Streets of Brandholt City, Bronze Concord
He hadn’t meant to.
He really, really hadn’t meant to.
One moment he was hovering in front of her, wings buzzing so fast they blurred.
And the next, arms.
Human arms. Around her.
Kion froze as if lightning had shot through him. Breath stuck in his chest like he’d swallowed a stone.
What did I just do?
She was stiff in his hold.
Of course she was, why wouldn’t she be?
He was supposed to stay light, to keep his distance, not... not this. Not wrapping her up like she belonged there.
Oh no.
Oh no, oh no, oh no.
Her shape still burned against him. Fragile and solid at once.
The weight of her silence. The faint smell of her hair.
Stars above, he should never have leaned down. He knew he shouldn’t.
And then she’d let him.
She’d actually let him. Even tapped his back, and that was worse, so much worse, because now he’d never be able to scrub it out of his head.
The realization hit him mid-hug. That it was the wrong path, the wrong direction.
That if he stayed one heartbeat longer he’d burst apart, the tether snapping tight around him faster than he could blink.
He had to leave. Soon.
Casual, not panicked.
As if it hadn’t mattered. As if his chest wasn’t caving in.
Good thing she didn’t know he was technically on leave. That she thought he was just skipping work again, shooing him away like always.
He almost laughed, almost choked on it.
Flattered, absurdly, that she even cared enough to scold him over a job.
By the time he stammered out a goodbye and let go, his wings felt clumsy, his throat raw. He pulled his illusion to mask the panic.
He hoped she wouldn’t notice. Hoped she wouldn’t see how not normal he’d just been.
And then he was gone, shooting through the window. The echo of her still wrapped around him, burned into his arms like a mistake branded too deep to undo.
Great. Brilliant. Wonderful.
She probably thought he was insane.
Or worse, a stalker. Someone who couldn’t keep his distance, couldn’t keep his thoughts to himself.
What if she changed her mind? What if she decided she’d rather not see him again tonight?
Kion buried his face in his hands mid-flight.
“Why, why, why did I do that?!”
He nearly smashed into a wall, jerking upright, hands dropping to steady himself. His wings rattled the shutters of a passing roof.
Smooth, yes, very casual. Perfectly inconspicuous.
The tether hummed against him, not sharp, not angry, just muted. She was processing, maybe.
She hadn’t pushed him away for sure.
Yet.
He prayed she wouldn’t circle back to those thoughts again. The ones that chilled him through the bond. He prayed her promise still held.
Because everything else today had gone... well, not well, but survivable.
He’d slipped through the prep room, even through the interrogation chamber. He’d watched her work, and that version of Writ terrified him.
The way her gaze cut, sharp as a blade, reminded him of Tenzurah, of being forced to scrape sense out of Ancient Morthen under her stare, every word weighing heavier than his lungs could bear.
He’d pitied the woman across the table. Pitied her, and winced with every question Writ threw, the tether stabbing through him with each relentless demand. Even though he wasn’t the one forced to answer.
But he knew, it was survival. Her only shield against the Accord’s eyes.
If she didn’t wear that mask, they’d consume her whole.
Still...
Something in her shifted when the man by the wall stepped out. When the prisoner began to unravel, spilling her fear, not knowing she was still being watched.
Writ had listened then, really listened, though she never dropped the mask.
And then that woman had been given a hug. A real, desperate one.
Kion had envied it. Bitterly.
To hold Writ like that...
And now he had.
Stars. He’d actually done it.
He stopped midair, spiraled frantically.
Hands pressed to his face. His wings nearly tangled themselves before he forced himself back into a steady rhythm.
The man’s return soured it all again. Whatever he whispered to Writ, it wasn’t good.
Kion had felt the churn of her thoughts through the tether, the dread curdling like smoke. She’d walked faster, like fleeing a predator. That man practically dripped villainous intent.
By the time Kion slipped invisibly through her vent, he half expected her to be already writing her report, mechanical as ever.
But she’d fallen onto the bed instead. The tether flared.
Dread, fear, nostalgia, betrayal, blame, pain, suspicion. One after the other, circling him like gnats. He tried to brace for it.
