing further toward the center of the wastelands as quickly as his legs allowed.

The bomb detonated seconds later, and while Lance wasn’t close enough to catch any of the debris, he felt the ground shake at his feet and wind woosh at his back, carrying sand across the backs of his neck and ears that tore at his skin and burned like salt against a bleeding wound. The glow from the fiery explosion lit up the desert like a lodestone for the briefest of seconds, flashing brightly enough to illuminate the paths ahead of him — the untraveled one full of roaming beasts, or the one littered with quivering mummy remains. Lance chose the latter, feeling like a coward, despite his decision being based wholly on chivalry. And even if that chivalry was perhaps extremely misguided, he didn’t really mind it. If his theory was correct, and whatever died here would be trapped here forever, he couldn’t bear the thought of such a fate becoming her. She might have already been a monster, but it wasn’t the same. ‘She’s worse,’ some irritating voice in his head seemed to remind him.

Would she be angry with him for following her, despite the fact that it wasn’t his intention? Would she be as upset with him for endangering himself as he was presently angry with her for the exact same thing? Or had he merely been another passing face to her, too unremarkable for a second thought? Lance considered the glowing relic she’d given him, and her suggestion that it would bring him luck, and he wondered if she’d hoped it would keep him safe. He liked the notion, but knew it to be unlikely.

Suddenly, he heard another scream, just as the remaining light from the bomb’s fire was dying down. It wasn’t the braying of some rampant beast — it was the scream of a girl, and damn him, she sounded frightened. His gut turned to lead.

He rallied his senses, and followed the trail of bloody breadcrumbs she’d left him.

Chapter Text

He heard another scream as the air around him seemed to fizzle and electrify, raising the hairs on the back of his neck as if in warning. Years upon years of diligent training and hard earned sacrifices has given Lance the instincts of a predator, and presently, they’d never been quite so useful.

At the top of a high, perilous sand dune, swirling with scathing red sands and discordant cries, Lance saw it — a beast so horrid, he believed it to exist only in fables. Apophis. A wretched, otherworldly perversion, with its long, leathery body like a dragon, and scales of the blackest midnight. It circled the sky atop the dune, its pitchy shrieks piercing the gritty air like a lance.

And beneath the beast, standing tall with her blade raised to the sky like a beacon… Litha. The screaming Lance had heard was undoubtedly hers, but now, and he grew closer, he realized that they weren’t really screams at all. They were battle cries. And the farmer… she was winning. She wore tight, dark pants and a small cropped t-shirt beneath her bandolier, and like her fair skin, the clothes were shredded and caked with dirt and blood. Litha’s hair was restrained in a tight bun opposed to her usual pigtails, and her old boots were dug into the sand as her feet assumed a wide stance. Her full lips were drawn into a rueful smirk, and even from a distance, Lance could tell that Litha hadn’t a single intention of being bested by any man or beast on this particular day.

Lance was mesmerized by her, standing near the bottom of the dune with his sword hanging slack in his hand and his mouth gaping wide like a fool. The beast was circling her, and rather than having the decency to be frightened, Litha only kept smiling. Every time it dove for her, Lance could hear the hissing of her shining sword’s razor edge as it sliced the plated flesh of the creature.

It retreated as she drove her blade straight upward, both hands clasped iron tight around the hilt and legs braced for impact. She screamed at the top of her lungs as the tip broke the beast’s flesh, grinning ear to ear as its black blood trickled down the tip of her sword. It shrieked, wriggling away despite its injury — but Litha wasn’t having it.

“Have you had enough, you ugly piece of shit?” She roared into the air, shaking her sword at it. “I’m not done with you yet —”

Lance had known better than to let himself be distracted — here, of all places. Just as Litha was baiting the monster, and Lance was counting down the seconds until she delivered the final blow, something slammed into his back, knocking the breath out of his chest that he’d been holding for what seemed like hours. He whirled on it, throwing his elbow with the movement in hopes of knocking whatever it was off of him — but in light of the warrior princess atop the sand dune, giving her all to the apex beast of myths and legends… Lance had forgotten himself — forgotten his feet planted firmly in the sands, and his loosened grip on the hilt of his blade. She was going to be the death of him — not that it was her fault.

Lance faltered, no sooner than he saw the face of the aggressor at his back. It was a woman — or rather, it had been a woman, once. Lance dared to suspect that she’d even been pretty, once upon a time… but that was long gone, now. Her mousy brown hair was long and stringy, thinning atop her head, and her skin was chalky and dull, harsh in contrast to her rubious, glowing irises. Her lipless mouth hung loosely open, lined with cracked, dagger-like teeth, stained yellow and rusty with old blood.

She advanced on him slowly — so slowly that generally, this monster would be no match for Lance — but his head was elsewhere, and his feet were tangled with one another.

He stumbled.

He’d never once in his adult life stumbled.

He fell back onto his elbows, feeling them dig into the soft, sinking sands as he struggled to right himself. Lance mastered his feet quickly enough to deliver a precise blow to his aggressor's chest, counting the seconds as she stumbled backward.

“LANCE!” He heard a desperate female voice cry from a distance.

Against his better judgment, he allowed his stinging eyes to follow that voice, praying to the obsolete god above that the cry wasn’t a cry for help. He couldn’t help her — not right now, while he could barely help himself. Still yet, some nagging part of his consciousness assured him that he’d help her before he helped himself, and no thought had even unsettled him quite so thoroughly. She was going to get him killed, and truthfully… he didn’t mind. Not if it assured her safe escape.

His good name would be ruined. His reputation. His legacy. The Clan would take his plaque off the wall, and his impact would be erased from their histories… yet his ghost would know no shame, despite the fact that he’d been bested by monsters whilst trying to save a monster. He didn’t really mind… dying in her place.

He peeled his eyes away from Litha and spotted his sword a few paces away, partially sunken in the sand. He must have dropped it when he fell. New lows for Lance today, apparently. He moved to scramble for the sword as the fallen adventurer continued to advance on him, but just before his outstretched arm reached the hilt of his blade, he felt fingers wrap around his ankle, spindly, cold, and far too long to be human. A chill shot through the very marrows of his bones.

He kicked hard against the unfaltering grip of his opponent, but still, its hold did not budge. Lance allowed himself a glance downward, just in time to notice that, as it was tugging on his leg, it was still advancing — as if it was climbing up his body. His blood froze over as the fallen adventurer’s already gaping mouth grew incrementally wider. He squeezed his eyes shut. Soon enough, he’d be just like the creature that was about to end his life — his dark purple and brown eyes turned crimson and his tan skin overcome with pallor —

Suddenly, Lance felt an impact, and heard a grunt, followed by rough breaths. The weight atop his body had shifted. Lance’s eyes shot open in response. The creature still remained partially draped over him, but it had fallen to the side now, a grisly cut separating the upper half from the lower.

Litha approached from behind the beast, kicking the remainder of its body off of Lance as she extended him a hand. Her breathing was frantic, her chest heaving and her turquoise eyes shining in a way that was near feral. The red, smoke clogged sky casted an ominous light over her pale pink hair and fair skin, as if she’d bathed in the blood she’d spilled. She was an angel, descended from the heavens, put on the planet to spark Lance’s ultimate undoing.

He took her hand without a second thought, letting her tug him up off of the ground. He couldn’t take his eyes off her as her gaze slid over his entirety in a quick once over, ensuring that all of his limbs remained intact and that he wasn’t hemorrhaging blood. He did the same for her, her grasp remaining tight around his forearm as his free hand found its way up to her shoulder. Neither of them were gravely injured, though their arms and faces were littered with considerable sums of cuts and contusions. Despite the position they presently found themselves in, swathed in the red hue of the falling sky and facing certain death at its most imminent, Lance and Litha came to a silent, unspoken understanding.

They’d shown up for one another. They’d keep showing up, too.

A small smile split her filthy face, though the ferocity in her eyes remained. “Fancy meeting you here, lad,” she chided, giving his arm a light squeeze. “Did you miss me?”

Lance was speechless. Either she had no sense of urgency, or she was even more confident in her abilities than he’d guessed. Either way, he was frightened. He tilted his head back to survey the sky, not dignifying her question with a response. The badlands around them had fallen eerily silent.

“Where is it?” He asked quietly, his voice nearly lost to the wind.

Litha chuckled as she dropped his hand. “I think it had enough of me,” she supplied with a wink. “I got a few good blows in, as I’m sure you saw.”

Lance felt his jaw tighten as he collected his sword from the ground. “This isn’t a joke, Litha. We need to go, right now —”

No sooner than Lance started back toward the rail cart from which he’d come, he heard a wail and a sharp whoosh, in such quick succession that he barely had time to react. Apophis shot down from the sky like a torpedo, directly above Litha, who still wore her proud, ill informed smirk. Lance dove for her in tandem with the beast, praying that he’d be swift enough to knock her out of the way — but alas, the massive serpent was too quick, and Litha remained none the wiser until it was far too late.

It landed on her just before Lance could, but his proximity granted him a close up view of the beast's talons piercing her flesh. She swore and cried out as it ripped her skin, dark blood trickling from her mangled chest and shoulder. Lance’s brain finally snapped to attention, rallying his years of training into what would have to be the most precise blow of his entire career. Litha and the gargantuan serpent were tangled up with one another, the beast snapping at her face and neck, and Litha trying to maneuver her blade into a position that would allow her to defend herself.

Lance drew in a breath as he watched their struggling, counting the seconds until his moment presented itself. Finally, Litha’s blade made purchase against the base of a shadowy tendril, and her free hand caught the tendrils tip. She began clumsily trying to saw it off, and though she wasn’t making much progress considering the angle, Lance spotted his in, and he took it without hesitation.

He planted his feet, gripping the hilt of his weapon tight as he drove the blade through the back of the monster’s skull and out through its mouth in one powerful thrust. Litha’s sword clattered to the ground as she ducked to avoid the fallout of Lance’s killing blow.

The beast fell to the ground, limp and bleeding — but Litha went along with it. Just as quickly as Lance had redeemed himself, he realized that he didn’t give a damn about his legacy, or his good name, or any of those pointless, material trivialities.

He gave a damn about the ousted Princess that lay bleeding and still in the sand, though. In a way, it was perhaps the only thing he’d ever actually cared about. He rushed over to her, and shoved the mangled monster carcass away from her.

The plane of her shoulder was pouring blood at an alarming rate, but still, she was alive. Lance breathed a sigh of relief, as short lived as it might have been. Though Apophis was dead, the others would be coming for them — it was only a matter of time. Lance didn’t allow himself to consider the grim plethora of possibilities as he heaved Litha’s still body over his shoulder, despite her dripping blood that stained his blue cloak, and her bones that creaked and popped as he settled her into place. There wasn’t time for first aid, or gentle touches — there was only time to leave this place, and never be foolish enough to return.

Chapter Text

Lance wasn’t accustomed to warping two people.

When it was only himself, he could warp time and time again with little to no strain on his body. On a good day, he could visit every corner of the Ferngill Republic before noon without breaking a sweat. But currently, with his battered flesh, sore bones, and the weight of another human slung over his tired shoulder, Lance was struggling. Hard.

Initially, upon exiting the badlands, Lance had half a mind to simply take Litha back to the highlands, bandage her wounds, and watch each rise and fall of her chest until daybreak, but as he saw her typically pink skin go dull, and felt her warm, sticky blood seeping through his cloak and onto his back in surplus, he understood that there was simply no time for wishful thinking.

Lance took her to the only place that made sense.

***********

The sun had gone down, and the air had turned chill.

Winter was fast approaching, and the healing spring buried deep, deep in the heart of the Cindersap Forest had a dense layer of fog atop the geothermically warmed water — enough to obscure Lance’s vision. Still yet, he could hear the waterfall crashing melodically against the still surface, and through the haze, he could make out the small orbs of light suspended amongst the moisture like fireflies. There was music in places like these, for anyone who was willing to listen to the way that the wind whispered through the tall pines and bramble like a lover's laugh. He’d never shared this place with another soul — but Litha… Litha was different. Litha was more.

He approached the water’s edge, and shifted Litha’s unconscious weight from one shoulder to the other as he maneuvered his cloak off of himself and spread it out on the ground. He eased her body down onto it, detached her bandolier, and removed her socks and cracked black boots. He removed his own boots, his weapons, his armor, and lastly, his shirt.

He hauled Litha back into his arms, shivering at the feeling of her bare skin pressed against his own as he descended the makeshift stone steps into the water, which was viscous like tea with too much honey, and slightly warmer than body temperature. She didn’t stir — didn’t move a singular muscle as Lance cradled her tightly, submerging them both until Lance’s torso and only Litha’s face remained above water. Her wounded shoulder stained the clear water rusty with blood, but Lance didn’t mind.

He allowed himself a moment to study her as he felt the tension in his muscles evaporate, and the wounds along his arms begin to pull shut. He ran his wet fingers over her filthy, grit covered cheeks, wiping away the dirt that clung to the dried sweat and tears, fascinated by the smooth, freckled skin beneath. He traced the pattern of her long lashes across her eyelids, and the points of her ears beneath her hair — and when the gnarled wound along her shoulder was mended well enough for the flowing blood to cease, he gently washed away what remained.

Finally, her eyelids began to flutter, and Lance held his breath, bracing himself for whatever state she’d be in when she awoke. Confused, likely — but also scared. Lance couldn’t really picture what Litha would look like scared. He’d been a fool to assume she was frightened at all in the badlands — she probably would have had the beast for herself, had it not been for his untimely intervention.

“Thank Yoba above for you, Lance. He’s really chosen to bless me today,” Litha mumbled suddenly, though her eyes remained closed. A smirk tugged at the corner of her lips.

Lance was taken aback. “You’re… religious?” He asked, though it was truthfully the furthest thing from his mind. It was simply the first thing that slipped out.

“Aye — though I’ve found Yoba in places the church told me never to look.” Lance was willing to bet that was an understatement. Finally, she peered up at him, her glittering eyes glinting with something between mischief and awe. Her fingers found the hair at the center of his chest, and it took the breath away from him. “Where are we, Lance?”

“In the woods,” he said tightly, trying not to give way to the incessant nagging at the back of his brain, as he was partially undressed in a secluded area with a woman far more beautiful than any sight he’d ever before had the pleasure of seeing. There were far better things to be worried about —

“You can put me down, if you’d like,” Litha said, wiggling in Lance’s arms for emphasis. He barely heard her though, as his mind was miles away from where it belonged. “Or don’t,” she added, snapping him back to reality.

“You can stand?” He asked, releasing his grasp on her thigh and bicep.

She chuckled, staring at him incredulously. “We’re in a pond, Lance. I don’t know why we’re here, but I think my legs will be just fine to keep me upright.”

He nodded as she waded in the opposite direction. Though her wound had closed and she’d come to, she still appeared paler than usual. He was unsure of her ability to keep her head above water, but he said nothing on the contrary. “It’s a healing spring, actually. That’s the reason we’re here — to keep you from bleeding out.”

She sighed, long and leisurely as she tugged her shirt over her head and discarded it. She wore nothing beneath. “Oh, this valley and all its wonders. If it wasn’t for Galdora, I might just be impressed.”

Lance averted his eyes as she followed suit with her pants, untied her hair, and proceeded to balance herself atop the water's surface, floating like a lily pad on the current. “The magic here is different than it is in Galdora. It comes from the land — not from those who inhabit it,” he informed her.

Though Lance kept his eyes steadfastly downward, he could hear her wading toward him — could feel her making ripples in the water. “Such a gentleman,” she said lowly. “You don’t have to look away, though.”

He peeked up at her, just for a millisecond, and she was crouched down, submerged up to her nose and peering at him like a frog. Her absurdly long hair was floating in the water, so pale that it looked like milk, and her eyes were shining like raw opal in the moonlight.

She was a siren, luring him to his untimely demise — and what’s more… he wasn’t quite opposed. If she was hungry, he would feed her. She’d saved his life, after all.

“Do you want me to look?” He asked, steadying his breathing in preparation for her reply. His eyes remained on the water at his waist.

Lance heard her rise from the water. “I want you to look,” she confirmed.

It was all he needed.

He looked.

He feared he would never stop looking.

The waist high water didn’t give it all away, but he could see her delicate, pale skin, scarred from years of combat and peppered with tales of her victories and losses. He could see her snowy, pink tinted hair hanging sleek and limp around her shoulder and tapered waist… and he could see her breasts, not small, but not large, either — just enough to fill the palms of his hands. Her pillowy pink nipples were hard against the wind chill.

They were wordless as they stared at one another. He glanced up at her eyes, and watched as they darted across the plains of his chest, which bore the evidence of his years spent as a ranger, and down to his belly, the muscles of which kept his vital organs protected from enemies. Lance was merely a product of his environment, but he had a sneaking suspicion that Litha’s wide eyes and slightly parted lips were not in appreciation of his adaptability. Though being praised for his resilience was growing old, he wasn’t sure if he found material attraction any more comfortable. But if he was allowed to admire her… she might as well receive the same courtesy. She was beautiful, after all — breathtakingly so.

“Do you want this?” He asked her. Consent was important to Lance — he liked to hear it verbalized.

She waded closer to him, placing a flat palm against the center of his broad chest and tilting her chin back to meet his eyes. “I want this very much, Lance.”

“Do you want me for me, Litha, or are you just hungry? Either way, we can, but I… I need to know.” Because truthfully, he could see himself falling in love with her. He could see himself forfeiting his entire life for her. Yet there was no point, if he was merely satiating some starving void within her. Usually, he wouldn’t have bothered with such trivialities, because usually, he wouldn’t have cared, but for the millionth time, he could only remind himself… Litha was different — more.

“Why not both?” She asked after a silent moment, the look in her eyes testing the proverbial waters.

He nodded. It was enough for him, mostly. And with that, she kissed him.

Her mouth tasted like soot, and iron, and as his arms snaked around her small waist to heave her up out of the water, her lips parted for him, welcoming his tongue as it invaded the inside of her cheek.

Her skin was like fire against his icy, pebbled flesh, and at the feeling of her nearness, and their slickened bodies slipping and colliding, Lance could already feel himself hardening. He braced his hands on the backs of either of her thighs, situating her long legs around his middle and holding her close as he headed for the crumbling stone steps. All the while, her hands stayed wrapped in his hair, and their hungry kisses were never broken.

When they reached the stairs, Lance sat her down on the top one, which was slightly submerged, but close enough to the surface that he knew the stone must have been cold. He heard her slick skin plop down upon the wet stone as he released her, and a yelp escaped her pretty lips. Cold, indeed. Lance only smiled at her.

He made quick work of removing his pants, despite the heavy, soaking fabric, and his fingers that seemed to have forgotten how laces worked. He stepped out of them clumsily, thanks to the water, and accidentally splashed Litha as he threw them over the ledge to dry ground.

“You’re very coordinated, adventurer,” she giggled, outstretching her hand toward him once he’d successfully freed himself from the remainder of his clothing.

“Let me change your mind,” he implored. It came out as somewhere between a growl and a whisper.

Lance took Litha’s hand and propelled himself toward her, sending more water splashing in her direction as it sloshed against the steps. His mouth found hers again as he hooked his hands behind her knees and tugged her closer, enticed by the sound of her supple ass scraping against the rough stone beneath her.

She parted her legs for him, welcoming him closer as the smile on her face grew incrementally wider. He couldn’t help but to smile back at the sight of those legs spread and the bare, pink flower between them. Lance was prepared to drop to his knees — despite the waist high water, and his cock that had grown hard enough to hurt. Litha, on the other hand, seemed to have something different in mind.

“I want you to fuck me, Lance,” she said, her eyes locked on his without break. “I want you to give me all that you’ve got left.”

He cringed inwardly at the idea of even for one moment being the kind of man that didn’t engage in foreplay first — but something about her stare assured him that they were well past that, so he resigned. He was more than ready, after all.

Without another thought, Lance began stroking the thick, rock hard length of himself, preparing to line up at her entrance as she pulled him closer and her mouth found his earlobe. After a mere millisecond of careful placement, the tip of his cock found purchase, and he pushed into her — just barely, searching her face for any signs of unease. He found none, so he pushed in a little further, letting her adjust to his width as he memorized the exact octaves of the soft moans that escaped her.

And finally, Lance braced his hands on her lower back, his fingers digging hard into her soft flesh as she arched beneath his touch, and drove the entirety of himself into her. She felt like paradise around him, and as her sharp cry filled the night, he knew full and well that it was the only song he cared to ever hear again in his life. This was not a climb to heaven — this was a fall from grace.

But heaven be damned, and her precious Yoba forsaken, Lance had, at long last, come home.

Her arms around his neck grew tighter with each calculated thrust as Lance gave her everything that his spent body had left, just as she’d requested. After only a few minutes of merciless drilling, Lance withdrew from her, and to her apparent surprise, he flipped her over, pressing her chest down against the stone step and parting her legs with his own. He delivered a swift smack to her already reddened, scraped ass, and she yelped, wiggling her hips as he wrapped her hair thrice around his fist and drove his sensitive cock back inside.

He hit the perfect angle, this way — hunched over her back and using the tension from the hold he kept on her hair to his perfect advantage. Her fingernails scraped desperately against the stone just as she brought one leg up to prop her knee on a lower step, giving Lance better access to the innermost parts of her. He somehow managed to drive himself even deeper within her walls, feeling her constrict with each thrust as their skin collided loudly in quick, wet succession.

“Harder, Lance. Please, fuck me harder,” she whimpered, though it went without saying, judging by the sublime arch of her lower back and the slippery white wetness gathering at the base of his cock.

Regardless, he did as he was asked, and doubled his pace, earning sweet, rhythmic cries from Litha as the familiar feeling of release gathered in the pit of his gut and Litha’s legs began to tremble.

And it was then, at the worst possible moment, that Lance realized — he hadn’t worn a condom. He’d had unprotected sex with a woman that was essentially a stranger to him. Where had his mind been since he met her?

Seconds later, once her trembling body was spent beneath his grasp, Lance withdrew, spilling himself onto her ass as he wrung himself dry, fighting a near losing battle with his weakened knees and his head which spun out of control. He’d never felt such a feeling in his life — never so alive, and never so filthy. To say the absolute least, it was a combination even more intoxicating than opium and top shelf gin.

They remained frozen in silence for a few gracious seconds before reality set in, and Lance took a step away from her. Litha righted herself and turned to face him, lounging idly against the steps. Her grin was cat-like and triumphant, and her eyes were narrowed in his direction. Did she take him for some kind of whore?

“You saved my life tonight, didn’t you, Lance?” She asked finally, rinsing the sticky substance from her skin as she spoke.

“Just as you saved mine,” he replied immediately.

Litha nodded slowly, her brow creasing with contemplation. “Aye. Then I suppose we’re even, adventurer.”

Lance only scoffed. He wasn’t expecting it to slip out, but he couldn’t stop it. He felt rather uninhibited around her, perhaps. “I don’t care to be even, Litha.”

She tilted her head to the side — but Litha was no confused puppy. Litha was the wolf. “What do you care to be, then?”

In the spirit of his blurred inhibitions, Lance said the first thing that came to mind. “Yours, Litha — I care to be yours.”

Litha was visibly jarred, and it was the first time Lance had seen such an expression on her lovely face, which was presently dull no longer. She practically glowed as she said “Then take me home, Lance.”

Chapter Text

“Can you warp?” He asked, gathering his cloak from the ground and dusting it off. He draped it over her shoulders, in lieu of her wet, partially frozen clothes. He would have just warped them both… but he’d already done too much today. Lance had learned better than to push it.

Litha shook her head, and Lance marked the way that her jaw seemed to clench. “How far is it?”

“Far,” he said simply, in reference to the highlands.

For a moment, she seemed contemplative. “Best to not chance it, then,” she replied dryly.

Lance was surprised. “Are you… not proficient?” He never would have guessed as much.

“I’m plenty proficient,” she snapped. “I’m just tired, lad.”

She didn’t appear depleted, what with her healed over wounds and her glowing skin, sated on Lance’s lust. Still yet, he digressed. “Fine, fine. But I can’t get us both back to the highlands — not tonight, at least. I’ve done too much already.” And truly, he had. He wanted to take her home more than he wanted to draw breath, but he could feel the fatigue in his bones, despite their dip in the healing spring. This brand of exhaustion could only be remedied by sleep.

She sighed, and a small chuckle came with it. She looked away, and a smirk that was equally as patronizing as it was tired curved up her lips. “Well, there’s always my farm, of course. It’s just up the bend.”

For whatever reason, the idea made Lance nervous. He couldn’t very well object, though. It was a sound enough suggestion. A quick mental once over of Pelican Town’s map told him as much.

He only nodded. “I think I can get us that far.” Or at least he hoped he could. Briefly, he wondered where the little purple and gold relic wand of hers had gone, as it appeared to have aided her in warping.

Litha pulled his cloak tighter around her shoulders as a breeze blew through the pines. “Let’s go, then. I’m eager to get a fire started.”

************

Lance was spent once the two of them arrived at SunnyVale Farm. Had it not been for the likes of the beautiful and unusually morose woman at his side, he would not have bothered to contain his urge to pant.

He wasn’t sure what to expect of the old farm but… not this. Not this sprawling, meticulous operation. Lance would have never guessed Litha to be quite so organized.

SunnyVale Farm was a generous plot of tilled fields, which had now withered under the chill of late Fall, dimly lit barns and coops behind sturdy looking fences, silos, stone ponds, and a large, glass greenhouse that reflected the moonlight like water. It was all framed around a large, still lake, connected by a paved cobble walkway, and illuminated with quaint iron lamp posts at every turn. At the northernmost edge of the property sat a cabin, which had certainly seen better days, despite the fact that it did appear cozy enough. If the farm had been upgraded since Litha had taken its reins, Lance couldn’t imagine what the cabin must have looked like when she first arrived. Surely she spent her first Spring with the flies, in the dark and under a dripping roof. He chose not to mention it as his warp brought them directly to her front porch, which was creaky with weathered wood and painted pale blue.

Litha said nothing as she pushed the squeaky door open with a sigh. Lance noticed as she shrunk further into his cloak, and for a moment, he wondered if she was nervous. He couldn’t picture it. She clicked on a lamp that sat on a rickety looking table beside the door.

All things considered, the cabin wasn’t great, but it was… enough. Truthfully, in light of her presence, far less would be enough for Lance.

The interior was a moderately sized main room, divided into a kitchen on the left side and a living room on the right. There was a door in the back right corner — presumably the bedroom. The kitchen consisted of only the most basic small appliances — a mini fridge, an ancient hot plate, and a cracked porcelain sink — all of which appeared unusually dusty for items that would generally see daily use. A dilapidated dinette sat in the center of the kitchen with four mismatched chairs shoved underneath it, and an unstable looking red hutch lined the far wall, which held an array of jars and baubles — tincture bottles filled with strange liquids, potions, jewelry, small bones in gauzy satchels… Lance was dumbfounded.

Without a word, Litha made her way over to said hutch, discarding Lance’s cloak on the back of a chair. She stood stark naked in front of it as she plucked one of the tincture bottles from the shelf, removed the dropper lid, tilted her head back, and placed a few drips of the mysterious milky liquid onto her tongue. She replaced the bottle on the shelf and turned to face Lance wordlessly, some of the tension having visibly left her body.

“What kind of elixir is that?” He asked of the tincture bottle awkwardly, rubbing the chill from the back of his neck.

Litha chuckled. “Na one that you can find in Castle Village, Lance.” She gestured toward the off-green sofa in the adjacent living room, the walls of which were papered with a dark, starry pattern. “Make yourself comfortable.”

He nodded as she padded off toward the bedroom.

While his shirt was dry, considering he’d taken it off before entering the water, his pants were soaked. He thanked whatever obsolete god would listen that he’d chosen a longer style shirt today as he peeled off the sodden pants and placed them on the back of the chair with his damp, bloody cloak. Next, he turned his attention to the red brick fireplace at the opposite end of the living room. It was filled with no fewer than ten years worth of soot and filth, but there were fresh logs in a caddy near the hearth, and Lance made quick work of starting a fire. He wiped his ash stained fingers on the edge of his white shirt, which was already hopelessly soiled with blood and grime.

He didn’t waste another moment before collapsing onto the couch, allowing himself to melt into the sagging, well loved cushions. The warm golden glow cast across the modest space coupled with the sounds of the crackling fire lulled him gently into a state of bliss, his sore muscles going languid and the pounding between his eyes slowly fading away. Typically, Lance found silence to be particularly grating, but this specific silence was a balm to his frayed nerves, even as his strategist’s mind struggled to find a pattern in the intermittent pops and whistles of the log that burned away in the hearth. He was perfectly relaxed, despite his being a mouse in the viper’s pit. He never would have thought that he’d ever be the mouse, before meeting Litha.

Minutes passed before Litha finally returned, by which point, Lance had nearly fallen asleep, partially undressed on the couch of essentially a stranger. She held a fat orange cat in her arms as she entered the room and sat down on the cushion next to Lance. The cat purred loudly as Litha scratched its head. She drew her sweatpants clad legs under herself as she buried her entire face in the cat’s coat and sighed.

“Are you… okay?” Lance asked softly, testing the waters.

Litha did not remove her face from the cat’s fluff. “Fret not, adventurer — my skin is thick, as is your own.”

