Sunlight crept through the window, thin and hesitant. The outside world only just beginning to wake. But the light inside her room was brighter, warmer, alive.

  She blinked against it, expecting still the pillow over her face, breath muffled from dreams. Instead, when her eyes cleared, she found Kion there. He was the sun that had reached her first. His familiar voice sliced through the haze.

  "Good morning, Lunlun!"

  Her gaze flicked to the desk. There he was, small, bright, and familiar. Fairy form. Wings folded neatly against his back, hovering just above the wood surface, casting faint glimmers in the morning light.

  Safer. Less imposing. Her fingers twitched against the sheets, brushing them as though anchoring herself, testing the reality of his presence.

  He floated closer, landing softly on the bed, careful not to disturb her, his smile too bright to ignore, "I brought waffles, still warm. Savory or sweet?"

  She blinked at him, lingering longer than she meant to, tracing the gentle slope of his cheek, the relaxed curve of his mouth. No masks. No too-late smile. Just him. Real.

  "Savory," she murmured, yawning softly, "you're... small again."

  "Is that disappointment I hear?" he joked, pulling two containers from his satchel and letting them expand in the air.

  She chuckled. He laughed.

  "I... don’t know," she said quietly, swinging her legs over the bed, feet brushing the floor, "the bigger one feels... more solid. More real. Easier... to know you’re here."

  Her gaze lifted, half-smile twitching at the corner of her mouth, "not that the other isn’t familiar. I just... I can be more certain."

  He swirled away from the bed, mana stirring around him like a gentle breeze, then the human version appeared. Taller, grounding, "then should I stay this way when we're in the room?"

  He extended his hand. She took it immediately, fingers brushing over the ridges and warmth, pressing a little tighter than necessary. Proof. Real. Here. Not leaving.

  "Yes," she said, tilting her chin to meet his gaze, "I mean... the fairy form is okay too. It’s the real you."

  He chuckled, tugging her to her feet, "I don’t mind. Easier to interact this way too."

  Her fingers lingered on his hand as they moved, warm and deliberate. She traced over the lines and curves, her touch light but insistent. Anchoring herself.

  He guided her toward the bathroom, "bathroom first, right?"

  She nodded, letting him go and closed the door behind her.

  The water hit her face cold, sharp, fully waking her senses. Staring at the mirror, she traced her features. Brows, eyes, nose, lips, cheek, chin. Real. Still her. Not a dream.

  She returned to her room. Kion was already at her desk, perched on the table, his fairy form resting lightly on the wood.

  He flicked his magic, sliding the chair for her. Her fingers brushed the table near him briefly as she sat.

  "I hope you don’t mind me switching back for meals," he said, "eating in fairy form is easier, less messy."

  She turned to him, letting her gaze linger, "don’t ask. Do whatever is comfortable. I prefer your human form, doesn’t mean you always have to be."

  He grinned and teared off a small chunk of sweet waffle and eating it with the ease of someone utterly comfortable here.

  She drew her waffle closer, smiling softly at him. Wings folded, content, present. Steadying her own pulse, she settled beside him, letting the simple act of breakfast fill the quiet.

  They ate together, neither needing to speak much, the soft clink of utensils and occasional hums from Kion filling the room. Writ let herself breathe, letting the warmth of his presence tether her thoughts.

  Kion stood, tall now, his human-sized hands moving slower than usual, each motion precise.

  Writ watched as if he were performing a small, private ritual. The familiar floating of objects, the casual magic she had grown used to, was gone. Now every movement was tangible, grounded. She found herself leaning forward slightly, fingers twitching against the edge of the desk, constantly seeking proof that he was real.

  He stacked the two containers neatly, tapped them against his tiny fairy-sized satchel, opened it, and slid them inside with a precision that made her inhale sharply.

  “So... your satchel didn’t get bigger?” she asked, brow lifting.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  “Nah,” he said, shaking his head with a faint smile, “custom-made fairy satchel. Would’ve broken if I insisted on enlarging it. Better not. It already threatens to explode if I fill it too full.”

  Her eyes widened, worry knitting across her face. “Isn’t that... dangerous?”

  Kion chuckled and lowered himself onto the stool beside her, the wood creaking slightly, “considering it condenses everything inside, that’s a given risk. But you just use it right, and everything’s fine.”

  “And it can store hundreds of flasks? Just like what you did in the ruin?” she asked, voice low, almost reverent.

  His green eyes sparkled with amusement, “I’m happy you’re curious about my stuff, but I promised the maker I wouldn’t share details. Sorry.”

  She didn’t answer, only watched. His hands moved as he spoke, catching the sunlight, throwing restless shadows across the desk. Writ’s gaze lingered too long, tracing him, cataloguing each motion. He noticed.

  He placed an open palm on the table in front of her, “I don’t mind if you... wanna touch. Am I that different in my human form?”

  Without thinking, she grasped his hand. It felt familiar but calmer, steadier. Not twitching, not floating, just him. Solid. Kion.

  “Not... really,” she admitted softly, “you still feel the same, but... calmer? Not moving as much.”

  Kion grinned, teasing, “well, do you think any human-sized person can be as active as a fairy?”

  “...Yeah. It would be weird if someone circled around me like you did as a fairy.”