Then came the last. The one that made him drop his spell, made him stand in front of her instead of hiding in the shadows.
Resignation. Surrender. A willingness to embrace death.
His breath had stopped cold.
That wasn’t her. That couldn’t be her.
She was stubborn, viciously alive, always fighting even when the fight was hopeless.
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He’d felt it in every phantom ache she shoved through the tether, in every day she’d endured her long confinement.
So why? Why now?
It was the same feeling as when she’d drunk that cursed vial, like cattle waiting for the blade.
He wished he could read her mind outright, not just this haze of feelings.
Wished he didn’t have to guess, didn’t have to stumble in the dark.
But she wouldn’t share. Not all of it.
She’d let him stay, yes. She tolerated him. But that didn’t mean she’d hand him her every secret.
And he couldn’t demand it.
He wouldn’t. Not when he was choking on secrets of his own.
That was why he’d asked only for a promise.
Don’t linger on that thought. Don’t stay in that surrender too long.
It was the only thing he could risk asking.
And she’d agreed.
That should’ve been enough. More than enough.
He should’ve been grateful, and he was.
Giddy, even, that she’d cared enough to promise him anything at all.
But of course his stupid mouth had to ruin it.
“I really wish I could hug you right now.”
Kion stopped mid-flight, slapped a hand over his lips.
Stupid. Noisy. Chatterbox.
Shut up, for once in your life.
He groaned, tilted his head back. Wings buzzing unevenly as he pushed himself toward Kesherra.
And then... her reaction.
Why had she agreed? Why had she even offered?
She didn’t like hugs. He’d seen it.
He’d felt her stiffen under the prisoner’s arms. She’d stiffened under his, too.
And still, she’d let him.
He screeched, the sound so sharp that insects scattered across Windward Garden.
Stars, stars, stars.
He’d actually hugged her.
He dove toward the high tree trunk veiled in his illusion, the one hiding Seraithe’s dwelling from human eyes. The wards bristled against him, crafted to turn away both man and fae alike.
He threw up a hasty barrier to blunt their bite, thin and frantic, barely holding. His body jittered, chest raw, every nerve unraveling.
Even so, the wards screamed as he forced the entrance, nettle-sharp against his skin.
He ignored them. Barreled inside as he always did, as if it were his own home.
The moss rug caught his knees.
And Kion collapsed.
Hands buried over his face, palms pressing against his eyes, he let out a noise that was half-groan, half-screech.
It tore through his throat raw and desperate, something between a cicada’s summer cry and a strangled wail. The moss muffled most of it, but not enough to hide.
He didn’t have to look to know when she arrived. The shift of air gave her away.
He could feel the sharp flare of her irritation before her boots even touched the floorboards.
A heavy thud.
Then her shadow stretched over him.
“Have I told you not to enter my house if I’m not inside?” Seraithe’s voice dropped like a stone, clipped and flat.
Kion peeked through his fingers.
She stood above him, hands on her hips, wings tight against her back, glaring as though she could burn a hole straight through his skull.
“You have,” he admitted, muffled by his palms, “about fifty thousand times.”
“And yet,” she shot back, “you still barged in and triggered every single ward like a doorbell.”
He risked turning his head just enough to squint at her through a gap between his fingers, “you could always set me as an exception...”
“No thanks,” her lip curled, “I’d rather know if you sneak in when I’m gone. At least then I can pin any destruction on you.”
“Thanks for the kindness...,” he muttered, forehead sinking back into the rug.
His voice turned smaller, “this is the only place that feels... safe enough to process this. I don’t have anywhere else to go.”
Her silence was louder than any lecture. He didn’t need to see her face to picture it.
The glare, sharp as a blade but laced with the faintest thread of exasperated concern.
Finally, her weight shifted.
“So,” she asked dryly, “what absurd thing have you done this time?”
Kion let out a low groan, peeking from behind his fingers, “...I hugged her.”
Then, as if saying it aloud made it worse, he flopped face-first into the rug again with a muffled thud.
Seraithe blinked, “and…?”
“That’s it.”
“That’s it?”
“Yes.”