For a moment, Lance was contemplative. She wasn’t wrong — but still, he was dismayed to learn that life had taught her that her thick skin could not bleed. “It’s okay if you’re not okay,” he said finally.

“I lived, Lance,” she replied, removing her face from the fur as the cat settled into her lap and closed its eyes. “I lived — and I learned. This life is a heavy burden, but my muscles are strong, and my will is even stronger. Tomorrow, the sun will rise — and I with it.”

“It is not a burden that you must carry on your own, Litha. When it gets too heavy, you can put it down. No one will fault you for it — no one but yourself.” As he said it, he realized just how much he meant it. To Litha, it likely felt heavier than any other weight she’d carried… for today, Litha had tasted defeat like char on her tongue. He had an inkling that it wasn’t a flavor she was distinctly familiar with.

“The entire world could fault me for it, and I wouldnae care,” she snapped, staring at her fingers tangled in the cat's fur rather than returning Lance’s stare.

“That isn’t true, though, is it?” He prompted. “You revel in glory, Litha — it’s what you were born to do. Yet you could live the rest of your life a hermit, and still die in infamy. You have done enough.” Lance was trying to be gentle, but there was a certain sort of ferocity in his voice that had a tendency to bubble to the surface in her presence.

Finally, she looked up at him, and there were tears in her tired aqua eyes. “It will never, ever be enough.”

Surprisingly, Lance knew exactly what she spoke of. The lifestyle that the two of them had chosen to lead… it did not come without its very own baggage. Most days, Lance ignored the fact that each breath he took could very reasonably be his last, but that did not change the reality — Lance and Litha were the brightest stars in the sprawling sky, and though they shined with a light so blinding and unmistakable that it could never be forgotten, they would burn and burn and burn, and they would die long before their time. The world would think more of them for it, despite their untimely implosion. So no — it would never be enough. Not with a mind that wages war against itself, insisting that there is no cap on one’s personal best.

Hesitantly, Lance reached for her, his fingers trailing across her shoulder, up her neck, and along her jaw, which was presently clenched so hard, he feared her teeth would shatter in her mouth. Lance was nervous, despite the fact that he’d been lost in her less than an hour ago. “For me, it is enough. You are enough, Litha. And when your strong muscles are tired, and your stone will needs a rest… let me carry your burden.” As Lance spoke, his breath began to catch in his throat. It might have only been succubus juju, but he’d never felt anything more real in his life. “I’d be honored if you’d let me carry it.”

And then… she looked at him.

She really looked at him — and for the first time in the boundful, chaotic menagerie he called a life, Lance felt seen.

Her sea hewn irises were boring right through him, glowing bright and beautiful with the unmistakable glimmer of resonance. I know you. I see you. I’ve always seen you.

It was all he could do to return her stare as his thoughts jumbled up in his head like unraveled yarn. For the briefest of moments, he thought he might have been in love with her. He thought about what Jolyne might say, and the way that his colleagues might look at him. He thought about all those nights spent slithering through the slums and brothels of Castle Village, barely scraping by on whatever meager scraps society could manage to spare for one of its future sworn protectors, and then he thought about how those cruel nights meant absolutely nothing if he was truly preparing to surrender himself to Litha Rosenhaal, the woman of his wildest dreams, and the monster of his gravest nightmares.

But if she kept looking at him like that… none of the above could possibly matter, because at long last, Litha and Lance had finally reached an impasse.

Litha’s hand drifted up toward his face, where she traced the line beneath his cheekbone. Without breaking eye contact, she said, “Take me to bed, Lance.”

Though he wasn’t certain they’d make it as far, he scooped her up off the couch, and he took her to bed.

*************

The week that followed was a fever dream, though it passed in a blur, like a singular droplet in the ocean of forever.

Lance was warming her bed, and she was warming his heart, thawing the ice that had come to encase it so reliably with her quick wit and unending charms. Maybe he was only a sniveling fool at her mercy, but Lance toyed with the idea that she’d been made for him. She could do no wrong, and of that much, he was certain. Not even her somewhat erratic behavior, or the stained, oversized sports jersey he’d found partially stuffed under her bed could convince him otherwise.

But, despite their perfect bliss, looming threats still remained in the relatively close distance. First Slash had caught wind of Lance’s… breakthrough — and though he’d given Jolyne enough to sate them, he could still feel the temperature rising, pressing heavily and and rather insistently at his neck. Sooner or later, something would have to give — he just wasn’t yet sure exactly what that something might be.

In the meantime, and thanks to his indefinite new station in Pelican Town, Lance threw his entire self at Litha, and at SunnyVale, in turn. They awoke before the sun each morning only to put hours upon hours into the land, diligently preparing SunnyVale for the impending winter frost. They harvested the last of the produce, insulated the barns and coops, covered the ponds and the sprinklers, and chopped more firewood than would ever reasonably be needed. Lance had never pictured himself working on a farm — had doubly never pictured himself enjoying it — but as the last of the autumn light died out, and Litha cleared him a space in her verdant greenhouse for his peculiar monster crops, Lance decided that he could very easily fall into such a routine. Especially considering the long nights that followed the grueling days, which Lance had come to reserve for worshiping at her altar, rather than sleeping.

Though Litha seemed content enough with her farm work, Lance had become acutely aware of the fact that her full heart wasn’t in it. As the days passed, he could see that the usual fire that propelled her existence burned rather dull in the duration of their hours spent on her precious farm. SunnyVale had rapidly become the staple holding Pelican Town together, but it was readily apparent that Litha couldn’t have cared less. All the same, she did her work, and never once complained.

Lance was curious, but he wasn’t sure how, exactly, to inquire after it. On the third to last night of the season, as Litha sat in a creaky dining chair in her pathetic excuse for a kitchen while Lance knelt before her on his knees, he bandaged the mess of blisters across pads of her hands and fingers. Amidst their silence, he decided that treading lightly was better than not treading, at all. There was still so much he hadn’t learned about her, after all, and the gut deep feeling that he’d never truly know her remained. That particular feeling had become grating, as of late. It was an itch that he hadn’t yet found the courage to scratch.

Lance was humming as he applied antiseptic to her raw skin. Though his touch was feather soft, she flinched against the sting. “Why does a trowel blister your hands, but a sword does not?” He mused.

It was a rhetorical question, but still, she answered him. “Because Yoba doesnae favor me,” she grumbled.

Satisfied with his handiwork, he looked up at her face. “Yoba favors you more than most, Litha.” And he meant it, regardless of whether or not he believed in the god, at all. Despite the long, freezing day they’d spent in the fields, her wind burnt cheeks were the color of a rose. Nothing in this wicked world could dull a light such as hers. “But is there… something else — that you’d rather be doing?”

She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees as she pressed a kiss against his forehead. “There are a great number of things I’d rather be doing, but this is my life now, and I intend to make the most of it.”

“I still don’t know what brought you here in the first place,” he prompted, hoping she’d divulge.

“Sure you do. I was banished — you’ve known that longer than you’ve known me.”

“Of course — but that doesn’t tell me how you came to acquire the farm.” Lance didn’t mind her cryptic nature, generally. He actually found it to be rather enthralling. But when it came down to understanding even the simplest things about her, he would be lying if he claimed it didn’t start to lose its charm.

“The farm belonged to my grandfather,” she supplied, rising from her seat and walking toward the small refrigerator, from which she retrieved a bottle of ancient fruit wine. She poured a glass for Lance, and then herself. “Long before I was born, he and my mother moved here from a little port village north of Galdora called Hazelvane. My mother was meant to take over once grandfather passed, but she was too selfish to see SunnyVale for what it’s worth. I may not be perfectly content with this life, but I will not betray my grandfather’s memory by letting these lands wither and die again. My only regret is that I didnae come sooner.”

It was more information than she’d ever given him. Lance was tongue tied. “He left it to you?”

Litha nodded, and swallowed hard. She appeared to be far away as her eyes fixed on a flickering beeswax candle on the counter. “He left me the deed to SunnyVale ten years before I returned to claim it,” she said through clenched teeth, as if the memory brought her shame. “He was the greatest man I’ve ever known. I should have done better by him.”

Lance shook his head as he sipped hesitantly on his wine. It was sweet, savory, and every flavor in between. “You were little more than a child, love. He would understand.”

Finally, she looked at him, and a sad smile crept over her lips. “I know he would, Lance. Thank you.”

In so many ways, Litha was simply a girl. She couldn’t help what she was, or what came along with it — and though Lance would never be foolish enough to discount her nature, it pained him to participate in the intolerance of her. He wasn’t quite ready to disclose why, exactly, he’d found himself stationed indefinitely in Pelican Town, but he could at least do… something. A step in the right direction.

“Tomorrow, I want to take you somewhere,” he said suddenly, catching her attention as she made for the bedroom.

“Oh?” She inquired, freezing in place as she looked over her shoulder to where Lance remained in the kitchen. “And where might that be?”

“Fable Reef,” he replied, closing the distance between them as he crossed the room. Lance put his arms around Litha’s waist and pulled her closer. She leaned into him, resting her head on his chest. She must have been exhausted. “To the Guild House. My home.”

She reared her head back to look at him. Her eyebrows neared her hairline. “Have you lost your mind?”

Lance chuckled, keeping his grasp on her waist. “Not yet.”

“They’ll bar you from the clan,” she scoffed.

Lance shrugged. “So let them. You’ve paid your dues, Litha — your weapon has seen as much corrupted blood as my own. You’re one of us, in a lot of ways — a protector.”

“I don’t think they’ll agree,” Litha argued, a small crease forming near the center of her forehead. Lance kissed it, and pressed on.

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take, and truthfully, I’d go to great lengths to see you in a blue cloak opposed to a red scarf.” Lance tugged on the scarf around her neck for emphasis. He might have been getting ahead of himself, but it was too late to back down, now.

“The blue cloaks hate me, Lance. I know they all think I’m a monster — and they’re right.”

“And the Red Tails don’t?” He still was unsure of Litha’s affiliations with the group, but in terms of what lies beyond the wards, he was keenly aware that the Red Tails shared The First Slash Clan’s views.

“They’re misfits. Like me.”

“That is a comfort to no one but you, love. First Slash would have you, if only they got to know you first.” Lance tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, cradling her cheek in his palm. “Come with me tomorrow. If things go awry, we can run away, and change our names. I’ll pedal potions, and you can read fortunes from a big crystal ball.”

She giggled and kissed his palm. “I can’t renounce my membership to the Red Tails, Lance. I may not be familiar with the local faction, but my family has a long standing arrangement. My father would have my head.”

He nodded, sorting through the possibilities. “Then maybe you can bridge the gap. We all want the same thing, after all.”

She sighed. “Fine, fine. But the scarf stays on, and I’m bringing my sword.”

Lance smiled broadly at her — a token of his gratitude. He hoped with every part of himself that he wasn’t making a terrible mistake.

Chapter Text

The next day, Lance and Litha took a stroll through Cindersap Forest with their fingers locked, and their pace unhurried. Lance hummed idly as Litha stomped on each crunchy leaf she found. He squeezed her hand extra hard each time he heard the crinkling sound, which would reliably be followed by her smile. He wondered after what version of her he might see the next day, or even the next hour. Each one was better than the last.

All things considered, she seemed to be in a fine mood — save for when they passed by the old ranch house, SunnyVale Farm’s nearest neighbor, and her smile faltered. Lance spotted the grimace on her face, and the way that she’d shrunk into her jacket. Her annoyance remained until the house disappeared behind the horizon, but Lance didn’t question it. He only watched the fuzzy cows meandering through the yard, and pointed out the driest leaves on the ground. He wanted to know every thought that had ever crossed her mind, but only on her terms. The girl had spent her life at the mercy of others — he wasn’t keen on seeing the trend continue.

When they reached Magnus’s tower, Litha only beamed at Lance as she let herself in, shoving the heavy oak door open as they were blasted with the aromas of scorched patchouli, burning oils, and rosemary smoke. He wasn’t aware that her relationship with the wizard had progressed so well, but as they stepped through the threshold and spotted Magnus hunched over his cauldron and chanting some sort of incantation to himself, Lance chose to keep his wandering thoughts to himself.

He’d never been terribly familiar with the wizard — apart from business matters, of course. While Rasmodius hadn’t any concrete affiliations with First Slash, the clan made use of his particular skill set from time to time — for a price, of course. His years of expertise and long held dominion over the elements didn’t come cheap, and his dwelling made such a fact apparent enough, considering the plentiful heaps of gold pieces that collected dust on random surfaces as if the currency was little more than crumpled paper.

Lance was acutely aware of the kind of man Magnus was — the breed of wealth that was utterly nonchalant in its entirety, gold pieces pouring off the edges of unremarkable tables, landing on dirty, weathered wood floors, and the rich blends of silk and velvet that hung dusty and untouched in front of the poorly insulated windows. Magnus could buy the world, but no one was any the wiser, and in that regard, Litha and the wizard were two of the same. When Lance was a child, he never would have imagined that he’d keep such company — truthfully, he never imagined he’d see adulthood, in general. Small blessings.

Lance doubted that Magnus had even noticed their arrival as he slaved away at whatever potion bubbled within that squatting cauldron of thick black iron, though he was certain that the wizard must have had some sort of fail safe in place — a place like this would be dangerous for an unwelcome visitor.

“Lance,” Litha prodded, yanking him from his musings. “Why are we here, lad?”

The two of them had made their way into the basement, the stone walls of which were lined with enough bookcases to rival any library — tomes upon dusty tomes of sacred arcane secrets. Lance could spend days on end in a place like this, simply learning, and absorbing — the pursuit of knowledge had never once seemed dull to him.

They rounded the last corner at the end of the long, shelf lined corridor, and Lance stopped in his tracks abruptly. Litha nearly toppled into him. He glanced over at her, and she scowled, the freckled skin across her nose crinkling. Lance only smiled, sweeping his hand toward the structure ahead.

“We’re here to use Magnus’s warp hall, of course,” he announced grandly. “He’s nice enough to keep a portal here, for Fable Reef.”

Lance and Litha approached the little cubby that bore the plaque Fable Reef. He grabbed her hand, and looked down at her for confirmation. “Are you ready?” He asked.

Litha was chewing on her lip, her cheeks staining nearly as red as the scarf that she’d worn so insistently. She was nothing if not stubborn. “We could just as easily return to the farm. In less than an hour's time, we could be in bed,” she wagered, her eyes darting between the warp rune and the exit.

Lance chuckled. “Do you truly think I’d put you in harm's way, my beloved?” He placed his hand over his heart in mock horror. “You wound me.”

“You’ve not a clue what waits for me in that guild house, Lance — you can’t possibly know.”

He turned to face her, bringing their entwined hands up to his face. He kissed her knuckles. “I know a great many things, Litha. I know that I’d go to the gallows for you, and that I’d cut holes in the ozone if it meant you’d have one less day of rain. Jolyne will not harm you — not while you’re with me.”

She leaned forward slowly, kissing his knuckles the same as he’d done hers. “You’ll keep me safe, adventurer?” She asked lowly, watching him carefully as she spoke.

“I will keep you safe, Litha. Now and always.”

She nodded. “Swear it to me,” she said. It was barely a whisper.

Within a hair's breadth of a second, Lance had stepped away from her. He took a knee. Once upon a time, he’d offered her his service blindly, and though she hadn’t accepted, there was no expiry on such things. One hundred years could pass, and Lance’s bones would crawl out of the dirt, if only she asked.

She smiled down at him, tracing the curvature of his crooked nose with the tip of her index finger. She was smiling, though it was small enough that he barely noticed.

“You haven’t the slightest concept of how beautiful you are, do you, Lance?” Litha asked gently, holding Lance’s eyes with her own.

The question seemed rhetorical enough, though still yet, Lance pondered it. He knew what others saw when they looked at him. He wasn’t a fool, of course, but in truth, Lance had never believed in the gravity of outside perceptions.

He was privy to the way that his shock of messy, magenta colored hair shined particularly bright in just the right lighting, and how the pale laceration scars peppered along his forearms stood out against his tanned skin like calligraphy on paper. He knew that the taut muscles underneath his armor only existed as a result of his hard earned strength and unrelenting perseverance, but that no one else was any the wiser as to what he’d endured to achieve such a physique.

Had life been kinder to Lance, perhaps he’d be beautiful in a soft way, without the scars and the crooked nose and the demons that existed not only in the highlands, but also in his head. In an alternate universe, he and Litha could have sat the Galdoran thrones, and the only muscles he’d bore would be that of glamor. He’d lift weights only to keep up appearances, and Litha would be a patron saint to her country — the type of queen that rides into battle on horseback, armed to the teeth and painted with purposeful vengeance.

Litha only watched him as he was lost to his musings, still on his knee on Magnus’s filthy basement floor. “I don’t care if I’m beautiful, Litha — as long as you love me like I am,” Lance said finally, the words nearly tangling on his tongue.

It was too soon for declarations of love, but Lance couldn’t have cared less — not when she was about to follow him to Fable Reef, despite her belief that she’d never make it out alive. He’d never once had someone willing to sacrifice their comfort to sate him, and up until this point, he hadn’t realized how pivotal it truly felt. Yet again, she’d shown up for him — he intended to do the same for her.

“I swear this oath to you, Litha Annehaen.” Annehaen. Her royal name — the symbol of all she’d lost. Even if she’d since adopted an alias, for whatever reason — it was still her name. Lance wouldn’t readily let it fade away. “I will defend your life like it is my own, and I will pursue your enemies to the edges of this planet. I will carry your burdens, and I will keep your cup full. I swear it on this day, until my last, and if the time may ever come, I will sooner sever my tongue than speak against you. If you will have me, I hand myself over to you, in body, and in spirit.”

Lance drew a dagger from within his cloak, and drug the blade across the palm of his left hand slowly, and with purpose, leaving a trail of brilliant red in its wake. The sting of the razor edge didn’t quite feel like pain — but more like relief. Litha only watched him in utter silence as the light danced through her eyes and the blood pooled in his palm. Without breaking eye contact, he flipped his hand over, and squeezed a few generous drops of blood onto the toes of her boots — a Galdoran custom of its oath-bound servants, more sacred than even marriage.

Litha gasped, so quietly that it was nearly lost to the pregnant silence surrounding them, and then, she dropped to her knees along with him. The hall around them seemed to liven — as if the magic in the air was physically undulating, bursting and swaying in the form of small, multichromatic spheres of soft blurring lights that suspended in the dusty, smoke clogged air like fireflies.

This was the type of magic that Lance would never dare lose faith in — the only deity he’d ever worship, and the only heaven he’d ever know. Her.

“And I swear to never betray your service, Lance Azahar. For as long as you’re mine, I will treat you with grace, and I will fill your cup, in return. I will have you.”

As Litha recited her portion of the traditional speech back to him, Lance was surprised to find that she knew it by memory, but he was shocked even further when she took his wounded hand in hers, and laid her lips upon the cut. She pressed a kiss into it, and when she drew back, she held Lance’s eyes with her own as she licked her blood stained lips slowly. That wasn’t part of the tradition.

Litha took the dagger from him, and before he could protest, she sliced her own palm. She offered it to him, and Lance didn’t need instruction. He cupped the back of her hand with his own, and brought his lips down to the puddle of ruby colored liquid in her palm. He kissed it, and raised his face to hers before licking his lips. He memorized the opulent tang of iron and salt that flooded his mouth, and before Litha could wipe her hand, Lance went back for seconds. He used his tongue to clean up every errant drop, and Litha watched all the while, a tremor radiating through her with every pass of his tongue across her raw flesh.

When Lance was done, he felt filthy, and perverse, but the moment he saw the feral look in Litha’s wide eyes, his shame evaporated. Time seemed to freeze around them for a mere millisecond, and then her mouth was on his, and her ragged breaths were tickling his cheeks.

“I want you, Lance — right now,” she whispered, straddling his knee and grinding herself against it. Today, Litha only wore leggings, and Lance could feel her warmth against his thigh. “Please.”

Lance drew back from her. “Here?” He asked of the warp hall incredulously.

“Here, my love. Right here,” she confirmed, climbing off of him to sit on the floor. “Magnus doesn’t even know we’re here. It’s okay.”

Lance looked around. The basement was vacant, and from the corridor, he could still hear Magnus’s incantations. He glanced back toward Litha, who was now yanking off her boots with both hands. When she finished with the boots, she took off her bandolier, and wriggled out of her leggings, leaving only frilly purple panties and a jacket behind. She unzipped the jacket — there was nothing underneath. Lance’s mouth dried up.

Fuck it.

He was on her in an instant. His lips were wrapped around hers, and his hands were on her waist, digging hard into the warm, soft flesh beneath her ribs. She whimpered into his mouth when his frenzied state prompted him to bite down on her lower lip — hard. Litha didn’t seem to mind it — not a bit, considering that she maneuvered out from under him and came out on top, as if they were animals. Lance sat on the ground now, his back pressed against the wall opposite of the warp cubby to Fable Reef, and Litha sat on his lap, fumbling with the tied closure at the waistband of Lance’s pants.

Lance couldn’t wait to touch her. Since the first time he’d been acquainted with the way that the warm wetness between her legs had a tendency to squeeze like a vice grip, he’d do anything to find another excuse to get her clothes off and lose himself at the apex of her thighs. He pushed her panties to the side, and held them there with the side of his thumb as his middle and index fingers explored, parting her soft pink lips and sliding between her gloriously wet folds. She was always ready for him. He heard a soft hum of approval in her throat, and noticed that her frantic attempt to untie his pants had become lazy. It was encouragement enough.

Careful to keep his calloused fingers from scraping her skin, Lance found her clit, which was already hard beneath his touch. He pressed on it once, just to hear her gasp, and then smiled at her as he began circling it slowly, finding a rhythm in the sounds of her pleasure. Once she’d become wet enough that he could barely maintain traction, he slipped those two fingers inside, curling them against her perfect tightness, massaging that sweet textured spot deep within her walls. She was leaning back against his knees with her chin tilted to the ceiling as he worked his fingers inside of her, her jacket falling open around her sides and her nipples stiffening to perfect peaks.

The sublime squelching sounds had become so loud at this point, it was a wonder that Magnus hadn’t heard them — but truthfully, Lance couldn’t imagine that the old wizard would mind a bit of a show. He liked to think that Litha saw it the same way as her breathy moans reached higher and higher pitches, unbothered by a potential voyeur.

Her wetness was pooling in Lance’s hand now, leaking over the edges of his palm and onto his lap. She’d successfully undone his pants, and he was ready to take her, but something in the back of his mind begged him to test the waters first. He withdrew from her, added his ring finger to the mix, and drove back inside. Litha’s head shot up as she squeezed around him, her eyes reading alarmed, but not in pain.

Litha managed a nod. “More,” she whispered.

Lance looked down to where his fingers were buried inside her, marveling over the way that her lovely pink folds fell gracefully around his thick fingers and wide knuckles. He curled his fingers a few times, testing the tensile strength of her walls, and she released a shuttering gasp. It was all the convincing he needed to add his pinky, easing all four fingers inside of her as gently as he could manage, smitten with the way that she stretched for him.

A crease formed between her brows, and her eyes were squeezed shut.

“Am I hurting you?” He asked immediately.

“A wee bit,” she admitted breathily, her cheeks staining pink. “But I like it.”

Lance thought he felt his soul leave his body. He took her by surprise when he snaked his arm around her waist and tugged her in closer, his mouth finding her nipple as he began to pump his fingers inside, slowly at first, but letting her sounds guide him. He picked up speed as the octave of her moans grew sharper, massaging that special spot inside her and working his lips and teeth around her nipple until he felt her thighs begin to tremble, and her pussy begin to drip.

Once Lance finally withdrew his fingers, only to replace them with his cock, his lap was already soaked in her arousal — but he could do better than that, especially since learning that the Serpent’s Claim prevented its host from becoming pregnant. He’d been elated to learn such a fact, because now, Lance could fill her, just the way he liked. He’d spent the last week doing so, only to watch his seed seep from her swollen hole afterward.

He situated himself inside of her, and she slid down the full length of him, wiggling her hips as their skin became flush together. Lance was already ready to combust. He placed a hand on either side of her waist, ready to hold on for dear life —

Footsteps. There were footsteps from overhead, heavy and fast approaching. Lance looked up at Litha, and her eyes registered shock, only to be replaced by pure excitement and a smile that was equally as titillating as it was frightening. She slapped a hand over Lance’s mouth, and she began to ride him, fast and frenzied like a rodeo. Lance was wracked with anxiety, but more so, he was flooded with adrenaline as she slammed down on him like her life depended on it. Only seconds passed before Lance could no longer grapple with the orgasm that had been threatening to overcome him for the better part of the past fifteen minutes, and he exploded inside of her, a groan forming in his throat that was only held at bay by her palm over his mouth.

Moments later, they heard the footsteps descending the creaky staircase, and Lance thanked whatever gods would listen that the corridor before them was rather long. Litha hopped up off Lance’s lap, yanked her leggings on inside out, and gathered her boots and bandolier hastily. Lance followed suit, mercifully only having to fix the closure of his pants.

Just as the footsteps grew near enough that the sound of breath accompanied them, Litha grabbed Lance’s hand, and dragged him to the warp rune alongside her. There was the usual dazzling flash of light, and then, the warp hall disappeared around them, and Magnus was none the wiser. Worst case scenario, he’d find a small puddle on the ground, and assume his worn old tower was in need of repair.

************

Lance was blinded by the tropical sunshine of Fable Reef, flooding his dilated pupils like fire. He shielded his eyes.

“Lance,” he heard Litha whisper awkwardly at his side, nudging her shoulder against his. “Look alive, laddy.”

Finally, Lance’s eyes adjusted, and he was horrified to find that they’d warped to Fable Reef in their current state at the worst time physically possible. Fable Reef’s warp rune was situated to the left of the Guild House, and on the front lawn, what appeared to be the entirety of the clan was gathered in a semi circle. Jolyne stood before them, leading some sort of meeting. Jolyne’s eyes shot over to where Lance and Litha stood, the guild leader’s eyebrows nearing their hairline. A considerable sum of blue hooded heads turned to see what had caught Jolyne’s eye.

While Lance was fully dressed, he was fully aware that he likely appeared rather out of sorts — for obvious reasons. Litha, on the other hand… her jacket was zipped crookedly, her leggings were not only inside out, but also backwards, one of her pigtails had fallen halfway down her head, and her socks, boots, sword, and bandolier were in her arms. She smiled broadly, as if they hadn’t just been found out.

Jolyne’s eyes narrowed, a crease forming between their dark brows. “This meeting is adjourned,” they said tightly. “You all may go.”

The clan apparently got the point, as twelve blue cloaks disappeared in puffs of grey smoke.

Jolyne approached Lance and Litha hesitantly — and they did not look amused. “Who’ve you brought us, Lance?” The guild leader asked tightly, a plainly fake smile bolted on their face as they looked Litha up and down.

Lance knew entirely that Jolyne was perfectly aware of who Litha was, but in the spirit of diplomacy, was willing to bend the truth. He inclined his head in greeting, and then gestured toward Litha, who was pulling her boots on clumsily. “Jolyne, this is my good friend, Litha Rosenhaal. She’s made boundful contributions to our cause, and today, I’ve convinced her to tag along with me — to show her how we operate. Truthfully, I hope to convert her,” Lance explained, flashing Jolyne a charismatic smile that had never once worked on the guild leader. Lance was overstepping — he knew as much. But he just thought that maybe if he could simply show Jolyne that she wasn’t some filthy, feral animal, they could put all of this nonsense behind them.

Jolyne’s face was deadpan as Litha offered them the same smile that Lance had. Lance marked the way that Jolyne’s eyes caught on Litha’s scarf — they were off to a dismal start. “She appears spoken for,” was all Jolyne offered.

“For now,” Lance countered. He knew full and well that she realistically had no intention of being converted, but that didn’t dissuade him.

Litha forced a smile. It appeared to physically pain her, but she knew better than to say anything on the contrary. “Your island is beautiful,” she supplied, rather generically. “I’m honored to be your guest.”

Jolyne’s eyes narrowed. “Fable Reef is accessible solely by warp — one of our many security features. Tell me, Litha, why do you think we need such security features?”

Litha shrugged. “Precautions born of fear, I suppose — and rightfully so. It’s a wide scary world out there. Though I assure you, I’ve come bearing no ill will.”

Jolyne eyed Lance suspiciously, assuming that Litha knew far more about that day of their meeting than she did in actuality. Lance was content to let Jolyne believe that Litha was aware of Lance’s assignment, though she simply spoke only of her own paranoia, believing that the entire world was aware of her status as the ousted princess turned monster. In this case, she truthfully wasn’t far off. It was a mess — and Lance was right in the middle of it.

“So, you want to join us?” Jolyne prompted.

Litha chuckled. “Na particularly.”

The guild leader was growing impatient. Lance could tell as much. “Then why have you come, Princess?”

“Because Lance asked me to — nothing more, and nothing less. He believes me a hero in my own right, and while I don’t tend to agree, I’ll take this invitation for what it is — an honor. I respect this clan and all that it does for the Republic — all I ask is the same respect, in turn,” Litha explained, her eyes fixed on Jolyne carefully, and a prideful tilt to her chin. Lance wasn’t sure how she managed to look so dignified in her undone state.