  “Exactly,” he laughed, “smaller size suits big movements. That’s how you get seen. Being bigger doesn’t need that much.”

  Writ nodded, her fingers tracing his lines with gentle curiosity, “why did you never tell me you had a human form?”

  “I didn’t exactly hide it,” he said, gaze steady, “but wouldn’t you have been wary if I had? I didn’t want you clamming up. There wasn’t any suitable moment before yesterday.”

  She met his eyes, noting the thoughtfulness in their clarity, and softened slightly, “right.”

  Kion gripped her hand firmly, grin widening, “I’m glad you welcome it. I was ready to be kicked out for that.”

  Her mouth opened, then closed again, hesitation holding her back. Finally, she whispered, “no... you’re stuck with me.”

  “Happy to hear that,” he said, voice light, but the green in his eyes shone brighter.

  Outside, the sixth bell began to toll, each clang resonating sharply across the city. The sound rolled over the rooftops, echoing in the quiet room, swallowing smaller noises, even her own breathing for a moment. Writ noticed Kion speaking mid-bell, but his words were lost beneath the metallic vibrations of the chimes.

  When the final ring faded, Kion smiled and said softly, “alright. I mustn’t be late today. Mind if I have my hand back?”

  She released him reluctantly. He gave her a quick pat on the head, a small, grounding gesture, before his human form shimmered and collapsed into the familiar wings and slight frame she knew.

  “Ah, Lunlun. I have to attend an event today. It’ll run all day so I’ll come late tonight,” he slung the satchel over one shoulder, then added more gently, “promise me you’ll have your dinner first?”

  She nodded.

  “Thank you,” his smile warmed, and he fluttered to the windowsill. She followed with small steps, opening the window for him.

  “See you later tonight!” he called, voice bright, spilling over the sill like a ribbon of sound.

  Writ nodded, a faint smile touching her lips, and opened the window to watch him go. His wings caught the sunlight one last time, brilliant amber and scarlet, before he zipped into the sky, leaving only the gentle rush of air behind him.

  Alone now, she let her fingers brush over the empty space on the windowsill where he had stood, the lingering warmth of presence still teasing her skin. The quiet wrapped around her, comforting and sharp at the same time.

  The smile faded as she closed the window.

  Now came the moment when Lunlun had to hide back. The mask of Silent Writ called her forward.

  She moved to the desk, lifted her pen, and set to work. The final version of the report demanded precision. Each stroke, each line, had to be measured, rehearsed, controlled. She forced herself into rhythm, running through questions she might face, writing and rewriting until the words pressed deeper into her memory.

  By the time the sun climbed higher over the rooftops, the page before her held more than a report. It held her armor for the day to come.

  She let her pen rest, fingers stiff from the repeated strokes, and reached for the plate on the desk. Only a half-finished sandwich remained, edges gone stale from sitting too long. She forced herself to chew the last bite, dry against her tongue, while her eyes skimmed her writing one more time.

  Line after line, memorized until the words blurred. Then the list of possible questions, and the answers she had practiced into shape, over and over until they sounded more natural than her own voice.

  A long, deliberate breath steadied her before she closed the folder with a quiet snap. One neat stack for the final report. The one she would hand over. The rest, the scratched-out drafts and failed rehearsals, she tucked into the drawer where they belonged.

  She rose slowly, stretching her stiff shoulders, and crossed to the washbasin. The splash of cold water shocked her awake, sharpened her thoughts, forced her breathing into rhythm again. She stared into the mirror as droplets slid down her face. The reflection looking back was hers, but the surface felt thin. Like she was one twitch away from seeing someone else staring out.

  Nine had shaken her more than she wanted to admit. Too familiar. Too close. And after last night, after letting Lunlun slip out to savor Kion’s presence and breathing freely outside the box she kept sealed, holding the mask of Silent Writ felt harder than before.

  Dangerous. Weakness. If the Accord saw it, they would mark it, prod it, and cut it out without hesitation. She prayed Lunlun would stay buried today.

  Piece by piece, she assembled her disguise. Wig combed into place. Shirt buttoned stiff. Trousers drawn snug. Boots laced and tugged tight. Cloak swung over her shoulders, heavy enough to hide the tremor in her arms. Hidden blades strapped beneath, a comfort she hoped not to need. Each layer was part of the ritual, armor not of steel but of pretense.

  Caustic’s words. Caedern’s promise. A shift was coming. She still had no answer after hours of circling thought, no conclusion to brace against. Whatever it was, she had no choice but to meet it head-on.

  At the threshold, she paused. One hand dipped into her pocket, brushing against the familiar weight of Kion’s pouch. The coins rattled softly against her skin. She rolled them between her fingers, grounding herself in the small anchor they carried. A quiet reminder, an echo of his presence, proof she hadn’t been left behind.

  Her chest tightened, but she held the thread of his promise close, taut between them, invisible but unbroken. She let it steady her, let it breathe courage into her ribs.

  As long as that line held, she would be ready.

  She checked the glyph on her door. Still intact, still silent. Then she drew in one last breath and unlatched the door. The hinges creaked faintly as she swung it open and stepped out.

  The mask slid back into place with every step she took, sharp and cold, erasing Lunlun’s softness until only Silent Writ remained.

  Whatever awaited, she would meet it head-on.

  And she would not falter.