She stared down at him for a long beat, “you broke into my house, tripped every ward I own, just so I’d come running back to find you sprawled on my floor. Because you hugged your tethered?”
He stayed silent. The moss muffled his shame.
Seraithe pinched the bridge of her nose, “have I mentioned I’m not paid enough for this?”
“I've doubled your bribe,” he said weakly, rolling onto his side, “and told Veska to give you a raise.”
Her sigh was sharp enough to cut air.
Yet, despite herself, she lowered down beside him, sitting cross-legged on the moss rug. One hand came to rest on his hair, patting with deliberate indifference.
Her touch stilled him.
“So,” she said, glancing sidelong at him, “why does a single hug fluster you? You hug everyone else just fine.”
Kion swallowed, throat dry. His voice scraped raw, “because I did it in human form. I shouldn’t have. Shouldn’t have let her see that.”
Her brows arched, “so your human friends in Bronze are allowed to know your glamour, but your tethered isn’t?”
“...Because she’d be afraid if she knew. Because then I’d have a reason to hold back,” he admitted, voice breaking, low.
“Because if I kept that wall, maybe I could still fight this... this crippling obsession pounding in my head. To have her, to claim her, to keep her only for myself.”
His chest tightened as words tumbled faster, heavier, “I’ve already let it take me more than once. I’m not myself anymore. I feel like I’m being corroded.”
He rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling through a blur of fingers, hands still covering half his face as though hiding could keep the words from reaching her.
“That’s why solo tethers are forbidden,” Seraithe said flatly.
“I know,” Kion snapped, too sharp, then sagged. Softer, he repeated, “I know, Seraithe. I know it too well. Thanks for the warning.”
Silence stretched.
Then, hollow and hoarse, he whispered, “even now I can feel her remembering the hug. Lingering on it. The warmth. And I can’t brush it out of my own mind either. I can’t take this anymore.”
“Then have her cast it back on you,” Seraithe said, practical as always, “let the tether swing both ways. The symptoms will subside.”
He barked a bitter laugh, “you know I can’t. She doesn’t even know the tether exists. She already suspects I can read her mind, and it unsettles her. How can I tell her it goes further? What am I supposed to say? ‘Hi, I cast a solo tether on you, which means I can feel what you’re feeling, know the things you’d rather hide, track you anywhere in the world. And hey, now you can feel everything from me too’? She’ll swat me like a fly before I finish the sentence.”
His tone sagged, softer, frayed, “and I slipped today. Now she knows I can feel her when she brushes too close to death. Stars, what’s she supposed to think of that? She overthinks everything.”
Seraithe said nothing. Just looked at him.
A mixture of sympathy and the unspoken words, 'you deserve it.'
“And you’ve told me,” she reminded quietly, “she might be sent to end you. And all your Bronze kin.”
The air in his chest stuttered. His voice dropped to a rasp, “...yes.”
Her tone softened. Not gentle, but weighted, “why did you do this to yourself, Kion? I hate seeing it tear you apart.”
He closed his eyes. His hands trembled against his face, “I thought I could handle it. Thought it’d be enough to just know she was alive somewhere. Breathing. Existing.”
His voice cracked, “but it’s not enough. Not when she brushes against death on every turn. Not when she’d accept it willingly without a fight. Not when I can’t even stand the thought of her fading, even in her own imagination.”
The tears came hot, spilling through the gaps in his fingers.
Seraithe’s hand never left his head, her palm slow against his hair as if she could anchor him by touch alone.
“I promised to see her again tonight,” he choked, “I can’t let her see me like this.”
“Then stay,” she murmured, steady as bedrock, “take every second you need to vent it out. I won’t go anywhere.”
He sucked in a shuddering breath, “I’m glad I have you, Seraithe. I wouldn’t even be standing without you.”
“And I wouldn’t be alive without you,” she replied, voice low, “none of my kin would.”
A pause, soft as a knife’s edge, “so fight it out. Cry. Yell. No sound leaves these walls.”
So he did.
Until the moss drank his sobs.
Until the walls soaked in every shout.
Until the sun bled down past the horizon, dragging the promised hour closer with every fading shard of light.