For a moment, Jolyne seemed to be weighing their options as they pushed a strand of unremarkable brown hair away from their face. They nodded. “Very well. Enjoy the Reef for today, Litha. Catch a torpedo fish or two — you’ll be doing us all a favor.” With that, Jolyne was gone in a puff of smoke.

Lance turned to Litha, and offered her a smile. “The Reef awaits.”

***********

For the remainder of the daylight hours, Lance and Litha toured the island at a leisurely pace. They watched the clan members make mana elixirs, fished for torpedoes, collected rare corals, and socialized freely. To Lance’s surprise, the clan seemed rather taken with Litha, quizzing her about her inherited farm and doting over the sparkling blade strapped across her back. She was polite to each and every last one of them, but still, Jolyne’s suspicious eyes never left her.

When the sun was finally gobbled up by the crystalline water of the sprawling horizon, the clan members lit their nightly bonfire, settling into low wooden chairs in the sand and cooking various foods over the flame as they consumed ale by the pitchers full. Lance and Litha sat directly in the sand, and to Lance’s surprise, Litha cuddled closer to him while listening to one of his brethren recount a lively tale about his time spent serving in the Galdoran army. He told stories of the great king Rhonar that would be considered treason to Galdoran ears, and Lance felt Litha stiffen at his side at the mention of her father.

“Does the whole world fear us?” He heard her whisper, her soft voice lost to the crackling fire and the bustle of surrounding conversations.

“It’s human nature to fear what we do not understand,” Lance replied simply, squeezing her thigh as his hand rested atop it. “I’m fond of Galdora, myself.”

“Have you met my father?” She asked.

Lance shook his head. “Haven’t had the pleasure.”

Litha scoffed, leaning her head against Lance’s shoulder. “And if you’re lucky, you never will.”

Lance snaked an arm around Litha’s waist, gently tugging her closer. They were wordless as they listened to various clan members holler and rave about their glory days, and the slews of horrid creatures that had died at their hands. They watched as the bonfire’s fickle flame fizzled out to embers, and the drifting smoke turned into stars overhead. When there was no more sun in the sky, and no more fiery warmth to huddle around, the ocean breeze chilled the island, and Lance and Litha retired to bed.

They were tipsy as they stumbled off toward the guild house’s dormitory — a rare form, for Lance. Though truthfully, he’d never felt so safe. It was abnormal that Lance was allotted a chance to relax, but alas, the woman he loved was by his side, and being within the guild house walls was a sweet, welcomed bit of nostalgia. Lance had grown up here, after all — had kept the same threadbare room since he was only fourteen years of age.

“The bed here is a single,” Lance said as the two of them stepped out of the long corridor and into the aforementioned room, which bore no signs of Lance being its sole inhabitor for the past thirteen years.

He stripped off his pants, his boots, his cloak, and lastly, his shirt. Only his underwear was left. Litha smiled at him wistfully as she shed her own layers, and when she was done, he took her into his arms, savoring the warm, silky feeling of her skin against his own.

“I don’t know if we’ll both fit,” he added, feigning unease as she looked him up and down slowly.

Though Lance had always preferred to be heard rather than seen, something about the way Litha looked at him made it all matter a little less. If she wanted to look, he was content to let her — as long as she liked what she saw, Lance was happy enough.

She peered up at him, nuzzling her nose against his jaw. His stubbly chin scraped against her cheek, and it sent chills down his spine. “I think we can make it work, Lance,” she said, pressing a kiss against his neck.

To Litha’s apparent surprise, Lance suddenly scooped her into his arms, hauling her up against him as her legs went around his middle. “We can certainly try,” Lance assured her through a chuckle.

He placed her into bed gently, and scooted in at her side. The unremarkable blankets were cold to the touch, and Lance winced as the chill replaced Litha’s warmth.

“We fit, but barely,” he teased, smiling at her as she pulled the blanket up over her nose.

“Come closer, my love,” she beckoned, holding out her arm toward him.

Lance scooted as close to her as he physically could, melding himself into her side like a puzzle piece. He fit — he fit like a dream. He laid his head upon her chest as she enveloped him in her arms like a child, and for what might have been the first time in all of his days, Lance felt held.

Outside the solitary barred window of Lance’s childhood bedroom, the stars seemed to sing, and the planets aligned one by one. Despite the fact that Fable Reef was the only home Lance had ever known, the rock hard mattress, scratchy sheets, and impenetrable brick walls had never felt more peaceful.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Lance awoke unusually late, cold and entirely alone in his guild house dorm. The alarm clock on the desk, which had inhabited the room longer than Lance himself, read 10:20AM. He couldn't recall ever once sleeping in so late.

And why had Litha left him in bed to let the entirety of the morning waste away? It was Fall 27, and there was still a generous portion of SunnyVale that required their attention before the Winter frost settled in. The thought of the work potentially going undone instilled a peculiar unease in Lance, which he found curious, considering that he’d never once envisioned himself as a farmer. He liked his monster crops well enough, sure, but in the duration of the past season, he’d found himself undeniably charmed by SunnyVale — and by its proprietor, of course.

Just as Lance made to climb out of the worn old bed that was truthfully little more than a cot, he noticed a note sticking out from beneath his thin pillow.

The wind chill feels like a threat this morning, my dearest adventurer. SunnyVale beckons us, though you’re sleeping far too peacefully to be awoken for something so mundane.
The veil between our world and the next is thin on this day. I expect that, as always, you’ll tread lightly during your daily duties.
-With Love, L.
Ps. The Spirit’s Eve festival is tonight — I look forward to seeing your best costume.

Lance chuckled to himself as he read the note over and over again, noting her messy handwriting. It was Litha’s special way of simply telling him to be careful.

Lance dressed swiftly and made the bed, his fingers lingering on the area of the pillow that Litha had slept on. There was a drool stain on the linen, and Lance couldn’t help but smile. She seemed so regular, every now and again, and if he didn’t know any better, he’d let himself believe it. Perhaps at one point, he’d wished he was able to believe it, but now that he’d all but come out and announced impending nuptials, he’d resigned to his fate — a monster hunter, fallen madly in love with a monster. It was poetic, in a way.

Out in the guild house’s atrium, Lance’s fellow clan members were chatting amongst themselves, gathered around long tables as they carefully brewed elixirs and tinkered with their weapons. The cacophony of scraping metal, bubbling liquids, and hushed laughter sparked a sort of nostalgia in Lance. It had been awhile since he’d visited his family, considering that the guild had been gracious enough to grant him his home in the highlands, where he was free to study and roam as he pleased — but he’d never forget where he came from. Not in light of the highlands, and not in light of SunnyVale, either.

“Lance!” Brianna called from nearby. She and Gale appeared to be working on an elixir, standing in close quarters at a table in the far corner.

Lance was fond of them both, as two of the guild’s newer members. He’d taken Brianna under his wing, even. She’d made immense progress, and Lance was proud to call her his equal.

“Good morning,” he called, approaching their table and taking a seat adjacent to the two of them. “Happy Spirit’s Eve to the both of you.”

A smirk tugged up at Brianna’s chapped lips as she pushed a strand of wispy lavender colored hair from her face. “You’re chipper this morning, I see,” she goaded. “I’ve never known you to look forward to festivities.”

Lance rolled his shoulders, feigning disinterest. His fellow adventurers didn’t buy it. “Rasmodius puts on quite the show for the townspeople,” he explained. “No one is immune to the lure of golden pumpkins and caged beasts.”

“No one but you,” Gale scoffed playfully. “Tell us, does Miss Litha enjoy the same trivialities, by chance?”

Trivialities. For a moment, Lance felt pity for the adventurers, but quickly reminded himself that he was no better. While they lived their lives comfortably enough within the impregnable wards of Fable Reef, those same lives had conditioned them to go without such frivolities, and to do so without complaint. Brianna and Gale simply hadn’t yet experienced the impact of a new found love — Lance couldn’t fault them for that.

“Of course she does. Why else would I care?” Lance had absolutely nothing to hide. “Participating in pleasantries won’t hurt me.”

Brianna and Gale exchanged withering glances, and just as Lance was about to suggest that they worry about themselves, he heard Jolyne’s booming voice cut through the atrium.

“Lance!” They called from the opposite end of the room. “A word before you depart for the day, please.” It wasn’t a request — Lance could tell as much.

He nodded his farewell to his fellow adventurers and made a beeline for where Jolyne stood, overseeing the day’s projects from their spot before the massive unlit hearth.

“Good morning,” Lance greeted, schooling his tone into complete indifference, as if the stunt he’d pulled the previous day hadn’t put a target on his back.

Jolyne’s eyes narrowed, the scars across their face wrinkling with the movement. “What are you playing at, Azahar?”

“I don’t take your meaning,” Lance replied curtly. He was wading through very dangerous waters, but he stood by his decision.

Jolyne scoffed. “My meaning is that you brought a monster into this guild house, and put your family in danger. I ordered you to keep an eye on the Serpent — not to fall in with her.”

“You didn’t specify how I was to keep an eye on her,” he countered, refusing to let Jolyne rile him. Lance rarely lost his temper, as it was difficult to find it again, once it had gone.

“From a distance, Lance,” Jolyne corrected. “For your safety, and ours. We protect the Republic from monsters, in case you’d forgotten. It’s the whole reason we’re here.”

Lance could only manage to shake his head. “As you’re well aware, I would gladly die for my duties to Ferngill, but I will never allow myself to be blinded by prejudice.”

“Prejudice? Is it prejudice when you slay a golem, Lance?” Jolyne spat, their brows nearing their hairline with shock.

“That’s different,” Lance snapped tightly. His patience was beginning to wear thin, and Jolyne could tell as much. The guild leader knew him well. “You met her. You know it’s different.”

“Is it different? Does she think it’s different, knowing that you’ve been hunting her like vermin?” Jolyne’s arms were crossed over their broad chest. “You’ve pursued her like you’ve pursued any other monster — the only difference is your own foolishness. And I beg of you, Lance, don’t be daft — it doesn’t suit you.”

Lance’s lips pressed together in a thin line. Litha wasn’t privy to his assignment, and she wouldn’t be any time soon. It didn’t matter, realistically — because regardless, the outcome was the same. He loved her.

He only shook his head in disdain as he made to turn away from Jolyne and take his leave, but the guild leader’s hand caught his shoulder.

“I want you to think about what you’re doing, Lance. I want you to really think about it. This girl, a succubus who’s allied with Red Tail, is your natural enemy — but First Slash is the only family you’ve ever had.” Jolyne’s eyes were fixed on him so intensely, Lance could have sworn he was melting. “When you walk out that door and return to Pelican Town at the day’s end, consider what you’ll have to look back on when you’re old and gray. When that day comes, your legacy will be all that you have left — don’t soil it.” A veiled threat.

Lance shrugged out of Jolyne’s hold, and left them standing wide eyed and irritated in the guild house atrium. He’d never live this down.

**************

Lance warped to the Adventurer’s Summit with shaky hands and dread tugging at his guts. The sky was murky gray, and the wind was blowing ominously through the frost dusted pines and withering oaks, as if to whisper its warning of the impending Winter.

It was the second to last day of Fall, and Lance couldn’t believe how quickly the year had passed him by. He wasn’t ready for Winter, and truthfully, he never was. He hated the way that the air dried up, and the sun was replaced with clouds. He hated the short days, and the inevitable paling of his skin. He hated watching the wildflowers die.

Castle Village, on the other hand, stayed warm year ‘round, and Lance, who loved the feeling of the sun on his skin more than oxygen in his lungs, found solace within the city’s high walls. He’d even settle for Ginger Island, if need be. But this Winter… this Winter, he’d simply endure the cold. He’d spend the upcoming season holed up in Litha’s quaint little cabin, huddled close enough to the hearth that it would likely be considered a fire hazard. For her, he was willing to forgo the sun, only with the knowledge that she’d shine in its place — that she’d keep him warm.

Despite what Jolyne may have believed, Lance wasn’t an idiot. He knew that he’d crossed a line — a very well defined line, the likes of which he’d never be able to uncross. But even then — even with the nagging, soul-deep feeling of discordance, he couldn’t quite convince himself that he’d made a mistake. This was a necessary step, and he’d taken it for her. He’d take it again, if need be.

“Hey!” He heard a gruff voice shout from a distance, muffled by the howling wind. It was Marlon, peeking his head out the guild cabin door.

“Good morning!” Lance called in return, meandering over toward the cabin as he sunk deeper into his cloak. “How are the mines today?”

Marlon held the door open as Lance shuffled inside, watching the younger man carefully. “Restless,” Marlon grunted, adjusting the position of the patch covering his eye. “The veil is thin on this day.”

It was the second time Lance had heard such a comment today. He wasn’t much for superstitions, but stranger things had happened. “Do you think they keep a calendar down there?”

Marlon huffed, glancing over at Gil, who was dozing peacefully in a rocking chair next to the roaring fire. “Calendar or no, they know what day it is.” Obviously, Lance had never asked, but he knew that Marlon felt a sense of responsibility for his maimed partner.

“Hm,” Lance mused. “More power to them. Did you need my service for anything today, brother?”

Lance was just being polite, really. He’d served this faction of the guild for many years, considering that its seats were filled only by two old men. He liked to help out where he could, provided that the stubborn old goats would let him. Today, he hoped Marlon would decline. He was eager to get back to SunnyVale and help Litha with the remaining Winter preparations.

Marlon chuckled. “I have a task — if you’re brave enough.”

Lance’s curiosity was piqued. “What’s the nature of this… task?” He inquired.

Another chuckle. Marlon was in good spirits today. He stepped behind his counter, ducked underneath it, and re-emerged with a… harpoon? Lance only blinked at him. “Fancy a hunt today, Lance?” The older adventurer rasped.

“A hunt for what?” Lance implored, taken aback even more so as Marlon fetched a net, a bear trap, and his own blade from what was apparently a deep cache of weapons stored behind that counter of his.

“The skeleton, of course — for the festival. It ain’t gonna catch itself, kid,” Marlon replied with a shrug, spreading his gear out on the table top and admiring it like it was treasure rather than worn, rusty instruments of destruction.

Lance had been to the festival once or twice, perhaps — mainly just for people watching — but he’d never paid much mind to the caged skeleton that was always present for the village to gawk at. It wasn’t anything exciting for a First Slash member, of course, so in turn, he’d never wondered how it… got there.

“You supply the skeleton? Why?”

Marlon shook his head. “I’ve got my reasons,” he said cryptically, a glimmer of something foreign twinkling in his one remaining eye. “Are you tagging along, or not?”

Lance could only manage to nod. “Lead the way.”

*************

The sun was hanging low in the west when Lance and Marlon finally emerged from the depths, dragging a hissing net of bones in their wake. When Marlon had insisted on bringing an honest-to-Yoba harpoon with them, Lance had thought it a bit of an overkill, to which Marlon only replied “Harder to trap a skeleton than to kill it, kid. We want it walking when it’s in that cage — no one is gonna be mystified by a pile of bones in the corner.”

Lance had only nodded. It made sense enough.

And now, as they descended the summit with only the stars, the crickets, and the aforementioned pile of bones as their company, Lance was glad for Marlon’s experience. He’d been with First Slash for approximately as long as he’d known how to shave, but still yet, he learned something new almost every day.

As the duo passed the old community center and navigated around the outer perimeter of the massive hedge maze, Lance could see the glow of lit torches and lanterns lining the town square, illuminating the night in shades of orange and warm gold. He could smell the crisp scent of autumn in the air. The villagers had yet to arrive, but Lewis, Linus, and Magnus were already present, adding finishing touches to the event as they saw fit.

The stairwell that led to the maze was lined with fat carved pumpkins and small orbs of light, and the long, well lit banquet tables were vacant in preparation for the saloon proprietor’s impressive spread. Lance’s stomach rumbled at the thought of it as he and Marlon dragged their bounty toward the iron cage. Magnus held the gate open, wearing a disdainful look as the adventurers shoved the sack of animated bones into its housing for the night. When the festival came to a close, they’d kill it, and the valley would be a better place because of it.

Magnus slammed the gate as they released the net, and their bony friend slung itself against the bars, hissing and groaning erratically as its jaw clicked with the movement. For a moment, Lance was lost within the hollow spaces of its eye sockets, contemplating the meaning of life at the most inappropriate time. Gale and Brianna might call him a fool for it, but Lance believed that all living things existed for a reason — even if some of them were only meant to die.

The festivities began in a slow trickle. Villagers arrived excitedly, dressed in the season’s most eccentric. Lance recognized none of them by name, but he picked out a few familiar faces, such as the blue haired tavern maid dressed as a jester, the resident blacksmith who hadn’t bothered with a costume at all, and the librarian, who also wasn’t in costume, but looked festive enough in his brimmed hat.

For once, among the menagerie of colorful costumes and painted faces, and in light of the caged skeleton, Lance did not feel out of place in the company of the residents of Pelican Town. No one paid him any mind at all as he congregated with Magnus and Marlon, keeping his eyes peeled for a particular pink head. Surely she’d arrive soon enough?

“Have a drink, why don’t you?” Lance heard Magnus say from across the table. “It’s the one night a year that our kind can simply… be. Take advantage while you can.”

The wizard shoved a red plastic cup full of bubbling amber liquid toward Lance. He wrapped his hand around the cup, but didn’t take a drink. “I’m waiting for someone,” Lance said.

“There’s no sense in brooding while you do so,” Magnus said, giving the cup another shove. “Litha will be here. She wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Lance was caught off guard. “How — how can you be so sure?”

Magnus rolled his shoulders. “She falls under the umbrella of our kind. Do you think she wouldn’t take advantage?”

Lance still wasn’t sure exactly how the wizard knew Litha, but clearly he didn’t know her well. Litha didn’t need a special night to indulge in whatever life had to offer her — it was one of the first things Lance had learned of her character.

He braced his elbows against the surface of the table at which they sat. “What do you think?” And why do you think it?

Magnus chuckled, tilting his head past where Lance sat. “I think your damsel has just arrived.”

Lance pivoted his entire body in the direction that Magnus had suggested, and sure enough, there was Litha, heading for the stairs that led up toward the maze. She was smiling, her hair hung unrestrained around her shoulders and waist, and despite the biting wind chill, she was dressed in the most scantily clad fuzzy white cat costume that Lance had ever seen. She looked incredible, and he didn’t waste another moment before standing from his seat and advancing toward her.

Lance paid little mind to the villagers around him as he cut through the crowd. He couldn’t have cared less about them, but one, in particular, caught his eye. It was the man from the saloon — Lance would remember that scowl anywhere. He stood huddled in the shadows with two other men, both of which were dressed as some sort of tin foil super heroes. He had a ridiculous chicken hat strapped to his head and a red plastic cup in his hand. Just as he’d last seen him, he appeared furious and tired, with bags under his ice colored eyes and bloated cheeks. Lance wasn’t sure why, but he couldn’t manage to shake the gravity this man seemed to hold.

As Lance neared Litha, her eyes found his, and like a child on Winter Star morning, she squealed. Lance barely had time to brace himself before she jumped into his arms, throwing her weight into him and smacking a kiss on his lips. He was surprised by her theatrics, but it was hard to question a smile like that.

“Hi,” Litha said as she pulled away, her hands remaining on his hips as her blushed cheeks raised with her smile. “I was worried you wouldn’t make it.”

Lance brushed a kiss across the bridge of her nose. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he said, echoing Magnus’s earlier comment. “What have you been up to all day? I wish you’d woken me this morning.”

“Ah, but you looked so peaceful. I managed, though. Don’t worry.” There was a hint of something mischievous in her voice, but Lance couldn’t place it.

He glanced back toward where the chicken-headed man had been standing, but found him gone. “So you finished the winter preparations?” He asked, partially unwilling to believe that she’d genuinely completed the remaining tasks all by her lonesome. Not because he didn’t think she was capable of a hard day's work, but because it was no short list.

She nodded. “Aye, of course I did,” Litha replied curtly, her smile faltering and her eyes casting downward. “It’s my farm, Lance. I dinnae need help.”

“Everyone needs help sometimes, Litha,” he reminded her, only to end up deflecting. “I needed help today, with my costume.” Lance gestured down at himself, clad in his usual attire — armor and a cloak.

Litha glanced back up, and he smirked at her. She was wordless as she scanned the crowd, and then surveyed her own outfit. “It’s the best costume here,” she muttered dejectedly.

They were silent for a moment as Lance stared at her, his smirk morphing into a grin as she struggled to maintain her scowl. Seconds passed, and her facade cracked with a snicker. Lance began laughing, and Litha followed suit, her lovely laugh filling the night like a song.

He pulled her back into his arms and kissed her cheek. “I think I’ll go fetch a drink,” he said. “Would you like anything?”

“I don’t care for the pumpkin ale,” she informed him. “It’s too sweet and not nearly strong enough.”

Lance shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

He excused himself with another kiss and found his way back toward the banquet tables, eager to sample the spread now that his anxiety had left him be. Lance filled a plastic cup and loaded up a plate with everything from roasted meat to pie.

“Hi,” he heard a female voice beckon from directly behind him. Were it not for his reflexes, he would have been startled. “You’re Lance, right?”

Lance turned to find a purple haired girl standing a fraction too close to him, her wide sapphire eyes shining bright with moonlight. She was dressed as a witch, with a black pointy hat, a flowing robe, and dark lipstick. He looked around, as if she’d be speaking to anyone but him.

“Yes,” he said suspiciously. “How may I help you?”

She twirled a long strand of purple around her finger. “Oh, I just wanted to say hi. My name is Abigail.”

Lance cleared his throat. He didn’t know what to do with himself. Abigail was beautiful, but since he’d met Litha, his confidence with women wasn’t what it used to be. “Nice to meet you, Abigail,” he said, his tone clipped, but polite. “If you’ll excuse me.” Lance emphasized the food in drink in his hands, and left the girl standing dismayed beside the banquet table.

He turned back toward the area where he left Litha, but she was nowhere to be found. Lance paid it no mind as he reclaimed his seat with Magnus and Marlon, and dug into the overflowing plate before him.

****************

Eventually, Lance was left to his own devices as Magnus was summoned to the maze and Marlon’s eyes caught on a plump middle aged woman with wiry red hair and a cow ear headband. He’d been watching the woman for no fewer than ten minutes as she lingered near the skeleton cage, clutching the collar of her dress and watching the corrupted beast in wide-eyed fascination. When Marlon finally stood up, Lance barely heard his muttered “Wish me luck.”

Lance observed for a moment longer as the elder adventurer mooned over the frazzled looking woman as though he were a school boy. Had Lance not met Litha, perhaps a similar fate would have befallen him, doomed to wander the wide world by his lonesome. He’d gamble his name away, only to forget what he’d been playing for when the curtain finally closed. Marlon had lived his life for glory, and now, nearing the end of his well traveled road… it had been for naught. A chill splintered Lance’s spine as the thought consumed him. Jolyne had said it themself — Lance’s legacy would be all he had left, but as it stood, his legacy wasn’t enough. It would never be enough again.

The crowd was beginning to thin out once Lance had his fill of pie and ale and melancholy thoughts. As he was clearing his plate from the table, Lewis approached him.

“The skeleton — you’ll get rid of it?” The mayor asked, his silver mustache furrowing with the curl of his thin lip.

“If you’d like,” Lance assured him with a smile. “I didn’t realize I’d have the honor.”

Lewis nodded, glancing over at the cage. “Just take it to the graveyard, will you? I don’t want a spectacle made of it.”

Lance agreed and Mayor Lewis hastily moved on to his next task. Another half an hour passed before everyone had finally gone home, leaving the vacated festival looking like a ghost town. Only a few stragglers remained to clean up after the festivities.

Lance utilized Marlon’s net to wrangle the beast, tossing the mess over top of it and waiting for it to get itself tangled. These creatures may have been dangerous, but they were more bones than brain cells, what with their physical lack of an actual brain. He dragged the netted skeleton off toward the meager graveyard as Marlon began disassembling the cage it had been housed in.

As Lance trekked further and further away from the town square, the warm glow of the lanterns died out, the cricket songs met their close, and the idle chatter of the festival cleanup faded to nothing. Lance pulled the hood of his cloak over his head as he passed the large elm tree on the outskirts of the cemetery, squinting into the faint moonbeams that did little to illuminate his path. The night had become utterly silent, save for the sound of his own footsteps, and the mess of bones that he dragged behind him — and for that reason alone, Lance was thrown into a state of high alert when he heard a sudden sound — the hissing of metal.

He froze in his tracks, schooling his muscles into the absolute stiffness of a marble statue. Even his skeleton companion silenced its incessant clamoring. From where he stood, he could make out a figure in the graveyard, dancing around clumsily as the moonlight bounced off the rusted metal weapon in their hand. He could tell, even from a distance, that whoever it might have been was undoubtedly a woman. If he didn’t know better, he might have assumed it was Litha, but alas, his lover wouldn’t be caught dead with rust on any weapon of hers.

Lance approached cautiously, keeping his footfalls silent as the details of her finally came to light. It was the girl from the festival — Abigail. She was oblivious to his presence as she dodged and parried against an invisible opponent, her pointy hat discarded on the partially frozen ground and the skirts of her dark robe tied into a knot at her thigh. Her vivid purple hair hung loose and wild around her shoulders, catching in the breeze as she flitted about, and her fair skin was like a moonstone under the glow of its namesake. Truthfully, she was a sight to behold.

Lance allowed himself a moment to watch her as he leaned over the fencing, resting his forearms against the wood. He was partially obscured by a bush, but even if he hadn’t been, she still wouldn’t have noticed. A novice mistake.

Her form left much to be desired, but she was quick on her feet, and silent like death’s shadow. Though she wouldn’t last a millisecond against someone with even a day of formal training under their belt, she showed promise, and in a way, Abigail reminded him of Brianna.

Once Lance began to feel grossly voyeuristic, he cleared his throat, loudly enough to reverberate against the silence of the night. As he expected, Abigail stumbled immediately, her rusty, wood hilted sword clattering to the ground.

Lance stepped out of the shadows. “Hello,” he said before she had a chance to begin to explain herself. “Don’t stop on my account.”

Abigail swallowed hard, her round eyes becoming incrementally rounder as she realized whom she’d been caught by. “W—what are you doing here?” She stammered, hastily gathering her hat and sword from the ground.

Lance jerked on the segment of netting in his hand, which resulted in a groan from the skeleton. “I’ve brought our little friend out here to die — but I see this area is spoken for tonight.”

“You’re going to kill it?” Abigail asked in horror, taking a hesitant step closer.

“Of course I’m going to kill it. Did you think we’d rent it a room in the Ridge and compensate it for its time? It’s a monster. It lives to die.” As the words left Lance’s mouth, he cringed, recalling his earlier conversation with Jolyne. He understood their point, but he couldn’t bring himself to apply it to Litha.

“Can… can I watch?” She whispered, so softly that Lance barely heard her.

“Can you watch what?” Lance implored.

“If you’re going to kill it, I want to watch,” she clarified, putting on a brave face as she crossed her arms over her chest.

For a moment, Lance only blinked at her. “That’s nothing you need to see.”

“I’m not a child,” she countered, reminding Lance very distinctly of Litha. “It’s not your place to tell me what I should or shouldn’t see. Plus, one of my friends is an adventurer. She tells me stories all the time,” Abigail explained, as if story time was even mildly akin to watching something die in actuality.

“Oh? And who might that friend be?” Lance asked, his interest piqued, considering that there were very few adventurers he didn’t know personally.

“That isn’t your business,” she snapped. “Are you going to kill the skeleton, or not?”

To his own surprise, Lance found her rather amusing. He winked at her. “Only if you don’t plan to kill it yourself.”

Abigail’s mouth fell open. “Would you let me?”

Lance couldn’t help but snicker. “No, Abigail,” he began, rounding the fence until he was merely a foot in front of her. She was shorter than Litha by a considerable sum, and Lance towered over her. “I wouldn’t let you.”

“Then get on with it,” she insisted, her voice gone breathy as Lance looked down at her.

Lance only nodded, and as he hoisted the netted skeleton in front of him, Abigail shifted her position to stand safely behind him. Lance maneuvered his sword from its sheath as the monster thrashed and wriggled. He carefully cut a hole in the net where its head was, allowing just enough space for it to stick its bare skull out of the hole.

“Why don’t you just release it?” Abigail asked. “Seems easier than trying to work through a net.”

Lance scoffed. “Are you prepared to help me chase it all over town? It’s late. I want to go home.”

“Where’s home?” She asked immediately.

He was growing weary of this game. Without another second wasted, Lance’s blade found purchase against the hollow vertebrae of the skeleton’s neck, and with one swift motion, it was decapitated. All in a day’s work.

From behind him, Abigail gasped. “Do you feel bad for it? The skeleton?”

Lance opened his mouth, ready to tell her no — but something stopped him. He tried again. “I feel bad for every creature damned to live this life — but it’s not like I can help it. I’d feel worse if I showed it mercy, and someone like you ended up dead. Pick your battles, Abigail — and don’t pick them all.”

She stepped to his side and nodded. “What do we do with it now?”

Lance reached into an inner pocket of his cloak, and drew from it a small glass vial. “A drop of this potion will dissolve what remains of it.”

“Hm,” she mused. “Do you think it would be alright if I kept one of the bones?”

Lance was floored. “What could you possibly need that for?”

She dug through the netting carefully, unearthing a long, thick femur bone. She admired it, testing the width of it in her hand. “It’s a souvenir — from the best Spirit’s Eve ever.”

The look on her face made it difficult to believe that her intentions were innocent — but still, he digressed. There was no harm in it. “Right. May I walk you home?”

She stuffed the bone inside her robe and nodded enthusiastically. Lance gathered the net off the ground and applied the potion, watching as the pile of bones evaporated quickly. The only remaining evidence were the scorch marks on the wispy grass, and Lance was satisfied enough.

They began back toward the center of town, and Lance was surprised when Abigail led them to the general store. “This is me,” she said wistfully, turning to face him. “Thank you… for tonight.”

“Your parents own the store?” He asked.

Abigail rolled her eyes. “Yes. My boring parents own the boring general store, located in the most boring town on the planet.”

He couldn’t stop noticing just how blue her eyes were, and the resonance that they seemed to hold. Lance had only just met this girl, but he felt like he’d known her always. He placed a hand on her smooth, plump cheek hesitantly. “Be glad of your boring life, Abigail.”

And with that, Lance disappeared to the wind.

Chapter Text

The following morning of Fall 28, Lance awoke alone. Again.

But today, it was expected. It was a Sunday — the one day of the week that Lance reliably saw little to none of Litha. He hadn’t a clue where she went, and he’d never asked, but the image of that callous looking man with the black hair and sad eyes hadn’t left Lance since he’d spotted him the night before. He didn’t know anything for certain, but it was easy to draw conclusions.

Perhaps he was simply reading too far into it all, but realistically, there was still a lot Lance didn’t know about Litha. The large, grubby sports jersey was still stuffed under the bed, after all. Lance had kept an eye on it since he’d first seen it — it hadn’t moved an inch.

Lance wanted Litha to live the most fulfilling life she could, of course, and if that meant that her appetites weren’t singular, then so be it — but above all else, Lance valued honesty, even if he was presently a hypocrite. Not that she’d lied — he hadn’t even asked.

He was lounging on the couch when Litha returned that night, fully engrossed in an almanac that he’d found in the cupboard. H. Rosenhaal was written in faded print on the inside of the front cover, and Lance had spent several moments studying the signature itself. He’d had a busy day, having spent his morning in the highlands, and his evening at the Adventurer’s Summit. He’d only returned to SunnyVale about an hour ago, unsurprised to find that he’d beat Litha home. All the same, he was glad to see his day come to a close, and he was glad to see her come through the door.

Litha dropped onto the couch next to him and pried her boots off, tossing them aside and reclining against the cushions, her face tilted toward the ceiling. They sat in silence for a moment, save for the sound of Lance flipping pages, but finally Litha looked over at him. She smiled wistfully. “You’re so smart, Lance,” she mused, turning her attention back toward the weathered wood ceiling.

Lance cleared his throat. “What kept you so busy today, my beloved?” He closed the almanac and set it on the cushion between them.

She picked up the almanac and studied it, flipping the front cover open and smiling sadly at the signature that Lance assumed belonged to her grandfather. H. “Oh, just some leisure activities here and there. Sunday is my day, you know.”

“Tell me about it, then. I’m asking about your day, Litha. Like we’re a couple.” Lance was trying not to become frustrated, but her crypticism became less endearing each time she spoke.

She chuckled. “Are we a couple, Lance?”

Lance sighed. “I don’t know, Litha. Are we? Are we anything at all?”

“We’re whatever you want us to be. But if we’re a couple, I expect you’d speak to me plainly.”

“How much more plain can I be, love? I’m asking how you spent your day.”

“No, you aren’t. You’re asking who I spent my day with,” she clarified, her jaw tightening.

Lance’s first instinct was to recoil, but he didn’t back down. “Very well then, Litha. Who did you spend your day with? Was it the man from the festival — the one with the chicken hat?”

Litha sat up straight and braced her palms on her knees. She stared directly ahead. “He’s nothing for you to worry about,” she said tightly.

“That isn’t true, Litha — I can tell that isn’t true. What is he to you?” Lance demanded. “Regardless, I’m yours — but I need to know.”

She glanced over at him. “You’re mine?”

Lance only nodded.

“Shane,” she said, her voice a touch hoarse. “His name is Shane. He’s frustrating, and stubborn, and messy — but blessed Yoba, he feels like home,” she said through a sigh.

Lance was silent for a moment as Litha dropped her head into her hands. “And you’re in love with him,” he supplied.

“Aye,” she confirmed, her voice gone flat. “I have been since Spring.”

Another nod. Lance felt a bit defeated. Not because she loved another man, but because she hadn’t told him. He placed his hand on her thigh. “I’m not angry with you.”

He planted a kiss atop her head, and with that, Lance went to bed.

***************

The snow began falling on the second day of the season, and for a week, it hadn’t stopped. The thick blanket of white encased SunnyVale like a photo filter, and as much as Lance’s skin itched for warmth, he had to admit that it was beautiful.

Litha wasn’t herself since Spirit’s Eve. There was no more shared laughter or stolen kisses — no more mysterious smiles or declarations of love spoken like riddles. She was all business nowadays, despite the frozen soil and its lack of crops. Lance was lost without her light.

There was more time for adventuring since the sky had gone gray, and it was apparent enough that Litha was prepared to gobble up every precious second of it. Lance had no qualms with the fact that they spent a full week in the Calico Desert, but on the eighth consecutive day that she’d risen before the sun and loaded up their packs, Lance’s muscles were sore, and his brain was tired.

But Litha’s batteries never ran dry, and it was clear that she was desperate to keep herself busy — though Lance wasn’t sure what, exactly, she was running from. He hadn’t brought up Shane since he’d learned of his existence, and he didn’t plan to any time soon.

“You know, it wouldn’t kill you to put your feet up every now and again, my love,” he informed her on that particular Winter 10 when she bustled into the cozy little bedroom and threw the curtains open. “There is no end to the skull caverns — and there’s no point to running yourself ragged in search of it.”

“Worry about your own feet, lad,” was her only retort as she jammed some odds and ends into that pack of hers.

She was already dressed for the day, with her hair tied in a tight bun and her typical pale denim overalls gone in favor of some worn gray ones, tattered with holes at every fold and barely hanging on by a thread. They had a long day ahead of them, apparently.

Lance reached up from the bed and caught her wrist, jerking her downward so that she toppled onto him. He pressed a kiss against her upturned nose. “I can worry about both of our feet. Personally, mine are sore.”

Litha huffed as her lips found his. She sucked his bottom lip into her mouth, and bit down. Lance winced. “What would you have me do instead? Once I’ve tended to the animals, there isn’t much left to fuss with. If you weren’t here with me, I swear to Yoba, I’d lose whatever of my mind remains.”

It was the first assurance in over a week that she hadn’t grown tired of him. Lance wrapped his arms around her tightly, fixing his eyes on the ceiling as he held her close. “The world is a big place,” he mused. “I hope to someday explore it all — and if I’m lucky, you’ll join me.”

Just as Lance’s mind began to run away with itself, he felt Litha’s lips and teeth teasing the column of his neck. He felt himself stiffen immediately. She must have been famished. “Mm,” Litha sighed, her tongue finding his earlobe. “Where are we going, then, Lance?” She whispered into it.

“Ginger Island. The highlands. Anywhere and everywhere, so long as you’re bringing that wicked mouth of yours.” Lance wrapped his hand around her throat, his long fingers covering most of the skin. He squeezed gently, happy to play while she had the patience for it. “I’ve been restoring a hut on Ginger Island — come with me. Help me finish it. Get me out of this cold.”

Lance could feel her hand creeping down, down, down his bare chest, stopping every so often to tease the patches of hair. “I’ve na been back to Ginger Island since the day we met.”

He tightened his grip around her waist and flipped her over swiftly, pinning her against the squishy old mattress. He heard the breath leave her lungs, and felt it tickle his cheeks as he kissed her. “It’s a lovely place,” he insisted, slowly unclipping her overalls and peeling the bib down. “Why haven’t you been back? There are countless channels buried deep within Mount Kohldur, you know — so much to be explored.”

A tremor splintered through her body as Lance yanked her cropped black under shirt up over her bare breasts, pinning it at the center of her chest. He trailed his lips down her sternum gently, barely grazing the soft skin there. She was freshly showered, and her skin smelled sweet, like honey.

Litha dragged her fingers through his hair as her legs went around his waist. “My most fruitful day on that island has come and gone,” she said wistfully, her chin tilted toward the ceiling as Lance’s tongue found her nipple.

“Mm,” he hummed against her pebbled skin. “I suppose that’s true. What could be more fruitful than reaching the caldera?”

“Meeting you,” she replied without hesitation. Her hand slid across his stubbly jaw, and she cupped his chin, coaxing him to look up at her. “Nothing could compare to meeting you.”

Lance could see a small flicker of the usual fire in her eyes, turning those aqua colored oracles to pure steam. His body’s response was visceral, and immediate — he felt his stomach pitch forward, and the blood flow travel south, tenting his boxers. He laid a hand on her cheek. “I love you. Do you know that?”

She nodded, and a genuine smile stretched over her lips. “Aye. And I love you. I think I’ve always loved you — before we met, before we existed, before there was anything. I feel like I belong when I’m with you, like Yoba brought you to me for a reason.”

Lance was tongue tied, and could only manage to shake his head. This wasn’t divine intervention — it was cosmic. It had come from the ground at their feet, and the burning stars overhead.

She chuckled when he said nothing. “Is it so wrong to believe in something?”

Again, he shook his head. “I believe in what I know, Litha — and what I know is you.” And he meant it. Her altar was the only thing he’d ever go to his knees for.

Without another word, she kissed him. It was a frenzied, ungentle kiss — a mess of exchanged breaths and exploring tongues that set Lance’s nerves ablaze. He tore his lips away from hers and moved south, leaving kisses and bite marks in his wake until he came upon the edge of her folded down overalls. She shifted beneath him in an attempt to wiggle them off, but there simply wasn’t time.

Lance drew back on his knees, and allowed his fingers to find purchase in one of the plentiful holes along the inner thighs of her tattered overalls. In one swift motion, he tore the fabric away, but the sound of the ripping denim was lost to the growl that slipped past his lips.

Litha gasped and smiled up at him. “Those were my best overalls, lad,” she teased.

“I prefer them like this,” he replied, delighted to find that she wasn’t wearing panties beneath them.

She chuckled softly. “Oh, is that so —”

Before she had time to finish the thought, Lance had flipped her over like a ragdoll, pressing her chest down against the mattress. He grabbed her hips and hauled them up toward himself, wedging his knee in between hers to spread her legs further apart. Once Lance had Litha where he wanted her, he refocused his attention on her hopelessly torn overalls, widening the rip until her round ass was fully bare and a considerable portion of her lower back was exposed.

Lance could never help himself at the sight of that ass of hers. He delivered a hard, swift smack to each cheek before spreading them, watching for a moment as wetness formed between her lips and her perfectly pink asshole constricted. He placed a fingertip against it, and Litha shuddered.

“Can I try something?” Lance asked tightly, tracing his finger in small, teasing circles.

“Whatever you’d like,” she said into the pillow, wiggling beneath his grasp.

Lance only smiled as he hunched over her, planting slow, methodical kisses across her lower back. He placed a final kiss at the apex of her asscheeks before spreading them again and bringing his tongue down on her asshole. He was gentle at first as his tongue explored her, lapping lazy circles and only slightly plunging inside, but then, he felt the stubble on his chin grazing her inner folds, and Lance lost track of himself.

Litha’s breath quickened as Lance continued his gentle torturing of her ass, and one by one, he began plunging fingers inside her dripping pussy.

“Does this feel good to you, my love? Do you want more?” Lance asked, keeping up with his fingers, though he’d moved his mouth off her long enough to speak.

“I… I want it all, Lance. Fuck me — use me.” Litha’s voice was somewhere between a whine and a whisper.

It was all he needed. Lance righted himself behind her and yanked his boxers down, spitting into his palm and working the saliva along his cock. He began using his tip to tease her asshole, testing the tightness before entering her.

“You have to tell me if I hurt you,” he said softly, trailing his fingers over her exposed lower back. “Promise me.”

“I promise, Lance,” Litha replied, looking back at him over her shoulder.

He nodded, and gave her a smile, and then slowly, inch by inch, Lance eased himself inside her until she’d taken him to the base. Her breathing had become shaky, and quick, yet she never shied away.

“You’re so full for me,” Lance said under his breath, caressing her round ass gently as he began to rock his hips.

He set his rhythm at a slow, steady pace, increasing his tempo to match her breathing. She maneuvered her arm underneath herself, and Lance could feel her fingertips slightly brushing against him as she toyed with her clit. Within minutes, her release splashed onto him, and Lance emptied himself inside her.

Lance flopped onto the bed next to her, and she rested her head on his chest. Seconds later, they’d both dozed off. On this day, the skull cavern could wait.

************

“You’re kidding — you must be,” Litha said as they stood before Lance’s home away from home on Ginger Island.

The hut had certainly seen better days — but it had seen worse days, too. The straw roof was frayed and frazzled, the gutters were full of gunk, and the siding was peeling off at every corner. Truthfully, it was only slightly worse than her cabin, but Lance chose to keep that observation to himself. She was proud of her home, and she had every right to be.

“The inside isn’t as bad. I started there first, so at least it’s… liveable,” he explained. “I thought we’d finish it as a team — make it our own.”

Litha crossed her arms over her chest as she shifted her weight to one leg. Her eyes remained on the hut. “You know, we could always just pay Robin’s boat fare and have her come out for a day. She’d be thrilled.”

Lance was disappointed. “I’m sure she would. But I just thought — ah. I thought you’d enjoy this. I thought you’d be able to get your mind off things without nearly killing yourself in the skull caverns.”

She glanced sidelong at him. “What things are you trying to take my mind off of, Lance?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know, Litha. Whatever it is that’s been eating at you, I suppose — whatever you’ve been running from. I don’t know where the light has gone from your eyes, or why it went — only that you went with it, and that I miss you.”

She shrugged. “Seasonal depression, I believe it’s called.” It sounded absurd, considering the palm trees and shining sun, but all he could do was take her word for it.

He drew in a long breath and pulled Litha into his arms. He pivoted her to face the plot of bare land that the hut occupied. “There’s opportunity here, Litha — for both of us. Let’s make this hole a home — we can fill it with tropical fruit and exotic furniture. We can spend our days on the beach and our nights by the fire, just please… be here with me, my love.”

She laid her head against his shoulder, peering up at him through her lashes. “Okay, Lance — okay. Where do we start?”

***********

Three more days passed, and progress came quickly as the two of them gave it their all. Come Winter 13, they’d spruced up the exterior of the hut to the best of their abilities, and they’d tilled a considerable portion of the land in preparation for the hundreds of pineapple seeds that Litha had chosen to plant. She showed him how deep to bury the seeds, and how much water they needed. She explained how the seeds would germinate, and how long they’d take to grow. It was knowledge that Lance had never understood the value of, but as he stored it away in his expansive mental library, he was grateful to have it, and grateful to have her.

In return, Lance gave her a basic rundown of alchemy, explaining how certain metals reacted with one another, and which compounds served which purpose. He mixed up a concoction to spread over the soil, and promised that the fruits would grow twice as quickly. Litha was skeptical, but all the same, she gave him a smile, and it was all he could have asked for.

Come midday on that Winter 13, Lance managed to lure Litha out of the yard and into the house, where he plied her with a gift.

“What is it, Lance? You know the plants don’t water themselves,” she groaned as she stepped inside, leaving her filthy boots on the porch.

Lance chuckled as he shut the door behind her. The front entrance led into the kitchen, which was perfectly quaint with nothing more than a small fridge, a wash basin, and a wood burning stove. The walls and floor were bamboo, and Litha had purchased the circular burlap rug from a local peddler. Typically, the afternoon sun would have poured through the wide windows and lit the entire hut, but presently, there were clouds forming.

“You worry too much,” Lance assured her, and meant it. “It’ll rain soon, anyway.”

“Sure, sure,” she amended, sinking into a chair at the small dinette in the sitting room adjacent to the kitchen. “So, what is it?”

Lance remained wordless as he tilted his head toward the shallow stairwell that led up to the sleeping quarters, and Litha’s eyes followed. There, leaning against the threshold, was Litha’s sword, shining brilliantly though little natural light remained in the room. Her brows knitted together as she picked it up to examine it. Lance waited patiently.

A few moments passed, and finally, all of the light returned to her eyes at once. “Lance… this is perfect. This is so perfect,” she said breathily, crossing the room to take him into her arms.

She held out the sword as Lance’s arms went around her, and the two of them examined it together. It was as dazzling as usual, with its perfectly transparent purple blade, and the anodized metal hilt crusted in varying sizes of diamonds and amethysts and small intricate carvings, but now, just above the black leather grip, there was a small silver plate. Lance had installed it himself, more carefully than he’d ever done anything in his life. The metal was shiny and new, and carved into the center of it was her name. Litha.

“A token of my thanks — since you’ve helped me restore this dusty old hut,” he explained, pressing a kiss against her temple. He’d wanted to give her a gift for weeks now, but Litha had everything. This simply… made sense.

Litha smiled. It was her toothy, genuine smile, and Lance’s heart melted. “You didnae need to thank me, adventurer. I needed this time away from SunnyVale. I think it’s done me some good.”

“We both needed this,” he corrected. “But unfortunately, it’s time we returned to Pelican Town where we belong.”

“Why’s that?”

Lance swallowed. Last night, he’d received word from Jolyne that if he wasn’t planning to do something about Litha, there was no point in his schedule being free of its usual variation. “Jolyne is changing my schedule,” he replied simply. A half-truth. “They want me at the Adventurer’s Summit today, and then back here for caldera duty tomorrow morning. You’re welcome to stay, I suppose, but I thought we’d visit the mines tonight before my days become full.”

She sighed. “No, no, I’ll return to SunnyVale. I’m sure Sean and Ian are tired of picking up my slack, anyway.”

It was plain to see that Litha was disappointed, and as always, Lance sought to rectify it. “I hear Marlon’s been keeping a golem in a cage,” he supplied. “For research.”

Litha looked appalled as her eyes rounded out. “Research?” She clarified.

Lance chuckled. “Well, you know Marlon. It’s impossible to say what’s actually going on in his head.”

“Hm,” she mused. “I suppose I’ve never seen one up close — not for very long, anyway.”

Sometimes, it was all too easy to entice her. “We can warp home whenever you’re ready, then.”

It was the first time Lance had referred to SunnyVale as home, but not the first time he’d felt like he belonged there.

Chapter Text

“What does it eat?” Litha murmured as she observed the slimy, vaguely human-shaped creature behind the rusted bars, her body pressed against its enclosure as if it couldn’t reach through and wring her pretty neck. Fortunately, the sentient glob of gutter sludge was barely stirring, save for the occasional grunt or groan. Lance wondered if it was affected by the cold, the same as he was.

Marlon lingered nearby with his arms crossed over his chest while Lance and Litha stood silently, mutually lost in their thoughts. Though they were both fascinated by the monster, Lance couldn’t imagine that his lover wanted to study it like he did. Litha would sooner chain it up in the living room with a lampshade on its head and call it a Winter Star tree.

They’d only just arrived, but the sun was already beginning to set over the frozen valley. The early dusk had brought with it a howling, blistering wind, which sang through the frosted pines in the guild cabin’s backyard like an eerie lullaby. Pale shadows clung to Litha’s hair and skin as her slim fingers locked around the grated bars, pressing herself into them as far as she could.

An uncharacteristic smirk tugged up at Marlon’s scarred, thinning lips. “You wanna know what it eats? Seems like you’re eager to find out,” he remarked, resting his limp wrist on the hilt of his sword. “They’ll eat anything, but rumor has it, they like nosy young girls best.”

Litha rolled her eyes. “Aye, sure. And how did you manage to… catch it?” Lance was surprised that she’d bothered to ask at all, but he was glad that at least something had managed to pique her interest. If it was anything at all, of course it was this.

Marlon shrugged. “Luck.”

Lance couldn’t help but snort. He knew Marlon’s brand of hunting, and luck hadn’t a damn thing to do with it. “Luck, or a harpoon?”

“Why not both?” The older adventurer groused.

Litha chuckled as she rapped her fingers against the cage, resulting in a hollow clanging sound. The golem didn’t seem to notice. Litha turned away with a sigh, as if she was disappointed by its lack of a reaction.

She placed a hand on Lance’s cheek. “One last deep dive before I’m back to fretting over the damn farm?” She resigned. If Lance didn’t know any better, he’d think she was actually sad that he’d be returning to his busy schedule — sad that she was losing her adventuring partner.

Lance kissed her brow. “This isn’t the last of anything, Litha. I will make time for you, schedule change or no,” he said under his breath.

With a grunt, Marlon began to excuse himself. Litha huffed a laugh. “Rest up, old man. I’ll be back to prod at this beastie another day, once the mines are sated and my partner here has left me for tropical curry on the beach,” she called over her shoulder.

Marlon chuckled as he raised a hand over his head in a wave. He left them standing behind the guild cabin without bothering to look back. Lance counted each sound of his boots crunching against the dead, frozen grass, and then, he was gone.

*************

“You don’t really believe that I’ll leave you all by your lonesome to live out the rest of my days in the hut that the two of us restored together, right?” Lance inquired as they reached the barren 60th floor, both bleeding and short of breath. He hadn’t taken the comment seriously, of course — but it didn’t hurt to ask.

They’d torn through these levels so many times, Lance knew them like the back of his hand. He knew that the beasts would never stop respawning, so he’d long stopped pretending that their dives were a public service. It was fun — nothing more, nothing less — like sport. Ironically enough, he enjoyed the frozen levels the most. He liked the way that the kaleidoscopic crystals formed on the cave floor, and the sound that they made when his weapon shattered them like glass. He often found himself hypnotized by the sound of dripping stalactites in the otherwise absolute silence. Litha knew he favored these levels, so she was gracious enough to slow her pace for him.

She was sitting cross legged on the frosty stone floor as they took a short pause, idly wiping slime off her sword. She glanced up at him. “I dinnae think you could leave me if you tried, Lance.”

There was little Litha could do to surprise him anymore — or at least, he thought. Lance was taken aback as he stared down at the still, murky blue reservoir. “I don’t know what you mean by that, Litha.”

She huffed a laugh as Lance looked over his shoulder at her. Her fair cheeks were pink from the cold, and she’d sustained a cut along her brow approximately half an hour ago. The blood had dripped down around her lashes, and crusted there. She looked like she could take him in a fist fight, and Lance liked that about her.

“I mean I’m a glue trap and you’re a fly, Lance.” Litha held her hand up — the one with its palm marred by a pink-ish scar. Lance looked down at his own scarred hand and remembered the oath he’d sworn to her. Surely she didn’t think he was feeling trapped, bound to her by nothing more than the oath he’d taken?

Lance sighed as he stalked over toward her. He dropped a kiss onto her dirty pink hair. “If I’m going to be a doomed insect murdered by an inhumane torture device, can’t I at least be a spider?”

“If you want to be a spider, then be a spider. You’re utterly fucked, regardless,” she said as she hauled herself up off the ground and wiggled her cellphone out of her pack.

“I hope all this talk of insects and glue isn’t code for you believing that I only remain because I’m stuck. Oath or no, I’m here because I love you,” Lance assured her, speaking through clenched teeth. She was difficult to reason with when she’d already made her mind up, and while Lance usually respected that about her, it didn’t make his life any easier.

She said nothing as she stared down at her phone screen, but Lance marked the way that her brow furrowed. “Something’s wrong,” she mumbled without glancing up at him.

“What is it?”

Litha shook her head slowly, raising the phone to her ear. In the silent chamber, Lance could hear the chime informing her that her call couldn’t be completed. “I dunno, lad. The clinic called me.”

He looked down at his watch. “It’s nearly two in the morning,” he supplied, though he was certain she already knew. “I didn’t know they stayed open so late.”

“They don’t,” Litha clarified. “They wake Harvey up if it’s something serious.”

“What could be serious at two in the morning that has anything to do with you?” But as soon as Lance asked, he knew.

“It has to be Shane,” Litha blurted before immediately clapping a hand over her mouth. “We have to get back to the surface — now,” she said through her fingers, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill over.

Before Lance could even comment, Litha slid her still-slimy sword back into its sheath. She didn’t spare him another glance as she headed toward the rickety old elevator.

“What — what kind of man have you gotten yourself involved with, Litha?” Lance begged against his better judgment as she repeatedly mashed the upward arrow on the elevator’s panel.

He truthfully didn’t need to ask, but he couldn’t help himself. He thought back to the dark haired man’s puffy cheeks and red rimmed eyes full of sheer turmoil. Lance had seen such demons in the mirror before, but they’d spawned from an entirely different circle of hell. Shane was trouble — Lance would bet his weight in gold.

“Don’t act like you’re above him, adventurer — don’t you dare. He’s a good man that’s lived a difficult life, and that’s all you need to know,” Litha snapped as the two of them stepped into the elevator, where she proceeded to mash the interior button to get the door to close.

Lance only bit his tongue as he listened to the rhythmic sound of Litha’s booted foot tapping against the metallic floor. He wondered if she’d defend him just the same, despite the fact that she knew little to nothing of his life before her. He glanced sidelong at her, and she was staring directly ahead, her eyes locked on the door as if she could will it to open sooner. He’d known weeks ago that Litha loved this other man, but now, he knew the severity, and he knew it with certainty. For the first time in Lance’s life, he was… jealous.

************

That night, Lance returned to SunnyVale Farm alone. He had half a mind to simply cut his losses and warp back to the highlands, but despite his hurt, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. So instead, he flopped down onto the ratty couch without so much as changing clothes or lighting a candle first, and he thought. He thought, and thought, and thought — until the sun began to crown the horizon line, bathing the drab gray sky in beams of warm, watery gold. Lance shut the curtains, and he kept on thinking. He grabbed a bottle of wine from the fridge while he was at it.

He took a long gulp from the bottle, counting to a slow ten as he felt the bizarre rainbow of flavors slide down his parched gullet. He swallowed hard, and placed the open bottle between his thighs. He slid his shirt over his head, discarded it, and settled deep into the squishy, well worn couch cushions.

Don’t act like you’re above him, adventurer — don’t you dare.

She was right. She was always right. Lance was no one — nothing. In the grand scheme of things, he was merely one long, grueling pursuit of destiny, and where had it landed him? In love with a monster. He was a fool.

He could only assume that Shane relied heavily on his vices, but in the past weeks, Lance had come to know all about vices. He’d melded Litha into his life like a fever he just couldn’t sweat out — despite knowing the repercussions. He’d dangled his entire livelihood over the edge in her honor, and he’d do it again.

He’d pretty well dedicated his life to ignoring the unsavory parts of himself — his grief, his anger, his fear — but Litha had torn the cloth from his eyes and shown him all that he’d buried through a magnifying glass. That very first day — the moment that the tip of her blade met the center of his breastplate — he’d heard her loud and clear; I will have all of you, or I will have none. His mask fell for the first time in all his life, and he knew right then — she was intrinsic. He wasn’t sure how anything in this long winded charade of a life had ever felt real before he’d known her.

But despite his love, and despite his doting, Litha was not his — not truly. She wasn’t to be had or kept, and for that reason, Lance understood that he had to shift his sensibilities. For her, and for his own sanity. Over the past weeks, he could not discount the change in her — the dejected look in her typically bright eyes, and the melancholy that she had not bothered to hide for his sake. Something was missing from Litha… and that something was Shane. And who was Lance to deny her, even if she seemed to be denying herself?

The same as she’d done for him, he was willing to rip the proverbial cloth from her eyes and show her who she was, even if it wasn’t what he had pictured for their future. He’d sworn an oath, after all — and if Shane was what she needed to be whole, Lance would rearrange the stars to make sure she had him — regardless of what state he came in.

Lance said a silent prayer to Litha’s deaf god for the fate of the strange, dark haired man likely lying in a bed at the clinic right now. It had been a cold, cold night — the snow had doubled in its volume just in the duration of Lance and Litha’s cave crawl. He couldn’t imagine what, exactly, had landed Shane in the clinic, but he hoped it wasn’t exposure to the elements. One could easily lose an extremity on such a night.

Eventually, Litha’s menace of a fat orange cat jumped onto his lap, and Lance allowed his heavy eyes to fall shut, lulled into a sense of peace as the feline vibrated steadily. He promised himself that, whenever he awoke, he’d be a new man — for her, and for Shane.

Chapter Text

Lance couldn’t have been asleep for more than an hour when the cabin’s front door crashed open, filling the room with a sharp, freezing wind. He was still sitting upright on the couch, shirtless with a wine bottle between his thighs and a fat cat curled up on his belly. He jolted awake, causing Satsuma to sink her claws in and the uncorked, tenuously balanced wine bottle to fall onto the floor. Dark colored liquid seeped out onto the worn, unfinished plywood floor as Litha stood wordlessly in the threshold, staring at Lance with an unreadable expression on her face.

He jumped to attention, fetching his black tunic off the back of the couch and tossing it on top of the stain. He went to his knees, using the fabric to mop up the plentiful liquid — pausing only to look up at Litha. “Sorry for the, ah — mess,” he hesitated, embarrassed. “Myself, and the wine.”

She only shook her head as she slammed the door and kicked her snow crusted boots off. “Rough night?” She inquired, her voice perfectly monotone as she sulked toward him and dropped onto the cushion directly in front of him.

From his position on the floor, he kissed one of her knees, which was bare thanks to her tattered jeans. “I could ask you the same.”

She nodded as she reached up to free her long, dirty pink hair from one high pigtail at a time, intentionally gazing at the wall rather than Lance. “Aye, you could — but why bother if the answer would only upset you?”

Lance shook his head rather adamantly. “If in these past several weeks I’ve made you feel anything less than accepted in your entirety, I hope you will accept my most sincere apology. This is not the dynamic I wish for us to have, and I am so sorry for making you feel as though you can’t unburden yourself with me.”

Litha leaned forward, huffing through her nose as a corner of her lips tugged upward. She cupped his jaw, sweeping her thumb across his stubbly chin as her eyes searched his face. “You’re a good man, Lance,” she said after a moment. “A better one than I deserve.”

He placed his hand atop hers, holding it against his face as he pressed a kiss into her palm. “Is Shane… okay?” Lance asked through her fingers.

Litha shook her head slowly, looking far away from herself. “No, I dinnae think so. Not as long as I exist, at least.”

“I don’t know what you mean by that, love.”

“I mean that I’ve only made his life worse — yet he cannae leave me be,” she said, holding her throat as her eyes began to water. “Nor can I, him.”

“If you love him, then love him, Litha. Be with him, if it’s what you need. Be good for him, if it’s what he needs,” Lance pleaded, drawing his knees underneath him as he took both of her hands in his. “I know you have it in you, my darling — you’re not a monster.”

“Aren’t I, though?” She chuckled despite herself. “Admittedly, Shane isn’t the easiest person to be good for. I do adore him, but the poor thing is a constant spiral, and it’s almost intrinsic — wanting to spiral along with him. He makes it seem so poetic.”

Lance’s curiosity was piqued. “What ails him?” He blurted, well aware of how invasive it seemed.

Litha nodded toward Lance’s soiled, wine stained tunic on the ground. “The drink,” she said simply. “Shane is a slave to the drink, and I believe he has been for most of his life. He depletes himself thoroughly enough without my appetites literally sucking him dry.”

“Are you certain he couldn’t handle it?” Lance asked.

She shook her head. “We spent Summer together, and as enjoyable as it might have been, Shane is an addict. He came to depend on me, akin to oxygen. And at first, I did revel in it, but blessed Yoba, Lance, I am not dependable — especially not for him.”

For a moment, Lance was silent as he pondered after a solution, and finally, the realization hit him like a bullet. “You and I weren’t in contact during Summer.”

Immediately, Litha rolled her eyes. “Aye, Lance, I know it—”

He held up his hands. “No, no, that isn’t what I meant. You were with him solely, I assume?”

She nodded. “He was bearing the entirety of my burden for a full season,” Litha confirmed. “When I broke things off with him, I revealed my true nature to him, and I explained that our singularity was not sustainable in relation to his well-being. That was Spirit’s Eve.”

Lance was surprised that she’d divulged her curse to someone like Shane, but he pressed on. “That was a kind, selfless decision, my love. I commend you for it. But now, I’m here, and I will never leave your side. If you were to bring Shane back into your life, I would help him carry your burden, and I would do so gladly.”

A crease formed between Litha’s brows. “Are you certain, Lance? Shane is not a comfortable person to fall in love with, but all the same, it’s impossible not to — fall in love with him, that is.”

Lance nodded once, and it was a firm, resolute gesture. “What’s good for you is good for me.” He meant it, with every atom of himself.

Litha smiled at him, and it was the first genuine smile he’d seen on her face in weeks. She climbed off the couch to straddle his lap. “Thank you, Lance. I meant it — you’re a good man.”

He kissed the center of her chest, letting his lips linger for a long minute. “You deserve a good man. You deserve everything you want, and anything you need.”

Litha wrapped her arms around his neck. “Take me to bed, adventurer,” she said softly into his ear.

Lance hooked his arms beneath her thighs and hauled them up off the ground, not wasting a single second as he explored her neck with his mouth. “As you wish,” he said against her skin.

*************

Lance spent the next two days stationed on Ginger Island, waiting impatiently for his shifts to come to a close so he could return to SunnyVale and whisk Litha away… back to the island. The hut, though still not quite what Lance envisioned when he imagined his beach home, was shaping up quite nicely. He’d spent the past two nights away from Litha, and therefore, restless. He’d had more than enough time on his hands to fret with the hut, once a fellow adventurer came to relieve him of his watch.

During the morning of that second day, Winter 15, to be exact — Lance paid a visit to SunnyVale before his shift started, warping to the farm around 6:00AM, where he hoped to catch Litha just crawling out of bed. He’d only stopped by to wish her a good day, as he had a long day ahead of himself — doing a full sweep of the island at large. He wasn’t looking forward to it, but he hoped that seeing her face beforehand would provide him with some much needed motivation.

SunnyVale was like a dream, overcome by the thick frost of mid Winter. It gleamed in the likeness of a snowglobe in the morning light, perfectly pristine with its thick blanket of undisturbed snow and ice-coated lamplights like tired candles encased in glass. The farm was perfectly silent, thanks to the animals warm in their barns, and the layer of fluffy white that absorbed any stray noise. Everything appeared in order as the still mostly threadbare cabin sat at its usual crooked angle, and its stone chimney puffed pale clouds of smoke.

As predicted, Litha was bustling about the kitchen while still in her slippers when Lance came through the threshold, being trailed by that spherical puff of orange that she called a cat.

“Good morning, my love,” Lance called as he shut the door behind him, leaving his boots and his cloak on, considering that he could only stay for a moment.

Litha jumped, apparently startled by his arrival. She gasped as she clutched her chest. “Oh! Lance. You nearly killed me, lad. I wasn’t expecting you this morning.”

Lance chuckled as he watched her load up a box that sat on the flimsy dining table, placing mason jars in neat stacks. Her hair was loose and unbrushed around her shoulders, and she had yet to change into her actual clothes for the day. She still wore a stained oversized t-shirt, her tie dyed sleep shorts, and her fuzzy pink slippers. She appeared as though she hadn’t slept well, judging by the bags that hung under her eyes.

Considering that he’d spent the previous day on the island, he hadn’t been able to prod her about Shane any further. It’s all Lance could think about, though. He wondered if the same subject matter might have been what kept her from her sleep the previous night. “Have you given any more thought to our talk?” Lance nudged, making his way toward the kitchen, where he pulled out a creaky chair for himself and dropped into it.

Litha eyed him suspiciously, her hands pausing over the box she was currently loading with ambiguous jars full of herbs, murky liquid, and flora. “Which talk, lad? We have so many,” she informed him sarcastically.

Lance chuckled. “You know the one, my love.”

She sighed, discontinuing her work and pulling out the chair opposite of him. “If you only came here this morning with the intention of you and that mouth of yours setting the tone for my whole day, I can think of a much better way for you to do so.”

“I can’t watch you brood any longer, Litha. I won’t allow it,” Lance insisted, reaching across the scratched surface to take her hands. “So tell me, what are you planning to do about Shane?”

She straightened her back, pulling her slim hands out of his grasp. “My relationship with Shane was foolish, and it cannot continue. And don’t look at me like it’s a noble decision, Lance — it isn’t. He is better off without me, there is no denying — but blessed Yoba, that man would be the death of me if I let him.”

Lance shouldn’t have been surprised to learn that Shane wasn’t the perfect boyfriend, but still, he somehow was surprised. “Explain that to me, love.”

She shook her head slowly, looking at her hands. “He’s on my mind constantly, I mean, truly constantly. I worry for him with every breath I take, and it is exhausting. I can’t be in the mines worrying if Shane had too much to drink, or in the Badlands wondering if he’ll make it home safely that night. I cannae close my damn eyes without seeing him lying in that hospital bed, sallow skinned and attached to all those beeping machines. No one should have to live like this. Lance. No one. And I can’t fix him — I can’t even fix myself.” Her voice cracked on the last word, and it broke Lance’s heart. He hadn’t understood — not for a moment, despite thinking he had.

For a moment, he could only manage a nod. “I am… so sorry, Litha. I only want what’s best for you. Forgive my being so invasive.”

“You have na need to apologize, my love. I know I haven’t been pleasant as of late — you have every right to worry.”

Lance stood from his seat and rounded the table, stopping beside Litha’s chair. He leaned down to kiss the top of her head. “You do not owe me pleasant,” he said into her hair. “You don’t owe me anything at all.”

She tilted her head back to watch him, dragging a kiss across his lips. “On the contrary, adventurer, I owe you my life.”

“And I owe you mine,” he replied. “There’s nothing I’d rather be than indebted to you.”

Litha smiled against his lips as his hand started to drift down her center, tracing the curve of her ribs and dancing over the dip of her navel. His fingers found purchase in the waistband of her shorts as her tongue parted his lips.

“I’ve missed you,” she said into Lance’s mouth, her breath catching in her throat as his fingers found her clit.

“How much?” He replied, pressing down on the sensitive nub beneath his index finger, which resulted in a sharp moan. “I want you to show me how much.”

Lance dropped to his knees before her, meeting her gaze as he slowly dragged her shorts and panties off of her. He pressed his face into the crotch of them and inhaled deeply before tossing them over his shoulder theatrically. Litha laughed as she watched him, though the look in her eyes was anything but humorous.

Lance picked her legs up, balancing her thighs on either of his shoulders as he hooked his arms around them and dragged her hips closer until she hung off the edge, which caused the chair beneath her to scrape noisily against the faded linoleum. Litha squealed as he bit down on her thigh, and as usual, it was his favorite sound on the planet, without competition.

He buried his nose in the smattering of light hair along her pubic bone. “Did you miss this?” He teased, dragging his flattened tongue up her slit, holding her hips still between his large hands as she squirmed.

She placed a hand over her mouth, nodding lazily as he brows furrowed and her cheeks turned pink. It was confirmation enough for Lance as he slipped two fingers inside her, holding the same rhythm with his tongue.

He felt himself harden against the seam of his pants, and reached down to unfasten the closure around his waistband, allowing himself to spring free. He wrapped his free hand around his shaft, and pumped lazily for a few moments as he continued to work his tongue and fingers on Litha. Lance had spent enough time with her, he’d learned to read the ques within her moaning — he knew when to speed up, and when to slow down. He knew what her sweet spots were, and that she preferred three fingers opposed to two, but most of all, he knew the exact sound she’d make before she was about to drench him.

He found the textured spot directly behind her pubic bone, and he curled his fingers against it — quickly in succession, which resulted in that noise. Only seconds passed before her juices were flowing over the edge of the chair, splashing down onto the head of Lance’s cock as he stroked it. He came shortly after, pouring himself into his hand as he groaned. Litha’s fingers went into his hair, and she proceeded to hold his head in place, forcing eye contact as Lance was overtaken by his orgasm.

“I think you missed me, too,” Litha said with a grin once they were both spent and panting.

Lance smiled back at her before slowly licking her clean and then retrieving her shorts and panties from the pile they sat in behind him. “Every moment that I’m not with you,” he assured her.

Litha stood from her seat, pulling her shorts on but tossing the panties back at Lance. “Clean yourself up,” she ordered him, nodding toward the mess in his lap. It was a pitifully small scrap of fabric to mop up the mess at hand, but Lance made it work.

He climbed off the ground and fixed his pants, noting as Litha watched him curiously. “What have you got planned for today, my darling?” He asked.

Litha gestured toward the box full of jars on the table as she shuffled over toward the couch, replacing her shorts one leg at a time. “I found time to finish this batch of winter medicinals last night — an old Galdoran recipe. I’ll deliver a couple jars to Jodi, and then I’ll drop the rest off to Pierre. I’ll go visit Marlon and Gil later today — they still have the golem.”

Lance followed her to the living room, taking up the middle cushion by her side. Litha scooted closer, folding herself under his arm as the two of them watched the crackling fire flicker and dance. “I admire your curiosity,” he mused. “It’s one of my favorite things about you.”

Litha chuckled as she rested her head on his shoulder. “Aye, if only I didn’t use it for evil.”

“If only,” Lance agreed sarcastically. “You sweet, evil thing.”

She smacked his bicep. “You weren’t supposed to agree with me,” she grumbled. “In the spirit of my curiosity, why don’t you tell me about your home, lad? I know so little about your past,” she huffed, settling in closer.

Lance was taken aback. He didn’t necessarily believe Litha to be self centered… but he’d always assumed that she was content knowing nothing of his background. It wasn’t something that he was particularly keen on sharing, after all. “I don’t remember my home, actually — but I grew up in Galdora.”

Litha pulled away to look at him, her eyes gone wide. “You’re joking — you must be. You grew up in Galdora, and you never told me? Is that how you knew my true name?”

Lance shrugged. “I called Castle Village home for some time, but it was never truly that. When I was a boy no older than 7, I left the village that I was born in and boarded a merchant ship carrying spices — without a clue that it was bound for Galdora. I had magic even then, but not an inkling of how to wield it, apart from some parlor tricks that my mother had taught me. I made a living in the streets and slums of Castle Village, mostly stealing, but that was before First Slash.”

Litha was fully enticed, watching him like a movie — still with her wide eyes. “How old were you when you joined First Slash?”

Lance was generally hesitant to talk about these things, but for her, he was happy to divulge. “I joined the fold officially when I was only 15, but I met my master, a Dragon Knight, five years earlier. Once I’d joined First Slash, I stayed in the city — they wanted me there, as I knew the layout well. I was a scout for a long while, a common sell sword eventually, and then finally, a mercenary. I spent ten years total stationed solely in Galdora, warping back to Fable Reef every night and collapsing into my bed. A part of me does miss it — the thrill of it all, and the coin — but this life with you is all I’ve ever wanted. I dreamt of moments like these when I was small, but I never thought I’d see the day I was sitting in a cozy cabin with a beautiful woman, recounting my glory days.”

“I miss Galdora often,” Litha mused. “I don’t miss my mother or father, and I certainly don’t miss being the fucking Fairy Rose of Galdora — but my brother, and the days long sunshine? I’d do anything for just one more day.”

For a moment, Lance felt shy, but still, he pressed on. “Admittedly, I have this fantasy that someday, you and I will return together, and they’ll welcome you back with open arms.”

A smile split Litha’s face as she tipped her head back and laughed. “You are so wonderful, Lance. Truly.”

He stood from his seat and extended her a hand. “As are you, my darling. Now come, kiss me goodbye. The caldera beckons.”

He led them out of the living room and opened the door for her, and the two of them stepped outside. She winced as a frosty breeze blew against them, folding her arms over her chest. Lance pulled her into him and swiftly dipped her, planting a kiss against her lips. “Stay warm today, my beloved, and please, be safe. I’ll be here with you come morning, even if I have to crawl home on my hands and knees.”

She kissed him in return, flashing a wide smile as the flush of her cheeks made her eyes appear especially blue. Lance had truly never seen another thing so spectacular. “The Republic would be lost without you, adventurer — as would I,” she teased.

Lance nipped at her neck playfully, and then righted her within his grasp. He gave her one final squeeze before he descended the creaky steps. “I love you,” he called as she yanked the front door open.

Litha winked at him over her shoulder. “And I, you.”

And with that, Lance’s warp carried him back to Ginger Island.

Chapter Text

He hadn’t lied — Lance didn’t remember his home, not in the way that most would, at least.

It had been a port village, he knew that much for certain. Small, smelly, and drab — devoid of magic, save for his mother, who had been the most beautiful creature that pathetic little place had ever seen the likes of. Her soul was warm, her voice was like honey, and she died in that smelly, drab, pathetic little port village. Long had Lance thought that, if he could remember the name or the location or anything tangible about the place, he’d return as death incarnate, and he’d set it ablaze. He’d watch it burn until the sandy beaches turned to solid glass and the residual smoke replaced the clouds in the never-ending sky. But those days were long past him, and there was no point in dwelling. Dwelling wouldn’t change the past. It wouldn’t bring her back.

Her name was Amma.

Lance could only assume that she’d had a last name, and he had as well — but he couldn’t remember it. Azahar was the name that his master had given him, and he’d carried it ever since. He couldn’t recall something as simple as a surname, but otherwise, he remembered a great deal about the woman that had birthed him. He remembered her golden hair, cozy arms, and the bread she used to bake — he remembered the magic she held dominion over, which was the only thing that allowed her to survive in a place that hated her kind, and would stop at nothing to see her family sent to their untimely death. Amma was brave — a trait that she passed down to her only son, along with her magic. To this day, Lance’s bravery was his favorite thing about himself, because it reminded him of his mother. If only she’d been careful, as well.

But Amma was not careful. She was fearless, and without reservations — despite her being a daisy that had bloomed in a minefield.

There were few mages in the village, and even fewer that didn’t live in secrecy — Amma being one of them, and Lance, in turn, another. He remembered the salty coastal air, so distinctly similar to that of Pelican Town — but there were no luaus on the beach, or watching phosphorescent jellyfish drift by on humid summer nights. There were bonfires, he recalled, and the full village would come out, including Lance and Amma. The accused were tied to stakes on the white sand beach with its dead wispy grass and burned alive, but never once were the poor souls true mages. It rattled him all the same. Afterward, Lance would tremble the night away in the threadbare cot that he and his mother shared, and she would make promises she could not keep to soothe his troubled mind.

“They burn the accused only to send a message, my blessed boy. They will never come for us — they only want to frighten me,” she’d crooned against his hair.

The night of Lance’s 7th birthday, he was wrapped in his mother’s arms tightly, his flowing tears staining her tattered tunic. They’d stayed home on this particular night, which Amma resented. Lance had begged, and she’d obliged, but it pained her to think that they might believe her scared. Their shack was close to the beach, and Lance could see the firelight burning in the distance like a war beacon. He could hear their screams — he counted four anguished voices, in total. Little did they know, they’d accuse the entire village before Amma would buckle. Lance never understood why he and his mother could not simply… leave.

In the entirety of the village, Amma had a single soul that she called a friend. It was a solitary life to be sure, but of course, she hadn’t chosen it for herself. Baya, a mousy brown haired woman, had taken to Amma with the utmost quickness. Lance was skeptical of her from the start, but of course, not everyone could be immune to his mother’s magnetism. Even into his adult life, he wondered how the villagers hadn’t come to accept his kind — based solely on Amma’s charisma. Lance liked to think he had inherited it from her, along with her kind brown eyes, her golden skin, and of course, her bravery.

Lance could never be certain, but he was convinced that Baya possessed a degree of arcane abilities — not like his mother, of course, but he could still sense… something. A small spark, like an inkling of fire in her aura. She cleaved to Amma’s side like a mosquito, available for her every beck and call, and with time, Lance grew more comfortable, especially considering that her presence took some of the attention away from Amma.

Baya would often take him to the market in search of poultices, herbs, and potion ingredients that his mother had requested. She taught him how to steal bread from the bakeries, and coins from unsuspecting travelers. She let him gawk at the mercenaries in the dreary, dilapidated town square, peddling their services without shame or reservation. He admired the furs they wore, and their fearless posture. He admired their dull weapons, everything from maces to swords.

Lance wore a cloak during their outings, always with a tightly drawn hood to cover his shock of haematic magenta hair — but still, Baya informed him he was a terrible pickpocket, and he had his father to thank for it — presumably the conspicuous shade of his hair, despite it being concealed to the best of his abilities. In the gray little fishing village, Baya blended in like the mortar between the bricks. Lance couldn’t recall ever seeing another person so unremarkable. She was an excellent pickpocket, though. They always returned to Amma’s shack with twice the bounty she’d requested, having spent half the gold she allotted them. With time, Lance caught on to the art, and by the time he was nearly 8, he could steal the clothes off someone’s back and leave them guessing after the breeze on their ass. He was proud of himself, then — though Amma was none the wiser.

It was the Winter before his 8th birthday when Baya brought Lance and Amma a Winter Star gift — a lemon cake wrapped in cheesecloth. She informed Lance’s mother that she had stolen it from some traveling baker, knowing it was their favorite dessert. Lance had never seen a traveling baker in town.

Shortly after Baya arrived, she excused herself, refusing Amma’s offer to stay for cake. Baya insisted that the family she served required her presence on that particular night, and Lance found it odd. Baya was generally glad to overstay her welcome, typically until sunrise and well into the next day. But Amma bid her farewell and happy holidays, giving her three freshly packed sachets of milk thistle tea and a kiss on each cheek.

“Be safe, my dear friend. May the Winter Star guide you with its light,” Amma said as Baya stood on the threshold. Lance’s mother’s smile warmed the whole room, and for just a split second, Baya’s skin seemed to pale.

“I don’t want cake,” Lance said as soon as Amma shut the door behind her friend.

Amma turned to face her son, her blonde brow furrowing. “Why not, Lance? Lemon is your favorite. I’m sure it’s still delicious, even if she stole it.”

Lance shook his head. His mother was a good person — too good of a person. He’d seen Baya for what she was — a deceiver. She couldn’t be trusted. “We should throw it out, mama. I will make us a new one.” He didn’t know a thing about baking, of course, but that didn’t matter.

Amma chuckled, approaching Lance as he was seated at the crumbling wooden dinette. She dragged a hand through his hair gently. “You know we don’t waste food, love. You don’t have to have any if you don’t want, but I can’t toss it out. We’ll want for it when next our bellies are empty.”

Lance could feel tears welling up in his eyes, threatening to spill over. He looked down at the dirt floor below him. “It — it’s bad, mama. It’s bad,” he managed hoarsely. He couldn’t explain it, he just had this… feeling.

Amma frowned. “You’re a good boy, Lance. Off to bed, now.” She kissed his nose, and with that, he was dismissed.

Lance nodded slowly, tears spilling down his cheeks. “I love you, mama. Please don’t have any cake. I’ll make a new one,” he attempted once more.

She wiped the tears from his face with her thumbs. “I love you, my blessed boy. It’s time for you to rest.”

Resigned, Lance scuffled off toward the bedroom that he and his mother shared. He shut the flimsy wooden door behind him and slid down against it, pressing his ear to the surface and closing his eyes. He was determined to remain listening until Amma came to bed, but alas, it was late, and Lance had a long day. Despite his hard fought battle with his heavy eyelids… Lance fell asleep.

*************

There was a crashing sound in the adjoining room that jolted Lance awake, sending his heart plummeting into the pit of his stomach as he scrambled up off the ground and yanked the door open. At first, he saw nothing — just a dull little room lit by a weak, flickering candle. The small stone hearth burned a steady, low flame beneath Amma’s well loved iron cauldron, which was perpetually bubbling to its brim with some mystery liquid, and one of the two dining chairs was pulled out. The lemon cake was on the table, its cheesecloth unwrapped and a few generous chunks taken out of it.

For a moment, Lance felt as though he might be sick. His gut turned leaden, and a fluttering overtook his chest. “Mama?” Lance called, scanning the main room once more before rushing toward the washroom.

The washroom door was slightly ajar, and Lance did not bother to knock. He shoved the door, but something was blocking its way. He shoved it again, and then again, until there was enough space for his small body to wiggle through the gap.

Lance screamed. He screamed and screamed and screamed until his throat hurt so badly that no more noise could come out. Amma was lying on the ground, molded into the tiny room's corner by Lance’s shoving at the door. She was on her side, and beneath her head, there was vomit. It was foam, mostly, but it was pink in color, staining her warm golden hair and the off-white tunic she wore.

“Mama!” He cried, dropping to his knees beside her, grabbing her shoulder and shaking it violently. Her head bobbed freely with the motion. “Please, no,” he whimpered, laying a hand on her smooth cheek.

For a moment, all Lance could think about was Baya. He was only a child, but even then, he wanted to rip her apart. He wanted to see her burn, like all those poor souls on the beach. If it was the last thing he ever did, he would find her —

Lance could hear voices, loud but indistinct outside the shack, coming up the beach toward his home. He peered out the small window in the washroom, waiting impatiently for his eyes to adjust to the blackness of the night.

Fire. Fire, dotting the portion of the horizon eclipsed by the hill, growing closer each second. They were coming to finish what Baya started — they were coming to burn the shack. It was only then that Lance realized… he wasn’t supposed to be alive. All he could feel was terror — not grief for his mother whom he’d loved so much, or anger for the woman that had poisoned her… but terror. White hot, unrelenting fear.

He tore his eyes from the small window long enough to glance down at Amma. She was still so pretty, even with her warm brown eyes staring blankly into nothing, and her gold skin turned pale and sick. Lance kissed her cold face for a final time before he rushed back to the bedroom, pulling on his shoes and cloak. He could hear the voices growing nearer now, deep and booming and angry.

What had Amma done to deserve this, apart from simply drawing breath? Lance didn’t understand it then, and he didn’t understand it later, either. But right then, as he watched those speckled flames materialize into torches, he knew that it didn’t matter whether or not he understood the village’s prejudice. All that mattered was that he had to run. He did not glance back at the shack he was born in as he climbed through the makeshift bedroom window at the back of the house. As soon as the thin soles of his well worn shoes hit the ground, Lance yanked his hood up over his head, and bounded for the port. He looked back only to see the blaze that lit the night sky — the funeral pyre of a woman that deserved far better.

There were four docked ships at the trading port that night, and Lance couldn’t help but marvel over the enormity of them, with their tall masts and pale, billowing sails. He picked the grandest vessel at the dock and made himself scarce within a pallet of goods waiting to be loaded on board. He’d learned a vanishing spell from Baya without his mother’s knowledge, but he wasn’t confident enough to simply board the ship while under its effects. He was more comfortable blending in with the dark barrels and crates. He hadn’t a clue where the ship would take him, but so long as it was far away from the port village, he did not care. He knew nothing of the world beyond the island on which he was born, but he liked to imagine that it was beautiful, and kind. He liked to imagine that he would belong.

*************

Two months later, the spice merchant ship that Lance had boarded docked at a strange, colorful harbor. He was skinny when he got off the boat — at least fifteen pounds lighter than he had been when he left his home — thanks to the crates of citrus in the storage deck that he had subsided on, and the unrelenting sea sickness that he never quite got used to.

He hadn’t seen the sun in 56 days, so when he stepped off the ship and found the bustling harbor alive with bodies and voices and sunshine and magic, Lance forgot how to breathe. He’d never seen such sunshine before, almost like it didn’t belong. It was bright and beautiful, and it reflected off of each and every surface, liquid, glass, and metal like millions of gleaming prismatic shards. He couldn’t believe the magic — the people that practiced their craft freely, both for show, and for purpose. There were traveling merchants selling elixirs and pin cushion dolls, cloaked men dealing herb and root, and scantily clad women summoning flame from thin air, earning oohs and aahs from a gathering crowd.

Lance wasn’t sure where he had landed, but he was sure he never wanted to leave.

**********

The country was called Galdora, and more specifically, Lance had come to the capital. A grand city in the valley between two monstrous mountains called Castle Village, with its high, warded walls and the glimmering white stone palace that crested the city’s highest peak.

The palace watched over the capital city like the eyes of Yoba, and Lance found himself watching it in return. While Castle Village wasn’t terribly rough, it certainly had its jagged edges — primarily due to its drug market, gambling rings, and illegal fighting pits. He wondered if the royal family — the Annehaens — knew what occurred in the city that lie at the base of their absurd castle. He assumed they didn’t, but if they did, they must have not cared. It didn’t make a difference to him, of course.

Lance was very much a child when he first stepped off that boat, 7 years of age and oblivious to the world around him. He was familiar with the cruelty of strangers, though, and that knowledge molded him like soft clay in its capable hands. He thought about the port village often. He thought about the lemon cake that was left uneaten on the flimsy wooden tabletop, and though he had watched the shack burn, he liked to think that the cake still remained — molding and forgotten. It brought him solace in a strange way. His vengeful thoughts kept him warm.

As Lance grew older, his anger turned to fear, and his fear turned to grief, and the coal that was his trauma no longer burned hot enough to sustain him. He was no longer a dirty, starving child — he was a man, with a man’s appetite. Even after he met his Master, and later found a new family in swearing his oath to First Slash… Lance was so mind numbingly alone. He learned to fill the void in whatever way the void demanded to be filled.

There had been plenty of women — women and men alike, actually — that had stolen his heart, keeping him warm in filthy washrooms tucked away in little taverns and pubs scattered throughout Castle Village. Lance had long learned where to find beauty and decadence in the Galdoran capital, which proved quite easy in all its dangerous, enchanted glory. Lance was merely an observer within the city’s high walls, traipsing through the night like swift shadow, drinking and whoring and betting his coin away in the fighting pits. Yet still, the void was never satiated.

He learned to work with what he had, in spite of what he did not. He learned to speak like a gentleman, and wield steel like a warrior. He learned to fuck like a machine, and had put it to use from time to time when the coin in his pocket was sparse. His compensation as a sellsword was no match for his gambling habits, after all. Many numb, meaningless nights, he actually thought back to the mercenaries in his village square with their pelts and weapons and scars… and finally, he understood why his mother had insisted upon her kindness. There wasn’t enough of it in this damned world — not for the warriors, or whores, or mercenaries — and not for Lance.

Chapter Text

Lance returned begrudgingly to his island watch after his brief visit with Litha, though he had half a mind to ask one of his fellow clan members to cover his shift. She’d gone to the guild cabin to prod at that damned golem, and Lance would be lying if he claimed he hadn’t wished he could tag along. He even would have accompanied her errands — delivering the medicine jars, or whatever else she might have had in mind. A part of him was forever curious about how she spent her days in his absence. He’d commit terrible crimes to be a bug on her shoulder for just one hour.

A season ago, Lance would have been weary to learn how she filled her time, but now, that line of thinking was far behind him. He wanted whatever was best for her, genuinely — whatever made her feel at home in the valley. It was important to him, after all, that she enjoy her life here. Even if Lance wasn’t the sole source of that enjoyment. And if ever that enjoyment ran dry, Lance would follow her to the ends of the earth in pursuit of a better life. It was really so simple.

But for now, the rich soil of SunnyVale and the lush palms of Ginger Island were home enough, and for that, he was grateful. Lance liked his life in the valley — it was the only peace he’d ever known, and he was not eager to give it up.

He watched the sun set over the rippling sapphire waters of the fathomless Gem Sea that night, his bare toes buried in the powdery white sand in front of the hut that he and Litha had so painstakingly made into a place of their own. He counted the shells, he counted the stars, he counted each of his blessings and thanked a god that he had never believed in, and likely never would.

Lance had long dreamt of this life that he’d built for himself, and to whatever end, he was determined to protect it.

************

Lance slept restlessly once his head finally hit the pillow, tossing and turning as he measured the seconds between each and every pop of the fire crackling away in the hearth downstairs. Some innate thing in his brain had tectonically shifted since last he saw her — as if some sense of resoluteness had finally taken a hold over him. He saw things so clearly now, and he was eager to share his epiphany with the woman he loved. He was elated to feel that they’d finally broken their stalemate, even if the Shane of it all still remained unresolved. Progress was progress, and for that, Lance was grateful.

The sun rose before Lance managed to drift off, by which point he’d given up on sleeping, at all. He climbed out of bed, dressed swiftly, and went for a jog on the beach, returning to the hut once the sun had heaved itself over the horizon line, and the heat grew too strong to bear. He tidied up the living space in preparation for later, when he and Litha would return to their own little bubble of paradise. He couldn’t wait to watch her slide on her tiny white bikini, tying the strings tightly as if the ocean waves wouldn’t strip her regardless.

Lance’s warp carried him back to SunnyVale swiftly, directly to the front porch which funneled the freezing winter air through like a miserable, frosty tunnel. Lance shivered hard as he yanked the cabin door open, immediately overcome by a… scent.

He entered silently as a shadow, his instincts firing on full alert. The common areas appeared undisturbed as Lance took a mental inventory of the cabin, but as he wandered into the washroom, he noted an array of toiletries scattered across the cracked tile floor. Lance picked them up, setting them meticulously back in their places, just as Litha liked them.

As he moved nearer to the tiny bedroom, Lance froze in his tracks. He heard… snoring. Not Litha’s soft snores, but a deep, booming snore. Lance approached cautiously, easing back the curtain that hung in place of a bedroom door. What he saw knocked the breath from his chest.

Litha was lying back against a pile of pillows, propped up elegantly with her chin tilted toward the ceiling. Her pearl pink hair was tangly and unrestrained, and she was fully nude, with her legs hanging open and her fair skin pebbled with chill. Of course, Lance had seen Litha naked more times than he could count, but that wasn’t why he found himself taken aback. She was lovely, of course, and he’d never tire of the sight of her, but… Litha wasn’t alone.

In bed with Litha and face down between her spread legs was none other than Shane — the source of the snoring. He was nude as well, lying on his stomach with his surprisingly round ass on full display. His messy, overgrown black hair was sleep mussed, and Lance imagined the way that Litha’s slim fingers would look tangled up in those dark tresses. He noted Shane’s broad, thickly muscled shoulders, and assumed he’d once been an athlete of some sort. Lance remembered the sports jersey under the bed, and it was confirmation enough.

He’d pondered it before — seeing Litha with another man — but he never quite knew how he’d react. He expected to be jarred, and he was, but he didn’t expect to find himself… aroused.

Lance cleared his throat gently — just loudly enough that Litha, the lightest sleeper he’d ever known, would hear him. Surely enough, she jerked her head up, and her eyes met Lance’s as a slow smile crept over her lips.

Lance smiled back at her, and without a doubt, it was genuine. “Well, good morning,” he purred.

“Good morning to you,” Litha replied at full volume, loud enough to make Shane stir.

“What the fuck?” Shane growled as he craned his neck, gaining enough lucidity to realize that he and Litha had a visitor. He yanked the blanket up over himself with haste, and Litha held back a laugh.

Lance leaned against the door jamb casually, not bothering to hide his amusement. “I’m elated to see you here, Shane — truly,” he announced, bowing his head in acknowledgement. “Our sweet Litha has been pining for you quite ceaselessly.”

“Ceaselessly, indeed,” Litha teased, dragging a hand through Shane’s tangled hair. “All is well at the caldera, I presume?” She asked Lance.

Lance strode over to the bedside, where Shane regarded him defensively. He sat down beside Litha, placing a hand on her bare belly. She stared up at him with love in her eyes, disregarding Shane’s furrowed brow. Lance felt secure in that moment, and he loved her even more for it. “Well enough to bring me home to you, my beloved,” he soothed, dropping a kiss onto her forehead as Shane watched in horror. He wasn’t trying to assert dominance, but it appeared as though Shane didn’t know the difference.

Lance looked over at the dark haired man, who was still holding a blanket up around himself. He was determined to make a friend of this disgruntled, blue eyed stranger. “Litha and I were planning to spend the day on Ginger Island today — just to get a break from this dreadfully cold weather. We’ve just recently finished restoring a little hut on the western portion of the island. Would you like to join us, Shane?”

Shane hesitated, and Lance took the opportunity to study him. Lance hadn’t found him attractive in any sort of meaningful way the first time he’d spotted Shane from across the saloon, but now — up close — Lance understood the appeal. Shane had the kind of face that begged to be known, and a demeanor that begged anything but. His pale blue eyes were offset dramatically by bloodshot whites and thick, dark lashes, and the stubble surrounding his lips and chin was a few days overgrown. His mouth was tugged downward into a frown that Lance imagined was permanent.

“What’s there to do on Ginger Island?” Shane asked dejectedly, yanking Lance from his musings.

“You’ve never been, Shane?” Litha asked.

Shane shrugged. “Never got around to it, I guess.”

“It’s a marvelous place,” Lance insisted, shaking off the chill that crept up his spine. “Of course, Litha and I had initially planned a cave dive, but there’s also the white sand beaches, the mysterious ruins, and even a pirate cove that’s alive with music most nights of the week,” he explained, offering Shane a smile that he hoped conducted his good intentions, and not the part of his rampant mind that desperately wanted to watch them finish whatever they’d started last night.

“I’m down,” Shane said finally, an odd expression creasing his face. “When do we go?”

“Whenever the two of you would like,” Lance promised, satisfied with himself as he stood from the bed and made his way toward the door. “By all means, take your time. I’ll be in the kitchen whipping up some breakfast — but please, let me know if you need anything at all.” Lance winked at them and shut the door behind himself, despite his aforementioned good intentions.

*************

As Lance cooked breakfast to the sounds of muted grunts and moans floating in from the bedroom, he pondered this new development. This was what he wanted, and more importantly, it was what Litha wanted. But as for Shane… did he understand what all of this meant? Litha had assured Lance that she’d explained it all to him, but Litha was an easy person to romanticize, and Lance feared that her explanation may have missed. It was easy to lose track of oneself in light of her, and of that, Lance was acutely aware. While he wanted this for her — for all of them — he couldn’t live with the possibility of Shane being allowed to enter into their world blindly. Lance decided then that his due diligence was certainly not optional.

Once Shane and Litha emerged from the bedroom, Lance wasted not a second in hurrying the trio to the beach, where they’d board the fishmonger’s old boat and cross the Gem Sea. As the vessel rocked gently with the waves, Lance still found himself observing Litha’s other man, marking the way that his features lit up while watching the birds soar by and the wintry waters of the mainland turn bright sapphire as they neared their destination. He shed his stained blue hoodie in favor of a stained white t-shirt beneath it.

The day passed swiftly once they made it to the island, most of which was a drunken, sunlit haze. Shane and Litha collectively consumed more liquor than Lance had ever seen, and for just a brief second, he thought back to Litha’s comment about Shane’s being a “constant spiral.” He quickly shoved the recollection to the back of his mind and focused on enjoying his night, everything from the salt that clung to his skin, to the miles-wide smile on the face of the woman he loved. He wanted this. He wanted this. He wanted this.

The morning approached before Lance had even processed the previous day, and he awoke on the couch to a cacophony of clattering cookware in the nearby kitchen and morning sun shining in his eyes. The three of them had stayed in the hut the previous night, and Lance had allowed Shane and Litha the bed. They’d had a considerable sum more to drink than he, and his protective nature insisted that, from his place on the couch, he could better defend them and their lowered inhibitions, if at all he needed to.

Lanced climbed up off the small couch on which he did not fit, and stretched his arms above his head. He’d removed his shirt at some point during the night, thanks to the tropical heat and the hut’s lack of cooling. Not that Litha’s cabin was much better during Summer, but the leaky old window unit was certainly preferable to nothing at all.

Shane stood at the stove, shaking a pan over a gas flame that was likely too high for whatever he had cooking. He wore loose blue shorts and the same stained white t-shirt. Lance noted that there were holes in it, but because of Shanes fair complexion beneath, they weren’t terribly noticeable. Lance approached cautiously.

“You look refreshed, Shane. I trust you slept well?” He nudged, pulling out a seat at the handmade bamboo table sitting adjacent to the quaint kitchen. The seat gave him an excellent view of Shane as he stood before the wood burning stove, and Lance was content to observe. Shane’s posture was less stiff today.

Shane glanced briefly over his shoulder before turning his attention back to what appeared to be eggs. He shrugged. “I always sleep well with her,” he said. Lance detected defense in Shane’s voice, but he could hardly blame him.

Lance took a deep breath in preparation for his next words, fidgeting compulsively with a stray strand of bamboo hanging off the table. “That’s part of her curse, you know. The Serpent’s Claim. Everything about her is designed to appeal to you.” He couldn’t help but feel as though he was throwing Litha under the bus.

Lance marked the way that Shane’s grip on the wooden spatula in his hand became white knuckled. “I don’t give a fuck about her curse,” he bit out.

Suddenly, Lance felt bold. He shuffled out of his chair and positioned himself at Shane’s back, fixing his mouth in close proximity to the other man’s ear. Lance had to hunch over to reach, as Shane was slightly shorter. He smelled of whisky and stale sweat, and Lance immediately recognized the scent, as he’d caught it on Litha time and time again. “You should give fuck, Shane. It’s a vital part of who she is, and something that you should not take lightly.”

“It doesn’t matter either way. I’ll still love her,” Shane said tightly.

“There is no debating that,” Lance soothed. “In no way do I wish to diminish your love for her. You’re important to her, and therefore, you’re important to me. I’m simply suggesting that you know whose bed you're warming — because there’s more to Litha than you think.”

“Yeah? And you’re an expert?”

Lance stepped back, and Shane looked over his shoulder. “One could consider me well informed, I suppose.” He didn’t want to delve into it — not now, at least.

“Because you’ve had so much time to study?” Shane seethed, turning fully to face Lance as he crossed his arms over his chest. His brows furrowed inward, and despite his baseline disposition, Lance thought that the crease which had formed on his forehead seemed out of place.

Lance was working desperately to quell his temper, determined not to let his annoyance get the better of him. “I was stationed in the valley for the sole purpose of studying and observing Litha’s behaviors, actually. The First Slash Clan believes her a threat, and they’re not far off — yet it hasn’t hindered my love for her. I fell for her almost immediately, because just like you, I am a fool for her affections.” Litha herself was unaware of Lance’s former station — the sole thing that brought him close to her in the first place. He felt lousy disclosing it to Shane.

Shane’s ire turned to defeat within the blink of an eye. It caught Lance by surprise. “How could we not be?” Shane asked in earnest.

“That is exactly my point.” Lance shook his head. “She’s a monster — prettier, softer, and more sensuous than the ones in the caves, by far — but a monster, nonetheless. Do us all a favor, Shane — inform yourself.” It was harsh, Lance knew. He’d never call her a monster to her face, but the fact remained — she was, by definition, a monster. Not that it altered his outlook in any way, nor had it ever.

“She’s just a girl,” Shane muttered. He didn’t sound convinced, himself.

“Is she?” Lance prompted.

Lance reclaimed his seat at the table just as Litha emerged from the bedroom. She took a seat across from Lance, propping her feet up on the table leisurely. Shane placed a plate of food in front of her, and then another in front of Lance. He filled his own plate and took the third chair. Lance looked down at the mundane looking dish, and then looked up at Litha, waiting to gauge her mood.

“Good morning, lads,” Litha mused, a smile splitting her face.

Lance sagged in relief. She hadn’t overheard them.

Shane watched her as she pushed food around on her plate, the crease forming between his brows again. “Why don’t you ever eat?” He asked.

Litha looked over at Shane slowly. Lance was holding his breath.

She speared a piece of egg with her fork and put it in her mouth. She chewed it and swallowed. “Food doesn’t really serve me much of a purpose, I’m afraid,” Litha said with a shrug. “I could eat everything on this plate, if I wanted — but I don’t really see a point.”

Shane nodded. “You’re already full,” he said under his breath, his cheeks reddening. Lance assumed he was thinking back to their drunken escapades the night before, during which Lance had been lulled to sleep by laughter followed by animalistic sounds directly after.

“You’re filling. What can I say?” Litha simpered, turning her attention to Lance. “Though, admittedly, I could be fuller.”

With that, Lance’s musings of Shane and Litha and where he fit into it all evaporated. If she wanted him, she’d have him. As always.

Lance felt oddly giddy as the two of them rose from their seats and Shane followed suit in what seemed to be a haze, but just as Shane stood, his phone rang, shrill and irritating and unignorable. It might as well have doused them all in ice water. His eyes rounded out and then settled back into a scowl as he checked the screen. He excused himself hastily, and Lance’s fantasy dried up. All the same, he was content to enjoy her all by himself. There would be time later, after all — Shane would be back.

************

Not only did he come back, but he stayed. Following that day that he excused himself from their ramshackled little island hut, he was theirs. When Lance and Litha returned to the cabin that night, Shane sat in the living room with a solitary duffel bag of his belongings and a drink induced stupor that did not buff out for the remainder of that season and the entirety of the next. Lance imagined that the days were simply blurring together for him, but all the same, he was powerless in this sense.

He’d mentioned it to Litha, at one point — intervening on Shane, as Lance had become more fond of him than expected — but Litha had declined. “He’s grown, lad. We have to let him work things out on his own terms — he’ll resent us forever, otherwise.”

Lance wondered how a dead man could be resentful, but as usual, his sensibilities were overshadowed by Litha’s. And she’d been right, of course. Shane was impossible not to fall in love with, once Lance learned to pick him apart. He was like a jigsaw puzzle with an infinite amount of pieces, and Lance could see himself forever trying to fit all of Shane's edges together just right — similarly to Litha. Perhaps he was lovable for all the wrong reasons, but none of that mattered. Not to Litha, and not to Lance.

Litha herself was different in Shane’s presence — her smile broader, her eyes brighter, and her laugh, once a small, sweet giggle, had turned to a rough, callous guffaw. Lance appreciated Shane for that — for showing him a new side of the woman that they now shared.
But with Shane came baggage, more than Lance had bargained for.

It was a warm Spring morning when Lance was startled awake by shouting out in the main room — he caught an unfamiliar voice, and immediately, his instincts were firing on all cylinders. He leapt out of bed and tore back the curtain hanging where a door belonged. He was nearly derailed by the scene unfolding in front of him.

Olivia Jenkins was standing inside their home, poised for attack whilst wagging her finger in Litha’s face. Lance hadn’t a clue why, and he assumed that perhaps Olivia was as ignorant as he, considering that no man, god, or force of nature could ever convince him to wag his finger in Litha’s face. Surely she did not value that finger.

In the corner of the room stood Shane, as useful as a wet rag as he clutched his chest in panic and watched wide eyed as the climate rose at a steady pace.

“What is the meaning of this?” Lance shouted as he rushed into the room, situating himself between Litha and Olivia effectively.

At his back, Litha scoffed. She had no scope of appropriate timing. “Mrs. Jenkins thinks that I’m soiling our dear Shane’s virtue,” Litha informed him in the most mocking, incredulous tone he’d ever heard.

Lance could not conceal his confusion as he glanced at Olivia over his shoulder. “What business is it of yours?” He asked. He couldn’t picture how they knew each other, but truthfully, it didn’t matter.

Olivia’s posture relaxed slightly as she crossed her arms over her chest. She fixed her dark eyes on Lance with a smirk. “Shane and I are lovers — or at least we were, until the village whore swooped in and stole him away.”

Stupid, stupid woman. This was news to Lance, of course, but he didn’t have time to mull it over as Litha’s fist made contact with Olivia’s nose in the most grotesque fashion. There was blood — a lot of blood.

And days later, the summons arrived. The Galdoran throne had requested Litha’s presence. Her outburst with Olivia Jenkins had been in violation of the terms of her banishment, and now, she would face the consequences. The night following the arrival of the summons, Litha, Lance, and Shane had sat down around the kitchen table with a bottle of wine between the three of them, and at long last, Litha told them her story.

In the beginning, Shane had assumed that Lance was privy to the circumstances that had brought her to the valley, but in truth, Lance only knew what every other Galdoran knew — the basics. Her crimes, whatever they may be, had brought shame to the royal name, and she was ousted accordingly. Litha had only been 17. As the story began to unfold, Lance found himself at the edge of his seat with mixed feelings in his heart. Litha had done a terrible, terrible thing — but his love for her refused to allow him to accept her punishment as deserved.

Lance had come to learn that the glowing mineral she gave him on the second night they met had far more significance than he ever could have imagined. She’d told him that same night that she had stolen it — the pursuit of which had cost her more than he could ever guess. Specifically, it had cost her a throne, and a title. A life of luxury flushed down the drain, all in search of a shiny rock that now served as little more than a nightlight on Lance’s bedside table at his Highland residence. Her story made it seem as though she hadn’t brought the gem home with her, but clearly, she had. A trophy, she’d called it.

During the days that followed the delivery of the summons, Litha was content to brood, Shane was content to drink, and Lance was content to do everything in his power to avoid the inevitable, despite his efforts turning up fruitless. Once Lance had exhausted all of his options, and Shane had even gone so far as to threaten Olivia Jenkins in her own home, Litha had convinced herself that her departure to Galdora meant certain death. She was so convinced, in fact, that she insisted upon going alone, despite Lance begging her to do anything but.

Once the dust had settled, the trio had succumbed to the fact that, come Summer 1, their lives would be irreversibly changed. In the meantime, Shane and Lance were determined to make the most of that spring. They planned adventures, they brought her gifts, they fucked her often and thoroughly. Shane even asked her to tag along to a gridball game with him on the day of his birthday.

The two of them spent the night in Zuzu City that Spring 20, and while Lance knew that he would miss them, he had no desire to tag along. The mere thought of that hellacious city scape bred fear in his gut, not that he’d been invited, anyway. Shane had something up his sleeve — that much was obvious.

When they left for the game that afternoon, Lance paced the cabin for hours. He’d left his station on Ginger Island early that day — he couldn’t think straight. And now, he didn’t know what to do with himself. 8 days remained before Summer 1, by which point she was expected to make an appearance in Galdora. He had yet to find a solution, or a loophole, or any shred of hope to cleave to, and time was running out. Lance was manic.

Hours had passed following their departure when Lance ultimately found himself standing awkwardly outside the guild cabin, waiting for Marlon to open up shop for the day. He was about to make the old man terribly uncomfortable, but for the first time that he could ever remember, Lance needed… guidance. And perhaps asking such a thing of Marlon was ill advised, but many nights had Lance docked at the summit and came up the hill to find him sitting silently beside the solitary grave hidden among the rocks. Doubtlessly, Marlon had lost countless friends and foes during his long years of service to the guild, but for that solitary grave among the rocks… his stoic mask fell.

Lance had no desire to find himself doting over a slab of cold granite someday, so if only to spare himself the grief, he’d stumble over this poor attempt at seeking advice — for her.

Moments later, Lance heard the lock click open. He didn’t waste a second.

“I need your help,” Lance blurted without an ounce of eloquence as soon as he saw Marlon’s white mustached face peek out the door.

The old man gasped, narrowing his one good eye. “You, of all people, should know better than to sneak up on a man,” Marlon chastised, cutting Lance a sour face. “Unless you’ve got a death wish.”

Maybe Lance did have a death wish — he’d certainly have less to worry about, that way. “Sorry,” he stumbled. “I just — I need —”

“Help,” Marlon interjected with a sigh. “Like you said.”

Lance nodded, at a loss.

“Never known you to need help before,” Marlon observed, swinging the door wide to welcome Lance into the guild cabin. Gil slept soundly in his rocking chair, as usual.

Lance shook his head as he approached the counter behind which Marlon now stood, pouring coffee into a thoroughly chipped mug. “I have never been one to burden those around me — but it’s Litha. I don’t know what to do.”

Marlon pursed his thinning lips, scooting Lance the mug in offering. Lance declined. “I’d wager that Miss Litha could find trouble anywhere in this wide world.”

Lance couldn’t help but chuckle. “To my dismay, she certainly could.”

“So the princess is in trouble — what can I do to help?” Marlon asked, an edge of humor in his voice.

Lance did not pretend to be surprised that Marlon knew Litha’s true identity. The seasoned adventurer was well traveled, having undoubtedly spent a fair share of time in Galdora. He’d likely recognized her just as quickly as Lance had.

Lance braced himself, sick at the stomach over the thought of sharing his turmoil with absolutely anyone. He focused on delivering his account as concisely as possible. “Several weeks ago, Litha unintentionally violated the terms of her banishment, and has now been served a summons. She’ll appear in Galdora before Summer 1.”

Marlon nodded slowly. “Seems pretty cut and dry,” he remarked. “Why are you telling me this?”

Lance pressed on. “I fear that she will not live to see Summer 2,” he elucidated through clenched teeth.

Another nod. Whatever humor Marlon possessed had dried up as understanding washed over his weathered features. “Walk with me,” he ordered.

Lance followed the elder outside, trailing closely as Marlon led them to that solitary grave past the waterfall, nestled into an alcove carved out of the mountain side. It was midday now, and the sun was shining perfectly onto the polished granite, which had clearly never seen a day of neglect since it had been placed. Lance was surprised to find that Marlon was willing to share this with him — with anyone. The adventurers’ life was a solitary one, to be sure.

“I know you’ve seen me here before,” Marlon said as he placed a wrinkled, scarred hand atop the headstone. “I didn’t like it, at first — thought it might be something you could use against me.”

Lance only nodded. He’d pondered the same thing before — his softer side being perceived as a weakness. That day in the Crimson Badlands, when he’d seen her atop that sand dune like some deranged, sword wielding goddess, taunting a biblical beast like her life didn’t depend on the outcome — he’d been awed, and he’d been distracted. That singular stumble could have easily cost him his life, and for that reason, he’d never felt more weak.

“Men like you and I… we cannot afford to be weak,” Marlon pressed on. “Especially when the women we hold dear make us seem like mere boys in contrast to their grit. We love them all the more for it, and for that reason, we must give them their merit. My Isabella — I always trusted her judgment, until the day I didn’t. But if on that day, I had trusted her judgment, I wouldn’t be falling asleep next to a headstone a few times a week. So my advice for you, if that is in fact what you came around looking for, is to let her be, adventurer.”

“What if she doesn’t come back?” Lance demanded, feeling his throat constrict. “What if she doesn’t come back, and I did nothing?”

Marlon was quiet for a few moments as he stared at the headstone of the woman named Isabella. “Then she will have died an adventurer’s death, knowing all the while that you trusted her. Afford her that, Lance.”

He was dissatisfied with this answer, but said nothing on the contrary. “Thank you, brother.”

With that, he warped away, leaving Marlon to his pining.

************

Lanced ended up in the mines. He wasn’t sure why, or when he got there, but when he regained enough lucidity to realize that he was killing mindlessly and it was doing absolutely nothing to quell his unease, he only felt worse, and he couldn’t stand it any longer. He didn’t have the energy to fight, or warp, or even to think any longer, so he stumbled back to Litha’s cabin long after nightfall, spent and bleeding with slime on his sword and dread in his guts. Upon his arrival, he found the cabin empty, so he took to the couch with a full bottle of wine. He drank until his fear turned to anger, and the anger turned to sadness, and the sadness turned to exhaustion. He drank until the bottle was empty.

Morning came no sooner than he shut his eyes, and then Shane and Litha had returned. They burst through the door arm in arm, both smiling ear to ear and laughing amongst themselves. The bags under Shane’s eyes were darker than usual, and Litha wore smudged, faded makeup. A long night, apparently, though their demeanors suggested it hadn’t been unpleasant.

It took them a moment to notice Lance as they were so caught up in themselves, but by the time they had, he found the good sense to be embarrassed. He was in no state to be judgmental, but even with that in mind, his mood was still sour.

Litha dropped onto the floor next to Lance, cradling his chin gently with one hand. She studied him cautiously for a moment before she spoke. “What’s wrong, my love?” She asked in a hushed tone while Shane stood by the door with a frown and that damned crease between his brows.

“We’re all doomed,” Lance said as he stared blankly at nothing in particular, his voice monotone as ever. “I hate that you’re both pretending like we aren’t.”

Litha sighed, dragging a hand across his stubbly cheek. “It’s not all bad, love,” she crooned, looking to Shane for confirmation.

Lance felt his brow bunch. “I don’t know how you can say that, Litha. When you’re gone from us, only darkness will remain in your stead.” It might have sounded dramatic, but it was true. Since the day prior, he’d felt nothing but emptiness. He was not eager to ever see her go.

An all too familiar look of determination washed over Litha. “Shane and I are getting married, Lance,” she said softly, lacing her fingers through his.

The knife in his gut had remained for the better part of a week, but now, it was only being twisted. Not in light of the impending nuptials, as the blood oath that Lance had sworn to her was a deeper bond than marriage could ever begin to be, but because… “So the two of you will depart for Galdora at this week’s end, I suppose?”

“No,” Litha said moments later. “I thought you’d go with me, Lance.”

Within seconds, Lance’s stupor evaporated. “Nothing would honor me more,” he said as he felt his fingers go reflexively around the hilt of his slime caked sword.

Lance realized that, in essence, he could very well be marching to his death, but doing so twice as foolishly with a new found sense of ease — but he couldn’t quite bring himself to care. Her fate was his fate, and of nothing else had he ever been so sure. In the end, if a headstone was all that remained of her, his would sit directly beside it, their bones growing flowers in the prettiest shades of pink.

Chapter Text

Shane was unwell the morning of the wedding — or at least Lance assumed as much. Three days had passed since the two of them had returned from Zuzu City and announced they were to be wed, and while Lance was truthfully happy for them, things had never seemed more grim. Shane wanted to tie himself to her in some tangible way, and though Lance didn’t blame him in the slightest, this didn’t seem… healthy. These things took time, Lance knew, though he’d be a hypocrite for voicing as much aloud.

They were wed in front of what remained of Aurora Vineyard, far past the wards in the twists and turns and depths of confusing brambles that lie on the outermost portion of Cindersap Forest, with only Lance, Magnus, and Shane’s irritated looking aunt Marnie in attendance. The hazy sunshine of a fresh dawn lit the quaint affair in shades of pink and orange, and the five of them were deathly silent, a palpable sense of urgency hanging thick in the air like smoke.

Litha looked beautiful. Litha always looked beautiful, of course — but today was different. The sight of her alone was enough to make Lance fantasize over a wedding of their own someday, despite his most favorite look of hers being the one where she was dressed as if she’d just rolled out of bed, with Lance’s blood staining her lips. That day in Magnus’ basement was just as special as any wedding ceremony, in his mind. But seeing her in white… what a treat. The dress she’d chosen was long and white, as tradition demanded — but she’d put her own Litha spin on it, as she was one to do.

The dress was sheer and scrappy, hanging in shreds of gauze and muslin around her body. The chest was open and low cut, the small cap sleeves fell down around her biceps, and the bodice hugged tight around her torso. Lance imagined that the material wasn’t even sewn together, but rather had been glued to her body piece by piece, like an absurdly attractive mummy. A veil of tulle and pearls adorned her flowery braids, and the freckles across her nose and cheeks had darkened since the warm, sunny Spring days had grown longer and longer.

Shane, on the other hand… Lance’s heart ached for him. He was worse off than he ever had been, drowning his sorrows in any variety of alcohol he could get his hands on. Not even the mouthwash was safe, nor the vanilla extract in the kitchen cabinet. He had been pretending to keep his head above water, but Lance and Litha knew better — not that Shane hid his inner machinations well by any stretch of the imagination. Still yet, Lance and Litha had engaged in an unspoken resolution to drink less, for Shane’s sake. It wasn’t helping. Nothing was helping.

His pale blue eyes were drooping and bloodshot as the wedding party stood in the clearing, and his razor stubble was days overgrown. Lance, equipped with a shiny straight razor, had offered to shave it for him the night before, but Shane slurred his insistence that Litha preferred it this way. Lance did not argue. His black hair, which was presently stuck to his forehead with sweat, hadn’t been washed in days, and the suit he wore, while expensive and perfectly tailored, appeared grossly misplaced while Shane was in his current state. Lance wondered if Litha had paid any mind to the way that her groom-to-be was actively rotting, but he quickly reminded himself that Litha had a tendency to turn a blind eye to the way that Shane struggled. Lance liked to think that it had little to do with blatant disregard and everything to do with wishful thinking.

Lance was actually thinking that it might be time to intervene on Litha’s aforementioned blind eye, but only one day before the wedding, she’d come to him with a plan. It was a grand scheme, born of whatever shreds of Litha’s soul remained. While Lance wouldn’t venture to say that she was a bad person, she certainly had her moments in which the feelings of those around her were cast to the wayside. But not this moment — this was pure humanity, and it shed a dazzling new light on the woman that Lance once believed he’d known better than his own heart.

Adjacent to SunnyVale sat a piece of property that Lance hadn’t realized belonged to Litha at all. It was a mess of rocks and fallen branches, but among that mess sat a well aged stone building. Litha had taken Lance to the property, and once they navigated through the wreckage of the yard, Lance found that the structure itself had been thoroughly restored — into a winery.

Ever since SunnyVale had found its footing, ancient fruit wine had been Litha’s most prominent source of income. She’d become proficient at it, too — everything from growing the fruit itself, to casking the processed liquid. It was a gold mine, of course, but it also ensured that the house proper remained generously stocked with wine. It was always within reach, and Shane had taken absolute advantage, recently making the switch from whisky. He’d once commented on the intricate flavor of the wine — a taste that refused to be swallowed and forgotten — but as the weeks passed and passed, Lance couldn’t imagine that Shane was savoring it any longer. He may have once been floating, merely skimming the surface, but he’d long reached the bottom of the barrel and grown accustomed to the darkness there.

“I cannae watch him waste away any longer, Lance. It’s eating me alive, and there’s not much eating left to be done,” Litha said adamantly as they stood in the massive stone cellar, which was dark, cold, and dry. She wiped her wrist across her sweaty face. “I need your help with this.”

Lance nodded eagerly, hanging on to every word. “Whatever you need, my darling — you have my support.” Because he knew her words to be true. The lower Shane got, the worse Litha seemed to spiral. Nothing affected her moods quite like Shane did, like storm clouds rolling from one island to the next.

She awarded him a weak smile. “I had Robin start restoring this building for me last Winter — she finished a few days ago. Tomorrow, I’ll have Sean and Ian come out and clear the yard. I want to move the entirety of the wine operation to this portion of the farm, and I want Shane to have nothing to do with it.”

“That’s an excellent idea, Litha.”

She chewed her nails for a moment, staring at nothing in particular. “This operation is a massive chunk of work, Lance, and Shane is instrumental in helping me keep up with it. I dinnae think I could manage it alone.” She sighed as she looked up at him, though her aqua eyes held more hope than he’d seen in several long seasons. “Would you help me?”

Lance took a step forward, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her close. He kissed her forehead slowly. “Everything you want, and anything you need,” he affirmed. “I’m happy to help.” Lance didn’t assist with the farm work nearly as well as Shane did, after all. It wouldn’t hurt him to pick up some slack, though it was more Shane’s forte than his.

Litha cupped his chin, pressing a kiss to his lips. “We’ll bring him up here after the ceremony. I want it to be special — just the three of us.”

“It will be the most special thing,” Lance promised.

And so it was. After the ceremony, which had been officiated by Magnus and his more paternal side, Lance and Litha led Shane up to the winery with his eyes closed upon Litha’s request. He was confused when he first saw it, but seconds following Litha’s explanation and promise of a better future, tears were streaming down his face. Lance, himself, even teared up. For the first time in weeks, he was excited for whatever was to come — even if that excitement was only for Shane. Lance wanted him to get better — wanted to spend the rest of his life with his cursed princess and his grumpy, chicken loving addict.

*************

Three more days passed. Tensions were rising, Shane was withdrawing, and predicaments were afoot. Litha and Shane had gotten into a small spat in regards to Shane staying at the farm by himself while Lance and Litha were away, and Litha had deployed Lance to deal with it. Lance got the feeling that she was working her own angle, but wanted to give Shane one last chance to be reasoned with. Lance was happy to try for her, but Shane had never been one to be reasoned with before.

Lance had been working the grounds that day, and once he finally entered the cabin, Shane was lying face down on the sofa. He was sweating bullets. “You can’t stay here by yourself. You know that,” Lance said stiffly. He was trying his best to sound authoritative.

“I’m 33 years old, Lance. I’m capable of being alone,” Shane said into the couch, not moving a muscle.

Lance rolled his eyes. “If you think for a second that Litha is going to leave you here to fend for yourself, you really haven’t been paying attention. She won’t have it — and neither will I.”

Shane finally pushed himself up off the couch, planting his feet on the ground and standing shakily. “It really isn’t up to you,” Shane bit out, crossing his arms over his chest.

Lance strode over to Shane quickly, cupping his chin in his hand. Lance kissed him — long and hard before pulling away, but leaving his fingers on Shane’s jaw. Shane appeared stunned, but Lance pressed on. “I don’t know how long Litha and I will be gone, Shane — but leaving you behind is hard for her. It’s hard for me, too. So please, for once in your life, give way to a bit of conformity and just let us have this.”

Shane sighed. “I really don’t know what the fuck either of you expect here. I can’t move back to the ranch — because someone has to tend the farm. Ian and Sean can’t do it — they’re too busy to be here every day.”

Lance grew more exasperated by the minute. “That’s fine, Shane, they don’t need to be here every day. But you don’t need to be here every day, either — I don’t see why you can’t just divide your time between here and the ranch. It doesn’t have to be all or nothing —”

Lance’s reasoning was cut off by the cabin door swinging open, and instinctively, he whirled around at the sudden sound, his body drawing into a defensive sort of posture. It was only Litha.

But to the surprise of Shane and Lance alike, Litha was toting a suitcase — and she was smiling. Both men knew well that Litha’s suitcase was already packed — as it was sitting upright and ready to go at the end of the couch.

Seconds later, when Abigail followed Litha through the door carrying another suitcase, it all began to click. Shane and Lance exchanged confused glances as both women set the suitcases on the ground beside the kitchen table.

Lance cleared his throat. It was an awkward sound. “Abigail — hello,” he began. “It’s been awhile. I was beginning to think they’d locked you in a dungeon somewhere.”

The aforementioned ‘they’ were Abby’s parents. Caroline and Pierre were endlessly overbearing, and in the small amount of time that Abby had spent at SunnyVale, they’d all gotten an earful of Abby’s disdain for her parents, and of her parents disdain for Litha. The first time that the purple haired girl had come around, Lance had been shocked — namely after their interaction in the graveyard the night of Spirit’s Eve — but he shouldn’t have been. Abigail was the exact type of company that he would blindly guess Litha might keep. Lance had been polite to her, of course, but had kept his distance for a reason.

Abby giggled as Litha threw an arm around her shoulders. “I would have had more fun in a dungeon than in the general store,” she said, craning her neck to kiss Litha on the cheek.

Lance was, of course, privy to their flirtation — but he’d never questioned how far it might have gone. Shane seemed to be more aware in that regard, considering that his expression had morphed considerably.

“So, I found a solution to our little predicament, lads,” Litha said, dragging her fingers across the tops of Abby’s bare shoulders as she removed her arm from them and walked a few paces toward Shane and Lance.

“What predicament and what solution?” Shane asked hesitantly.

Litha stopped just in front of him and crossed her arms, rolling her weight to one hip. “The predicament of you, my sweet boy, refusing to allow yourself some grace in my absence. Fortunately for us, Abby here was just itching for a grand escape, and I was able to provide her with the opportunity.”

Just then, Abby kicked her black boots off and padded over to the couch, where she flopped down onto the middle cushion and began watching Shane and Litha quizzically. “I almost died of excitement when Litha asked me to come stay. I’ve always wanted to live in an old farmhouse. The creak of the floorboards, the slow plumes of dust whispering through the rafters… there’s just something so special about an old building, isn’t there?” Abby mused, her dark lashes fluttering as she took a visual inventory of the house.

“Um — yeah,” Shane stammered, looking to Litha and Lance for clarity. “No offense, but like — where are we gonna put her? It’s a small cabin, Li.”

Lance nodded slowly, entirely at a loss for words as he watched the situation unfold itself. He had a feeling that Litha might take matters into her own hands, but this had undeniably caught him by surprise.

Litha shrugged. “I have Robin coming next week to do some expanding, but in the meantime, the couch is perfectly cozy, and there’s plenty of room in the bed.”

Lance felt his own eyes widen, and no sooner did he hear Shane blurt, “Li, can I talk to you on the porch?”

*************

Whatever talk they might have had… it was useless — because the next day, Spring 28, Lance and Litha stood on the porch with Shane and Abigail, and with tears, they said their goodbyes.

**************

Galdora, much like the weather conditions, was ever-changing, somedays ominous like the war torn country it was in actuality, and other days, alive with music and color and the tang of strange magic. Lance never knew what to expect, and in an odd way, he’d come to expect that.

The Gotoro Empire had not been kind to Galdora in the span of the past century, not once sparing the enchanted continent from its grievances against what seemed to be the planet at large. Once, long ago, the Galdoran crown (Litha’s ancestors) had believed their wards to be impenetrable, but as the years passed, those wards held less and less significance to a brutalist nation that held little regard for the arcane, casting off the notion of it as though the droves of powerful mages were little more than children in pointy, star adorned hats. What’s worse, the warfare had only solidified their beliefs. Galdora, in all of its splendor and glory, was losing.

Rhonar Annehaen’s inheritance of the throne had only worsened matters, as far as Lance understood. He had only been a child then, but as all members of First Slash were, Lance was well read. Litha’s maternal grandfather, Rhonar’s predecessor, had been a tyrant dressed up as a martyr, having died in the war efforts only once he lost his country’s favor. At best, it had been a loathsome attempt to save face; at worst, it had sealed a fate for Galdora far worse than being branded as another conquered territory.

King Rhonar was a great man, once — before his accession, his wife, his children, the death of his mother and father — but he was a man ill suited to rule without the decency to admit as much. He’d been a renowned warrior once, having white stone statues erected in his name and histories written in his favor, but when one spends his life immersed in blood, battles, and glory, one does not find time to understand law, wisdom, patience, tariffs, trade — the goings on of a prosperous nation. One takes up reigns too heavy for his uselessly calloused hands, and destroys what was once untouchable. So is the way of the world — the way of overzealous men, always with something to prove.

Lance cast his gaze sidelong as Litha, who was drumming her foot impatiently against a dusty tavern floor, and he understood then that she had been one of many things on King Rhonar’s laundry list of things to prove. The first born child, misfortunate enough to be born female. Litha would make an excellent queen, he thought. Compassionate, but not overtly emotional. He hoped that her younger brother, Prince Alden, shared the same qualities.

They had stopped at said dusty tavern some distance between the valley and Castle Village. It was no small warp, and as of late, Litha’s abilities weren’t what they once were. She’d explained it to him once, that the longer she spent away from her homeland, the weaker her magic grew — though her curse remained the same, as far as she could tell. She was crawling out of her skin by the time they stopped for a break, and Lance could tell as much without asking. The sweat on her brow glistened in the late day sunshine, the blazing heat of early summer taking its toll on her as they landed somewhere on the outskirts of the vast Calico Desert. Lance drew up the hood of his cloak as he followed Litha through the swinging tavern doors.

She entered the establishment as though she owned it, a regular thing for Litha. Lance had always admired that about her — that ability to feel right at home, regardless of where her wandering boots seemed to lead her, or where she laid her head at night. The world was Litha’s, and everyone was simply living in it. He would never dispute such a thing. Other things, though… he had to question, if only to keep her safe, alive.

“My love, we don’t have time for a drink,” he said cautiously into her ear as she leaned over the bartop. He glanced out the cobweb coated window that shone a dusky light over the tired pub. “The sun will set on this day sooner rather than late.”

“Aye,” she grumbled, her eyes still searching for the absent barkeep. “There’s always time for a drink, lad, permitting they’re na back there waiting for the juice to ferment.” Litha smacked her palm against the dirty counter.

“Litha, please,” Lance coaxed. “This is a serious matter, and I know that you know that.”

She chuckled, the air came out awkward. Lance watched her knuckles turn white as she gripped the counters edge, giving the barkeep a strained smile as she finally caught his attention. His eyes were alight for her. She would be buying no drinks tonight. Lance sighed deeply as she ordered whisky, neat, and continued to ignore him.
“Litha,” he pleaded gently. “It’s okay if you’re scared.”

She whipped her head toward him. “I’m na scared, Lance. I’ve never been scared of a single thing in all my life.”

He shrugged. “I’m scared.” He was baiting her, of course, but he wasn’t lying.

Her eyes rounded out as her grip on the counter became slack. The barkeep delivered her a small glass of amber, and she knocked it back without breaking eye contact with Lance. “I dinnae think you are,” she insisted. “Only saying so to draw a reaction out of me.”

He shook his head, smiling in spite of himself. “I am acutely familiar with fear, Litha. I’m not a robot. I fear for my life every day. I fear for yours as well, and even Shane’s. I fear for the fate of the republic, and the children starving on the streets of Zuzu City. I’ve not lived a single day without my fear; it’s kept me humble, it’s kept me human.” Lance thought back to what Marlon had told him, his insistence that he must give Litha her merit — give her his trust. He wanted to do those things, but just as well, she needed him to ground her, to help her rationalize. He was content to meet her somewhere in the middle. “So say it, my love. It’s okay to say it.”

She looked down into the dry bottom of her cup, swallowing hard. Lance watched the movement of her throat. “I…” she choked out, her words tangling on her tongue. “I’m scared, Lance. I’m fucking petrified.” The words were barely a whisper, but it’s all he needed. He took her into his arms, despite the dirty tavern in which they stood and the forlorn barkeep mere feet away. He kissed the top of her hair, breathing in the smell of earth that clung to her like an aura.

“If this goes poorly, I want you to return to Pelican Town before the next moon rises. I want you to collect Shane and Abigail, and I want you to run,” she said shakily against his chest.

It occurred to him then that even terror was an understatement. Litha was prepared to die. He shook his head, drawing her closer as the tavern seemed to melt and blur in the background. “Your fate is mine, my beloved. If they’re to dig a grave, they’ll dig one large enough for the both of us. I would never leave you — you know better.”

**************

It had been a long while since Lance had beheld Galdora at night — smelled the splendor of magic hanging heavy in the air, admired the incandescence of a very particular brand of moonlight exclusive to Galdora. It shone twice as bright over this continent specifically, as if the mages had physically drawn it closer.

He and Litha arrived at the white stone gates of the palace just before the bell tower struck midnight, and her gaze slid slowly up the hulking structure of marble and bronze before them.

“Six years,” she said through a long exhale. “It’s been six years since last these gates welcomed me home.”

“You’re home now, Litha,” he amended, dragging a hand up her spine. “There’s a chance they’ll let you remain.”

She shook her head. “Na any longer, adventurer. I don’t care if they ever welcome me back. Home is with you and Shane, in the valley, sweating to death over the soil that once belonged to my grandfather.”

Lance grabbed her hand, and together, they watched as the bronze gate before them fizzled to nothing, as if it had never existed at all. The pearly palace sat tall and imposing in the distance, the concentrated moonbeams focused on it like a spotlight.

He had never been more frightened.

Chapter Text

Lance and Litha were left in the vacant reception hall while a subject of the crown scurried off to alert the king of his estranged daughter’s arrival. The enormity of the gilded structure around them sparked a sense of dread in Lance’s gut, awakening an instinct in him that was akin to that of a prey animal. They were utterly exposed, nothing to cower beneath, the nearest walls too far to even throw a stone at. He calculated each potential vantage point of the presumed assassin as he listened to the sounds of his breath reverberating off each opulent surface.

He had never seen so much gold in one place, from the sky high, ornately painted ceiling boasting golden roses and angels with their golden halos, to the never ending rows of column after gilded column. The floor at their feet was checked in black and white tiles, polished freshly and glimmering under the glow of crystal chandeliers. Garlands of fresh purple fairy roses hung from every ledge. Lance was not often starstruck, but for the palace which he had wondered about since he was only a boy, he made an exception.

Litha, on the other hand, couldn’t have cared less. Her vulnerability in the tavern was long gone. She stood untensed with her arms crossed and her weight rolled to one hip, a bored expression on her face as she glanced in all directions. Her posture was that of someone who felt their valuable time was being wasted. The subject returned sometime later to find Lance and Litha standing entirely wordless, each with a distinctly different line of thinking that kept their lips pinched shut.

“The king and queen will not see you tonight,” the man said tightly, his gaze on the ceiling rather than Litha.

Litha took a few steps closer to him, baring her teeth in a sugary-sweet grin that was more feline than human. She leaned in a fraction, as though she were sizing him up. “Aye, is that so?”

Lance couldn’t help but notice that, even though they were currently within the wards of Litha’s homeland, her accent still seemed much stronger — at least in contrast to the subject hired by her parents.

The man nodded. “King Rhonar expected an earlier reception,” he explained loosely.

Litha laughed a low laugh, that of a lover. “That’s what he said?” She goaded. “Just like that?”

The man appeared to summon a shred of gusto from some hidden cache. Lance admired his bravery. “On the contrary, King Rhonar expressed that he expected nothing more from you — that it is so very within your nature to arrive when it suits you best, drunk off watery tavern swill with a strange man on your arm.”

Litha was silent for a moment, her eyebrows raised, though a small smile remained on her face — a smile that seemed to say fair enough. She dragged her eyes from the man over to Lance, where she tilted her head to the side as though she were waiting for him to have something to add. Of course, he did.

Lance removed his cloak, freeing his telltale magenta hair. He didn’t often have the luxury of his reputation — not amidst his travels, anyway — but here in Galdora, many knew him, revered him as a god. He stepped to Litha’s side, placing a wide hand on the small of her back.

“You’re employed by the crown, are you not?” He asked the man.

“I am proudly a sworn subject of House Annehaen,” he said, gesturing to the twelve point star embroidered in purple on the lapel of his vest.

“Proud, indeed,” Lance taunted. “Yet the crown princess of House Annehaen isn’t even afforded the luxury of a title when you address her?”

The man side-eyed Litha. “That’s na crown princess, only a stain on her family’s tapestry.”

“My mother would have your head,” Litha warned sharply.

“Aye, but those were your mothers own words,” he snarled back, turning on his heel. “The king and queen will receive you tomorrow, at dawn. In the meantime, you’ll find lodging in the city, far away from the palace.” He disappeared within three paces.

“Enjoy your last night in this palace, in this city, alive on this fucking planet!” She cried frantically at the empty air around them.

Lance took her in his arms. “I am so sorry that we have to be here right now,” he said genuinely as he smothered her in a hug, effectively halting her thrashing. “I wish I could make all of this go away.”

She wiped her damp cheek with her wrist. “You cannae fix everything, Lance. As much as you may want to, you can’t. I deserve this — I deserve to learn a lesson.”

“Sh,” he murmured against her hair. “You’ll forgive me if I’m not in the business of watching you be taught a lesson.”

“So chivalrous,” she said through dry laughter. “Where shall we stay tonight?”

Lance kissed her forehead. “I know a place. There’s a famous tavern and Inn in Castle Village run by a dame named Eleanor,” he explained. “Have you heard of it?”

Litha shook her head.

“You’ll like it, I think. Eleanor has quite a spirit. A brother of mine, Ekon, takes any opportunity to stop by. I believe he may have a thing for her,” Lance teased, always poised for some nice gossip and well aware that Litha was the same.

“Lead the way, adventurer,” she insisted, sweeping her arms outward as they made for the exit with Lance’s arm still snaked around her waist.

He pulled his hood up over his head, and thanked the stars above that he’d been granted even one more moment with her. The moonlit Galdoran night was crisp, and the air was spiced with the heady scent of pine and juniper. The ground beneath their soles tingled with the sentience of old, old magic, and despite himself and Litha and the tangled mess that had become their life together, he felt very much at home, just as he had the first time he stepped off that merchant ship, just as he had ever since.

*************

Galdora was not Lance’s home, nor was the damnable village in which he had been born. It wasn’t SunnyVale, Fable Reef, or the highlands. Home was Litha, the peaks of her smiling cheeks and the valley between her thighs. The freckles on her nose like lily pads in a pond. She was a nation of grit and beauty and everything he revered, and for as long as she would have him, Lance would fly her flag. Now, while his face was buried at the apex of her thighs in a terribly unclean Inn somewhere within the high walls of Castle Village, and fifty years later, when all they had left were their memories.

“I’d die for you, Lance,” she said through a strangled moan, her profile silhouetted in the moonlight which illuminated the singular window of their room for the night. The sheets on the solitary twin cot were dank and scratchy, but it made no difference.

“Live for me instead,” he replied as he came up for air, squeezing her bare breast which his hand rested idly on.

A shudder wracked through her as his mouth descended back on her clit, where he folded his tongue around it gently. Her fingers curled into the hair on the top of his head. “I want to worship you,” she whined. “I want to go to my knees at your altar.”

Litha on her knees was one of Lance’s favorite sights to behold. She was beautiful always — doubly so with his cock in her mouth and tears streaming down her flushed cheeks — but that wasn’t why it set Lance’s very soul ablaze. He of course was a peasant born and bred, and despite his best efforts, he would always be. Having a princess — a woman of a great and noble bloodline — on her knees for him… it was nothing short of immaculate.

He withdrew his lips from her flesh and shuffled off the bed, standing tall near the foot of it as he watched Litha gather herself, presently a puddle in his wake on the cot. Her spread legs fell further to either side as she observed him, fully nude and entirely rock hard. Her eyes lingered on each detail, from the laceration scars across his belly to the feathered muscles in his legs. Her eyes seemed to manifest a literal glow about them, and Lance enjoyed the notion that she shined just for him.

“Come, then, my love,” he said lowly, beckoning for her with two fingers. “Worship me.”

Litha pushed herself up off the cot and yanked her shirt over her head with one arm. She tossed it to the ground and crawled toward Lance with motions that were slow yet methodical, like a cat preparing to strike. She dropped to the ground before him, her body wedged between him and the cots edge. When she took him into her mouth, the room, the city, the planet around them seemed to dissolve. There was nothing but Litha and Lance.

Her torturous pace was rhythmic in its nature, alternating between fast and slow, mouth and hands. Just when he could scarcely take it anymore, on the brink of combustion, Litha halted abruptly. She placed a soft kiss on the tip of his cock, and from her position on her knees, she smiled up at him.

“My love, you’re wicked,” he said through a long exhale, working his fingers along her scalp and through her hair gently. Litha liked games, but Lance did too. He grabbed a firm fistful of her hair. “But not half as wicked as I.”

He felt powerful just then, but his victory was short-lived. He found himself with a sudden compulsion to place his hands behind his back.

He looked down at Litha, whose eyes seemed to swim. “We’re na in the valley anymore, adventurer,” she purred.

Lance had been bested, and loss had never tasted so sweet. “Your magic is back?” He asked.

“Full force, it seems,” she murmured as she dragged her lips down the side of his cock. “Charged like a battery.”

Every hair on his body seemed to stand to attention. Litha knew his sweet spots like a heat seeking missile, but this… this was different. Enhanced, as though her renewed magic and her curse were working together to give Lance the most mind numbing orgasm of his life.

She took him back into her mouth, resuming her torture until the very last second. He must have had some sort of tell that he’d been unaware of, considering that Litha knew exactly when to withdraw. He actually heard himself whimper as he felt the back of her throat vibrate around his cock while her long fingernails traced patterns onto his bare thigh.

After what must have been the hundredth abrupt stop, Litha pinched the skin on his belly, which caught his attention. “Do you want to cum, Lance?” She asked sweetly, her husky voice hypnotic in its nature.

He nodded pathetically, the urge to beg barely contained behind his closed lips. The room seemed to transform, no longer a bleak means of shelter for the night. The candle light burned more vividly in the brightest shade of orange, the moisture in the air sparkled, and the oxygen turned sweet. The moonlight, already twice as bright as Lance had grown accustomed to, seemed brighter yet as it shone through the window. Galdora was made of magic, Lance knew, but that magic was intangible in Litha’s absence. In her light, Lance wondered if he’d ever known true magic before.

She huffed a laugh against him, and wrapped both hands around his cock. She stroked him slowly, her grasp firm as though he might otherwise float away. After mere seconds, Lance spilled himself over her elegant hands, glancing down with just enough time to see her catch his mess in her mouth. She licked her fingers clean as Lance’s knees buckled, and he fell to the ground in front of her.

“You know how much I love you?” He asked breathlessly as Litha’s arms went around him, holding him together as his body threatened to turn to a puddle on the ground.

“Aye,” she soothed, kissing his hair. “I know it, Lance.”

He studied the scar across his palm for a moment before grabbing her hand that matched his. He pressed their palms together, sacred scars forming an x. “Whatever may come,” he promised her.

“Whatever may come,” she echoed.

*************

Litha didn’t sleep a wink, nor did Lance — so they were quick to hear a soft tapping at their door just before dawn. Litha began to haul herself out of bed, but Lance soothed her back down. “I’ll get it,” he said nonchalantly, as if it were something so simple as just not wanting her to get out of bed. He didn’t trust the Galdorans, because he knew them well; knew of the contempt they held for their banished princess.

He tugged on his pants, but left his chest bare. He expected it to be a lost drunk having strayed from the tavern/brothel below, realistically, so when he opened the door to find Ismeeri Annehaen, the Queen of Galdora, he suddenly forgot how to breathe.

“My — your — um, hello,” he stammered. He’d been hips deep in an Annehaen just a few short hours ago, but in his head, he’d still never met a royal in person.

Ismeeri was beautiful, much like her daughter. Her long, straight hair was somewhere between silver and gold, similar to starlight, and her large eyes were a rare shade of green, pale like jade, clear like emerald. She wore a purple cloak, the hood of which she had dropped when Lance opened the door. Her petite lips seemed to resist a sneer.

“May I speak with my daughter in private?” She asked, her voice devoid of any remarkable accent.

Litha shot up out of bed and scrambled toward the door with only a sheet preserving her modesty. “Why are you here?” She demanded, her voice edging a snarl.

Ismeeri pushed past Lance and her daughter, settling into a wobbly chair in the corner of the room. She crossed her legs. “Blessed Yoba above, Litha, dress yourself right now. You’ll confuse the brothel keeper,” the queen said passively before turning to Lance. “Fetch her clothing and see yourself out.”

Litha discarded her sheet. “I’ll stand here with my ass out all morning if ye don’t watch how you speak to my man,” she threatened loudly, emboldened enough that Lance hardly noticed her nudity.

Her mother scoffed. “Petty and absurd, as you are. I see these years of banishment have done nothing to quell your dense nature.”

Litha hung her head as she grabbed Lance’s shirt that he’d handed off to her. She shimmied it on, her body language reading tired. “I’ll ask ye again, mother — why are you here?”

Ismeeri crossed her arms as she looked Litha up and down, from her sunburnt cheeks to the calluses on her feet. “You look well,” she said tightly. “Genuinely well.”

“I am well,” Litha affirmed. “Better now than ever before.”

Ismeeri nodded as she gathered herself from the seat. She strode over to where Litha stood and placed a hand on her daughter’s cheek. She studied her face as though she were trying to commit it to memory. “I needed to see you once more before you arrive in the throne room before your father. I’d prefer to hold this memory of you over what’s to come. So pretty, always so pretty.”

“You think I’m to die?” Litha asked as her eyes met her mother’s in a sorrowful stare, her voice more childlike than Lance had ever heard it.

“Your father is a mercurial man, Litha, as he has always been. It’s best that we don’t rule anything out.” She glanced toward the solitary window, where the sky was beginning to change from black to dark blue. “Sunrise,” she insisted as she pushed something into Litha’s palm. “Not a moment later.”

Litha nodded, and with the single tear that slipped down her daughter’s cheek, Ismeeri Annehaen vanished into the wind.

*************

Lance had traveled to every country in the known world. Had slain every order of monster and bested every single foe. Mowed his way through perils that one could scarcely imagine, all while keeping his wits about him. He was immovable, so rare to falter.

But never in his life had he seen another thing like the throne room nestled at the heart of the palace overlooking Castle Village. He couldn’t recall ever feeling so small, so insufficient.

He had dressed well for the meeting, and he was glad of that. He wore his best armor, with its white and gold filigree adorning the breastplate. He had polished the metal before leaving SunnyVale, and each curve shined brightly under the light of an absurd crystal chandelier that hung ominously over the throne room like a boastful storm cloud.

The thrones themselves were likely valued at a number high enough to feed each and every last hungry mouth on this side of the Gem Sea, hewn of the yellowest, most high carat gold the world had to offer. The Queen’s throne was slightly smaller, crusted with amethyst, and the King’s throne was taller, crusted with diamonds and amethyst alike. They sat atop an absurdly high dias, as if the enormity of the structure around them was meant to conduct some degree of power. Anyone could climb up there, Lance thought to himself as he observed the twelve pointed star embellished on the stained glass window at their back which caught the firstlight like dewdrops on grass.

The vaulted ceilings seemed to press down on them as Litha stood at his side, wearing her simple ripped blue jeans, red scarf, and tank top combo. Her hair was in pigtails, and her bandolier hung loosely around her shoulders. She was dressed like she would be on any other day. Before entering the throne room, a guard had taken their weapons. Litha didn’t look like herself without a shining purple hilt peeking over one shoulder, and Lance could sense her unease. He looked up to the dias where King Rhonar regarded his daughter as though she were vermin. His peppery dark hair was unkempt, as well as his beard, and he was fat like most kings were. An amethyst crown sat crooked atop his head.

To his side, Queen Ismeeri had a cool expression on her face, and she kept her gaze straight ahead, careful not to watch any particular thing or person for too long.

The room had dissipated into a sort of staring contest, and the silence was growing heavy.

“Well,” Litha said through an exhale, clapping her hands on the sides of either thigh as though exasperated. “It’s sunrise, I believe. Shall we get on with it, then?”

The queen rolled her eyes. The king chuckled a raspy sort of sound, leaning forward on his elbows as his gaze slid over to Lance. Lance inclined his head for a brief second solely for the sake of etiquette. Were the circumstances less grim, he would have bowed, but he didn’t want to embarrass Litha.

A smirk tugged at the king’s lips as he began to address Lance. “Lance Azahar. I’ve heard of you, boy. You’re supposed to be dead,” he said in a voice so passive that Lance wondered if Rhonar had known his mother and what became of her. “It only makes sense that my daughter found you. Though I suppose it was hard not to, what with a direct order,” he finished coolly, as if he hadn’t just unraveled Lance’s reason for existing.

He opened his mouth to speak, but Litha beat him to it. “A direct order?” She asked Lance.

The king only laughed. “My dear daughter, don’t tell me that yer wits have left along with yer magic,” he teased. “You think fate brought him to you?”

“I — yes,” she replied, her jaw tight. “Yes, I thought exactly that, and I was thankful for it.”

The king gave Ismeeri a knowing look, and even she huffed a laugh. “The only fate you have to thank is me, Litha. Well, Jolyne Ozmath had a part in it too, I suppose.”

Litha turned to Lance. “You were keeping tabs on me?” Was all she said, her voice level.

Lance nodded, swallowing bile.

Litha merely shrugged. “I suppose I needed someone to keep tabs on me. Are you still?”

“No,” he replied immediately. “Now, I’m only in love with you.”

“All that matters, really,” she amended, earning a scoff from her father.

“Why have you brought him at all, daughter? I’ve never known you to need protection,” the king demanded.

Litha didn’t dignify his question with an answer. She simply approached the stone steps of the dias, her chin tilted high and her arms at her sides. In her wake, Lance felt as though he might combust, sizing up the armed guards at either side of her parents who had immediately stood to attention the moment that Litha moved a muscle. He did not want to die on this day, but for her, he would. He would do any number of drastic things — but to his surprise, Litha only knelt, just before the first step with both knees on the ground.

She hung her head. “I do not have any desire to debate the semantics of it all, father. I know that I have acted out of turn, and I wish to receive my consequence with humility, and grace. As your daughter that ye once loved, I only ask that you are merciful. I have come to love my life in Pelican Town very much, and I ask humbly that I not be forced to see it end.”

Rhonar’s face turned to stone for just a fraction of a second before his stoic mask fell back into place. “I cannae fathom why yer first punishment wasn’t good enough, Litha. Being banished from your home and stripped of your title, losing the privilege of calling yourself an Annehaen — I dunno what more I can do apart from death, my child.”

Lance could feel his entire body constrict. He was to die on this day, apparently.

Ismeeri suddenly cleared her throat, fidgeting impulsively with the pendant at her throat. “I won’t see my child put to death, Rhonar,” she said under her breath. “She’s lived her life well as a Rosenhaal — done my family proud.”

The king didn’t glance in his wife’s direction, but he did nod, so slightly it was barely perceptible. “Very well,” he rasped. “The salt mines, then. Seven years.”

“I’ll serve it for her,” Lance said instantaneously. “If a due is to be paid, let me pay it.”

“Quiet, Lance,” she demanded, still knelt. “I will serve my punishment myself, I only ask for a small delay. Two weeks,” she begged, her palms on the ground before her.

Rhonar’s interest was piqued. “Why?”

A sigh that filled the whole room reverberated through Litha. “Because I’m pregnant.”

Lance felt his gut turn to lead. Surely she was lying? He was certain that she must be, as the Serpent’s Claim rendered her barren.

“You lie!” The king shouted. “You’re a liar now as you’ve been always!”

Litha shook her head. Lance couldn’t see her face, but he could feel that she was on the verge of tears. “I’m na lying,” she said. “I believe that my life in the Valley has saved me, father. I believe that my curse has been waning just as my magic has.”

The King’s fury was replaced by a sly, knowing smile, and Lance couldn’t bear it. “Is that so, Litha? You feel saved while you carry that perversion of life in your belly?”

She shook her head. “I have na desire to be a mother,” she said. “I ask for a delay because I wish to rid myself of the fetus.”

Rhonar appeared thoughtful for a moment. “I’ve changed my mind,” he said. “You will not spend seven years in Galdora’s salt mines.”

“Rhonar…” Ismeeri warned.

“You will carry this child to term, daughter. Your belly will swell with the consequence of your foul nature, and from your cursed womb, you will bear a child with scales in place of skin, devoid of arms or legs. My ruling is final,” the king barked.

Lance couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t be. He was cooking inside his armor as the king placed a curse onto the already cursed child that was potentially Lance’s own blood. Before he could say a word, Litha was on her feet, barreling in his direction with tears threatening her eyes. She grabbed him by the bicep and tugged him out of the throne room hastily without a word.

“You are to leave this country immediately, daughter! Yer to return to the Valley and birth the monster growing inside you, and you’re to do it with shame and humility!” The king shouted after them, only causing Litha to pick up her pace.

“Grab our weapons, Lance,” she snapped as they rushed down the long corridor and past the first set of guards.

Lance did so just before the blindingly bright morning sunshine encapsulated them just outside the grand entryway. As soon as their feet hit the threshold, Lance was dragged into a warp.

He found himself landing unsteadily on his feet at none other than his home in the Highlands, next to a panting Litha whose eyes were filled with palpable rage. Her heaving chest appeared as though her heart might beat directly through it, and her brow was damp with sweat, evident of her exertion.

Lance hadn’t realized that she was capable of warping two people, let alone such a distance without break. He wasn’t sure he could have done it himself, and it occurred to him that he’d never understood the extent of the magic she once held until just then.

She collapsed to her knees, and the tears began flowing in rivers down her cheeks. He followed her to the ground where he took her in his arms.

“My love, please,” he pleaded aimlessly as her sobbing wracked through her entirety in loud, heavy breaths. “Please tell me how I can fix this.”

Because Lance didn’t care about the fetus, not really. Not if it only stood as a punishment for the woman he loved as a repentance for crimes that she’d hardly committed. He couldn’t stand the possibility that he’d done it to her.

“It’s not yours,” she elucidated with a shaking voice. “I dunno how I know, but I do. The baby is Shane’s.”

And for whatever reason, despite himself and Litha and even Shane, all Lance felt was relief, though short lived. He hadn’t done it, but still it happened, and still, she hurt.

“How is this possible?” He asked aimlessly, at a loss for much more to say. “Your curse… do you really think it’s leaving you?”

“I dunno, Lance. I’ve been feeling less hungry as of late, but I assumed it was only because you and Shane are so… attentive — to my needs.”

He nodded. “And how long have you known you’re pregnant?”

“Not long,” she said. “You brought me an elixir at one point, it was from a merchant in Castle Village named Yaga. I got word to her that you’d be out that day, and she found you. It was meant to rid me of this problem… but the blood never came. I waited for days, and it never came.”

He remembered that day in Castle Village with that strange merchant and her all knowing eyes. She’d told Lance that his lover was in danger, and he’d believed her to be some sort of psychic. He took the elixir from her without a second thought, unaware that Litha was behind it at all.

“What are we going to tell Shane?”

Litha suddenly reared her head back, her eyes gone wide. She took either side of Lance’s face in her hands. “We tell Shane nothing.”

Lance felt his brows bunch. “Why?” He demanded.

She shook her head and averted her eyes from Lance’s. “I cannae keep this child, Lance, doubly so if it’s to be born in the image of a serpent. Shane is fragile, so early into his recovery, and I just… I can’t jeopardize it. Na now, na like this.”

“How do you mean to hide it from him, my love? Your belly will swell, and he will wonder.”

“I’ll stay here, in the highlands. You’ll tell him I’m serving my punishment in Galdora, and when the deed is done, I will return.” For someone that had only just learned of her fate, Litha had apparently thought this through.

“I can’t lie to him, Litha,” Lance replied. “He needs to know.”

“Lance,” she said, leaning her forehead against his. “I need you on my side in this matter. Shane cannae know about this baby. If he finds out, I will tell him it’s yours. Just please, please do this with me. I need you now more than I have ever.”

How could he deny her? When had he ever? If she needed him, he was hers. “For you, my love, anything.”

Chapter Text

When Lance was first awarded his watchtower home in the rolling Highlands, it had been the proudest day of his life without contest. He had worked hard since the day he first understood what working hard truly meant, and finally, Lance’s efforts had paid off ten fold. It was only a watchtower, of course — but it was his, and he had earned it.

He had once liked the idea of Litha inhabiting the watchtower. He thought about finding her pale hair littered on his pillows, and her discarded underwear hanging from the bedposts. He’d make room for her almanacs on his bookshelf, and for her wine in the fridge. He’d do any number of things to make space for her in any possible position he’d ever find himself in, but now that it had all come to fruition, things were… hard.

Lance was a lot of things. He was a bastard, and a thief, and a murderer. He’d fucked for money, he’d killed for glory. He had made himself known in every place that his travels carried him, whether good or bad. But never once had Lance considered himself a liar.

The first day back at SunnyVale was like pulling teeth — from several mouths, at that. Litha had begged him to stay in the highlands, but a week had passed since their return from Galdora, and he knew that Shane must be worried sick after not hearing a word regarding their well-being. Lance had wanted to go that same day they left Galdora, but Litha wouldn’t have it.

Once he finally made it to the farm with only minimal tears from Litha, Shane made him wish he’d simply not come at all. From the moment Lance walked through the cabin door, it was question after question — which of course Shane was entitled to, much to Lance’s dismay.

“She’s alive, right?” Shane demanded, sitting on the old sofa in the center of the cabin’s living room. His hands were splayed out in front of him, palms up as if awaiting an offering. “At least tell me that she’s alive.”

Lance nodded, feeling his cheeks heat up. “She’s alive,” he confirmed. “She’s just… indisposed — until later this year.”

Shane raked a hand through his hair, no longer overgrown thanks to Abby. He didn’t appreciate Lance’s being vague, understandably so. “Indisposed how? Sick? Jailed? Crucified in town square?” Shane begged. “Give me something, Lance — anything. She’s my wife, I can’t just not know.” He had risen to his feet now, and he was pacing, the floorboards creaking under his weight.

Lance took a moment to study him for the first time in just over a week. Shane looked better — truly better, without bags under his eyes or uneven stubble on his cheeks and chin. His face was less swollen, as was his midsection.

“She’s…” Lance kept getting the words stuck on his tongue. It was unlike him to be indirect, and Shane knew as much.

“Lance, for the love of fuck, is she okay?” Shane demanded, stopping directly in front of the taller man and clasping his hands around either shoulder. He gave Lance a slight shake, a frantic look in his pale blue eyes.

“She’s in Galdora!” Lance blurted. “In the salt mines.” He felt like a traitor as confusion crossed Shane’s tired face.

“The… salt mines?” He asked, dropping his hands to his sides.

Lance nodded, desperate for the conversation to come to a close. “It’s a common punishment in Galdora—” which wasn’t untrue “criminals serve a short or long sentence mining salt. It’s unpleasant, but survivable.”

Shane was chewing the skin off his lip. “When will she come home?”

Lance quickly did the math in his head. Litha had insisted she was only a couple weeks along, which made her due at the end of Fall. “Winter,” Lance said shakily.

Despair replaced whatever hope had been etched on Shane’s face. “And you?” He asked. “When will you come home?”

Lance hadn’t thought about it, truthfully. He had to be in the highlands for Litha, and he still had his typical watch for First Slash. It left little time for SunnyVale, but he couldn’t just… leave Shane. He was fragile, Lance knew — more now than ever. “If you need me, I’m here.” He placed a hand on Shane’s cheek. “You know I’m here.”

Shane nodded slowly, and behind his eyes, Lance could see at minimum five different emotions fighting for first place. He was angry, sad, frightened — but also, Shane was loved. He couldn’t deny that he was loved. He wrapped his arms around Lance. “I’m sorry I’m making this harder on you,” Shane said. “I know you’re worried sick about her. You shouldn’t have to worry about me, too.”

“So long as you draw breath, I will worry for you, because you are worth worrying for. Addiction has taken so much from you, but you still have your heart, and that is enough,” Lance said against Shane’s hair. “Litha is okay, and everything will be back to normal soon enough. Now tell me how you’ve been.”

Shane rested his forehead against Lance’s shoulder. “I’m bored,” he said simply. “I’m so fucking bored.”

Lance took inventory of the cabin around them and noticed a distinct lack of purple hair. “Where’s Abigail?” Because the whole reason she’d come to stay was to keep an eye on Shane, as Lance understood.

“She’s not my keeper,” Shane said with a gruffness to his voice. “Abby’s got a life of her own.”

“Will she be back soon?”

“Likely so,” Shane replied. “She’s the only thing that’s kept me sane during this past week.”

Lance nodded, hoping to appear resolute. “Good.”

Shane’s eyes turned quizzical. “What about you? Are you okay? Did you — meet Litha’s parents?” He hesitated.

“I did.”

“What were they like?” He asked quickly.

“Terrible, as expected. Litha looks like her mother.” Lance was being vague intentionally. He knew that if he said too much, he’d give it all away. In truth, he wanted to tell Shane all about it.

Shane sighed, deflating. “Li’s gonna be bored out of her mind there,” he insisted. “I’ll be thinking about her.”

Lance gave Shane a small smile and leaned forward to kiss him quickly. He had to get away from SunnyVale before he erupted. “Think of yourself too, Shane. I’ll see you soon.”

Shane bid Lance goodbye, and Lance warped quickly back to the Highlands, hesitating at the large wooden door as he understood, with grave certainty, that it would be a long few seasons ahead.

************

By the time that Fall had at long last come to a close, Lance had fallen into a routine — if you could call it that. It was more of an extremely strict schedule than anything else — a division of his time carefully tailored to keep the much needed peace.

He visited SunnyVale twice per week, and though his outlook had seldom been less grim, his time at the farm kept him sane.

Things had changed since he and Litha left. Shane had changed, thanks primarily to Abigail, who had seemingly become a permanent fixture, despite all prior apprehension. She kept Shane busy and laughing, occupied in a way that would keep his mind from guessing. The house was free of liquor, and since Lance and Litha’s departure, the wine operation had come to a screeching halt. SunnyVale was sustained solely by produce and animal goods as of late, boasting sweet, ripe melons during Summer and oversized pumpkins once Fall had ushered in. Additionally, Shane had since learned how to shear sheep, and Abigail had begun making jewelry from chicken and duck feathers.

Above all else, Shane had found his purpose. With only a few weeks of meaningful sobriety under his belt, Marnie had agreed to let him have time with Jas, and Lance had never seen him more prideful — rightfully so. The girl was smart and fiery, much like a certain pink headed warrior princess that Lance knew. He’d asked Shane once if he noticed the resemblance, and Shane only scoffed. “Don’t put that on me.”

They laughed until tears filled their eyes, and Jas shouted over them to demand knowledge of what they found so funny. Lance had never seen this version of Shane before, but he knew in his heart that he’d flip the planet on its axis to ensure that this version was the new baseline.

Though he looked forward to each moment spent at SunnyVale, he spent each night in the highlands without fail. He no longer took advantage of he and Litha’s second home on the shores of Ginger Island, and as her belly began to grow, he didn’t want to. She’d grown quickly, and with each day that passed, Lance feared whatever creature may spring from her womb. The odds were working against her, after all — both in terms of the fresh new curse that her father had bestowed upon her, and in terms of her pain, which she had in excess. She wasn’t frequently one to complain, but Lance could tell.

“I should throw myself off the quarry bridge,” she grumbled one night during the early weeks of Fall. “Rid us all of this headache.”

Lance had been rubbing her feet as they sat on the roof of his watchtower, counting the stars that shone brightly overhead. He dug his fingers into her arches, and she winced while insisting he proceed.

“I rather like you not splattered on the concrete,” he bargained.

She signed, leaning back against the arm of the wicker settee they occupied. “You wouldn’t know. Maybe the version of me that’s one with the concrete is preferable. I’d wager she’s not an insufferable smart-ass.”

Lance pinched her thigh, and she yelped. “If she’s not an insufferable smart-ass, then she isn’t the one for me.”

Litha tipped her head back and laughed, the moonlight casting shadows across her face. “You’re a good man, Lance,” she said. “Though I know ye must be sick of hearing that by now. I know none of this is easy for you — keeping me afloat, deceiving Shane, upholding your duties to the Republic. It’s a workload, I know.”

For a moment, Lance held his tongue — though he knew that it all would eventually come to the surface anyway. “By my calculations, the baby is coming soon,” he began, though she hated the word baby. “What happens then?”

“I’ll worry about the fetus, Lance. You just keep doing what you’re doing,” Litha insisted passively, as if it was nothing at all.

“As these next few weeks approach us, I won’t be able to do anything apart from worry over you. There is no point in leaving your side — I will be useless anywhere but here.”

She chuckled, tilting her head toward the sky. “You’ve never been useless a day in your life, Lance,” she said. “You won’t start now.”

He appreciated her independence, as usual — but she could be so frustrating. Lance worked to keep his tone in check. “So what, then? You’d have me go about my days and pretend like none of this is happening? This is, to say the least, a very big deal. I can’t pretend that I’m not frightened.”

She huffed through her nose, closing her eyes as her pearlescent hair pooled on the ground. “If you’re feeling burdened, I can stay elsewhere.”

“No,” he said quickly. “You’re safe here, and here is where you’ll stay. I will give you your space if it’s what you’re asking of me, but I need you to promise — if you need anything, you will ask me.”

“I will ask you,” she affirmed.

Lance was quiet for a moment as he studied her, cozied up in her thermal pajamas to ward away the chill of the night air. Her belly protruded from beneath the shirt, and she made no effort to pull it down. Pregnancy suited her, Lance thought, even though she hated it. Her skin seemed to glow, her breasts had filled out, and the round belly that had once been a flat plane was oddly appealing.

“I couldn’t bear to lose you,” he said finally, surprised to find his throat constricting. “I’m certain that the loss of you would be insurmountable, dark like these stars have left the sky. I know that you’re capable, my love, but please — don’t do this alone.”

“I will do what I must,” she replied without so much as a glance in his direction.

Lance knew then that the conversation was over.

***********

As the day neared, Lance was desperate to keep himself busy, but all he could do was worry — for Litha, the fetus, himself, Shane, everything and anything. They had narrowly escaped Galdora with Litha’s life, and he had rejoiced — but as it currently stood, he felt there was little left to be grateful for. He found himself bargaining — considering the yawning void that would form in her place if the birthing wasn’t smooth, preparing himself for the worst. He presently knew nothing of her well-being, and he imagined that she was in the dark as well, considering her refusal to undergo something as simple as an ultrasound at the town’s clinic. She hadn’t left the highlands at all, in fact — not since the day they arrived.

As Fall came to a close, Lance found himself at SunnyVale more often than not, helping Shane and Abigail prepare the farm for Winter in Litha’s stead. They harvested the last of the fat pumpkins and cleaned dirt off a bounty of kale which they would later sell to the general store. They equipped heaters in the barns and sheds, and filled the silos with fresh hay — enough to last a season. Lance watched as Shane and Abigail erected a Winter Star tree in the living room, far too large to fit in the modest space. The glowing strands of lights were blindingly bright, and between them hung paper ornaments on string, old enough that the glue had turned yellow around the edges. Shane had made them when he was a child, he explained to Lance, and Marnie was nice enough to bring them, along with a mess of old photographs, in a cardboard shoe box that morning when she walked Jas up to the farm. Jas made ornaments of her own, decorated with stale macaroni and glitter. Shane lit a fire in the hearth, so warm that the impending frost seemed impossible.

There was a lightness in the cabin that morning that Lance had never known, but might very well chase forever. It was a sense of belonging, he realized — a sense of being accepted so wholly that the part of his psyche that harped on every small inconsistency had at long last fallen to sleep. He watched Shane with his loud laughs and wide smile help Jas string her sparkly creations up onto the tree with sticky, glue-covered fingers, and he knew right then that the future held promise, even if he was presently bogged down by dread, even if he was a liar.

************

He returned to the highlands that night of Fall 26 feeling better than he had in weeks — that is, until he realized how silent the tower was. The hairs on the back of his neck stood to attention.

Litha usually found ways to occupy herself since she began enjoying her solitude more than Lance’s company, and nearly always, it involved some sort of racket, whether it be music or old films or the incessant clicking of a dusty old typewriter. He’d learned to find reassurance in the noise, as it signified that she’d survived another day. He was keen on taking whatever he could get.

“Litha?” He called, his voice carrying through the cylindrical structure, his own echo serving as the only reply he’d receive.

The tower was dimly lit by only the blue flame sconces on the walls, and it cast a lifeless glow over the room around him. The bedsheets were crumpled, and as Lance approached, he noticed blood staining the white linen. His heart shot into his throat, and suddenly, Lance couldn’t breathe.

“LITHA!” He shouted again, forcing all of his might into the two syllables.

He tossed the comforter off the bed and onto the ground, spinning in a complete circle before noting that the hatch door leading up toward the watch post was slightly ajar. He stumbled over toward it in a haze, willing his legs to carry him more quickly as though he could fold time. She’d died — he was sure of it. She’d died when he was supposed to protect her, when he had sworn a blood oath to give his life for hers.

He thought back to his mothers sallow skin and vomit stained tunic. He thought of the crumbled bits of lemon cake littering their makeshift table, and her willingness to trust those she loved. He thought about how Baya had failed her, and how Lance had failed her too.

“Li,” he called again, more of a whimper as he ascended the ladder. He’d never addressed her by Shane’s nickname before, but he choked up on the second syllable as he felt tears begin to drip down his cheeks. “Please,” he pleaded to no one in particular.

Finally, Lance reached the final wrung of the ladder, and he hoisted himself up onto the roof. He was blasted by freezing air as his eyes adjusted to the cool glow of the moon overhead.

The scent of cigarette smoke filled his nostrils as he gathered the setting around him. Litha was perched on the wicker loveseat with the aforementioned cigarette hanging from her lips and dark purple circles hanging under her dull eyes. A blanket was wrapped around her shoulders.

“Hello, adventurer,” she said, her throat raspy as she spoke. She flicked the last of her cigarette off the side of the watchtower.

Lance could find no words amidst his fear. He could manage nothing at all apart from barreling toward her and collapsing to his knees at her feet. He wrapped his arms around her legs and pressed his face against them, succumbing to the sob that rattled through him.

“I thought you’d died,” he said shakily. He’d told her time and time again that he knew fear and knew it well, but really, he hadn’t. Not until he’d seen that red stained sheet on the bed that the two of them shared. He’d felt the constructs of the universe dissolve around him, he’d felt the planet stop spinning. He wasn’t sure he could ever come back from such feelings. “What happened?”

Litha lit another cigarette and took a long drag, and Lance watched her closely from his seat on the ground. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and she stared at the heavy, snow filled clouds that blocked the stars from sight. “I should have,” she replied simply.

For whatever reason, Lance was angry. He reached up to cup her cheek, angling her gaze down toward him. “How could you say that, Litha? After everything?” He demanded. “Tell me what happened — tell me that you’re okay.”

She shook her head, huffing a rueful laugh. “I’m na okay, Lance. I dinnae know if I’ll ever be okay again. This world is not built for me — never has been.”

“I will build you a new world. If this one isn’t meant for you, then I have no desire to live in it,” he swore with determination, holding her face between either palm. “Did you lose the baby?”

“I birthed the child,” was all she said.

Lance could feel his heart breaking — literally breaking, snapping string by string. “Alone?” He choked out.

She nodded.

“And was it…” Lance couldn’t bear to finish the question. Was it cursed?

“She,” Litha corrected sharply. “She was perfect, healthy — black hair like her father, rosy skin, mighty lungs.”

Lance craned his neck as though it would allow him a better view of the parts of her that were beneath the quilt. He saw no signs of a baby, and he began to panic. “Where’s the baby, Litha?” He tried to keep the conviction from his voice, but he couldn’t. ‘I will do what I must,’ kept replaying in his head.

She shrugged, still looking anywhere but at Lance. “Dunno.”

Lance was becoming increasingly frustrated — increasingly urgent. “You don’t know? How could you possibly not know, Litha? What did you do with the baby?”

Suddenly, Litha shot up from her seat, the blanket around her shoulders falling to the ground. She was nude save for a stretchy bra, and her deflated belly was striped with stretch marks. Blood stained her inner thighs, and she had a look in her tired eyes that promised hell to pay. Lance followed her up, and with a wide stance, she challenged him.

“What is it, adventurer? Ye thought we’d raise this child? Live happily ever after with our polycule and our cabin on the farm? I may be a monster, Lance, and you may be a knight — but this is na a fairytale, and the baby was na yours!” She cried, throwing her arms in the air to demonstrate her loss of patience as tears trickled down her frostbitten cheeks.

Lance felt as though she’d struck him. “Do you think I care about that, Litha? Truly? I have no desire to be a parent, but had you chosen to raise that child, I would have done whatever you asked of me — regardless of who sired it. And Shane would have done the same. All I want to know is what you did with the baby, my love. It’s all I’m asking of you.”

Litha gathered the blanket from the floor and shrugged it back over her shoulders as she made for the hatch leading down to the living space. She shot Lance a sharp glare over her shoulder.

“I named her Isbael, I swaddled her in muslin, and I took her to the witches’ hut. I watched her smooth skin turn to white feathers, her ten tiny toes turn to talons. I watched her fly away on fragile wings, and on my way home, I mourned.”

Litha offered him nothing more as she descended the ladder beneath the hatch. Lance wasn’t sure how he was possibly meant to follow her down, not after this. Not after everything.

With a fragmented heart full of sorrow and cowardice, Lance warped to the only place that made sense.

Castle Village, Galdora.

Chapter Text

Though the high walls of the warded city had long ceased to feel like home, Lance knew where to look for comfort. Taverns, brothels, crumbling Inns serving home cooked peasant food on their main floors. Anything was better than the highlands, or SunnyVale. He couldn’t face Litha, but he couldn’t face Shane, either. He couldn’t face his family at Fable Reef, or Marlon, whose advice he had ignored.

In fact, Lance wanted nothing more than to have never been born, and there was no better place to hide from himself and all the pressure weighing on him than Castle Village. He ducked under the hood of his cloak, and he took to the streets.

**********

There were many things to be said about Castle Village, and more often than not, those things were quite poor — but it mattered not to Lance, he thought it was beautiful all the same. Just as he had when he was small, he watched in awe as performers toiled away at their crafts, some spinning fire and others manipulating water from nearby fountains with sheer force of will. It was like this every night, Lance reminded himself, as the kaleidoscopic carnival that was Galdora remained as it had always been, brilliant and unchanging, a perfect sliver of nostalgia.

Lance found himself in a brothel with a frothy drink in his hand. He wasn’t sure when or how he’d arrived, but a tavern wench was hanging from his neck, her fiery hair and dark eyes stirring something reminiscent within him. He coaxed her off of him, and her eyes registered surprise. Lance hadn’t come here for that — he’d come to drown his sorrows.

And so he did. Drink after drink after drink, Lance drowned not only his sorrows, but also his wits — though even that wasn’t enough. At the back of his mind was Litha, and the part of it all that stung the very most. Betrayal. She had forsaken his trust, taken him for granted. She had broken his heart.

At some distinct point while he sat sodden at the bar, he felt himself begin to cry, and he hadn’t a clue how to stop it. He’d never felt more empty, never more lost. His world had ended when he saw that red stain on his bed, and he didn’t know how to bring it back. He didn’t know how to forgive her.

He must have dozed off, because suddenly, he awoke — and to a familiar face, nonetheless. Brianna, with her chalky skin and lavender hair. She snaked an arm beneath his, and she hauled him up.

“Let’s get you home,” she coaxed gently.

“I don’t have a home,” was all he replied.

A small chuckle slipped past her lips. “You’re made to be loved, Lance, and if only for that reason, you will always have a home.”

Home was a person, though, and that person was as good as gone.