The soft rustle of parchment was the only sound.
Perseus sat hunched at the long wooden table, bathed in candlelight. Ancient scrolls were spread before him like old wounds, the ink faded, the words blurred. He tried to focus on them — rites, histories, divine laws — but they read like empty things.
Outside the stained-glass windows, the moon cast pale light across the tiles. Inside, the acolytes moved in slow silence, reverent and devout, their faces serene.
His wasn't.
He pressed the heel of his hand to his brow, breath caught somewhere between a sigh and a growl.
He'd once believed in this life. Had chosen it. The ritual. The discipline. The peace in obedience. He'd been a weapon, then a scholar. A servant of balance. He had told himself it was better this way — especially after Nyxia vanished. She'd been chaos. Wildness. Heartache.
He had mourned her and moved on. Or tried.
But now…
Now she was back. And not his.
Her laughter still haunted the back of his thoughts — wild and free, like the woman he remembered before everything had gone wrong. And worse still, she was close. Traveling. Living. With others.
Not with him.
Not anymore.
An acolyte approached, placing another scroll beside him with a gentle nod.
Perseus didn't look at it.
Instead, he looked out the window, to the stars beyond the glass. For a moment, his jaw tightened.
This life had once felt like a calling.
Now it felt like a cage.
Years Ago — Sholazar Basin
The rain had just stopped.
The jungle breathed with steam and magic, the air damp and heavy with the scent of rain-washed leaves, damp stone, and wild blossoms. Water dripped in slow rhythm from the broad canopy overhead, puddling between gnarled roots. On a moss-covered ridge overlooking a quiet glade, two unlikely souls rested.
Nyxia, barefoot and wild-eyed, let her feet dangle over the edge. Her stark white hair, tangled and soaked at the ends, clung to her shoulders and cheeks. Beads of water caught in her lashes. Scratches marked her pale arms, and her leathers were muddied and torn. Yet even in her disheveled state, there was something arresting about her — like a storm that hadn't yet spent itself.
Perseus sat beside her, armor dimmed by the downpour but still faintly aglow with Light. His crystalline horns caught the muted glow of the sky, and his tail flicked absently beside him. He looked impossibly solid — ancient and steady against the chaotic beauty of the jungle. His blue skin shimmered faintly where the rain touched it, and even slouched, he gave off the aura of someone forged for battle… and burdened by restraint.
Nyxia side-eyed him. "You're glowing again."
"It's not voluntary," Perseus muttered. "It's divine."
"Must be exhausting."
"Only when you're around."
She smirked. "You flirting with me, shiny?"
He glanced her way, something unreadable flickering in his golden eyes. "Would it work?"
She didn't answer, but her smile stayed — a flash of teeth, a secret kept.
Below them, Loque'nahak prowled into
view, spectral and silent. The great spirit beast padded across the glade and settled beneath the ferns. He didn't growl or stalk — just watched. Waiting.
"You think he knows?" Nyxia whispered. "That we're… meant."
"Meant?" Perseus echoed, voice cautious.
"Meant to cross paths. Meant to fight. Meant to… something."
Perseus tilted his head. "You think fate works like that?"
"You're the immortal one," she said. "You tell me."
He looked at her then — truly looked. The mud on her knees. The wild gleam in her pale-lashed eyes. The chaos she carried and the sadness beneath it.
"I think fate doesn't care what we want," he said quietly. "But we can still choose."
She laughed. Not mockingly. Light. Honest. "Spoken like a man who's never run from anything."
"You'd be surprised."
A silence stretched between them, not heavy — contemplative. Then Nyxia stood abruptly, slinging her boots over one shoulder.
"We should move. Loque doesn't stay in one place for long."
But before she could turn away, Perseus reached out — gently catching her wrist in his gloved hand.
"You don't have to do this alone."
Nyxia froze. She didn't meet his eyes. Not right away.
"I am alone," she said. "You just… distract me from noticing."
Perseus stood, towering beside her, but didn't let go.
"Then let me be your distraction a little longer."
She met his eyes — ancient Light against storm-born shadow. And for one heartbeat, the hurricane inside her stilled.
Instead of replying, she stepped forward, resting her forehead against his chest. His armor was warm. Solid. She let herself linger there.
Loque'nahak rose in the distance, watching them from the glade with glowing eyes.
He didn't move. He just waited.
The silence between them was thick. Charged. Not with danger — no, that was too simple — but with the ache of something unspoken. Something too big for words and too fragile to hold.
Nyxia stretched out like a cat beside the pool, folding her arms behind her head. Her damp hair spread out over the moss like a halo, stark white against the vibrant green.
"Would you have followed me," she asked without looking up, "if I'd gone farther?"
"I don't know," Perseus admitted, lowering himself to sit beside her. "Maybe."
"Liar," she whispered. "You'd chase me into the abyss if I asked."
He said nothing — and didn't have to. The answer was written in every line of his body, every choice he'd made just to be here.
She turned her head, eyes finding his, softer than they'd ever been. "And what happens if I don't come back?"
He held her gaze. "Then I'll wait until you do."
A beat.
Nyxia swallowed. "You shouldn't wait for someone like me."
And he replied, quietly, "You shouldn't have to be someone else for me to wait."
Present – The Temple of Light
The scroll in front of him blurred. The golden script bled into itself, divine revelations becoming meaningless loops and whorls. Perseus blinked and looked up, the carved stonework of the Temple's reading hall suddenly suffocating.
Light poured through the stained-glass windows in soft, calculated shafts — serene. Beautiful. Cold.
Around him, the acolytes sat in quiet reverence, reading, copying, whispering fragments of holy verse to themselves.
But all he could see was a white-haired girl laughing barefoot in the jungle.
"Master Perseus?" a crisp voice called from the corridor.
Perseus didn't look. "What."
A robed advisor stepped in — all formal dignity and pious concern. "The midday rotation of scroll review is beginning. You're expected at the west sanctum."
"I'm busy."
"With respect, sir, you're—"
"I said," Perseus growled as he stood, the legs of the bench screeching back across the stone floor, "I'm busy."
The acolytes looked up, startled. The advisor opened his mouth to respond but thought better of it as Perseus stormed past, armor clinking, boots hitting stone with the weight of thunder.
His Chambers – Moments Later
He slammed the door behind him.
The glowcrystals on the walls flickered with the force of it.
He paced.
Once. Twice.
Then sank heavily onto the edge of his bed, running both hands over his face. The soft hum of the Light that usually soothed him felt invasive now. Empty.
He reached into the drawer of his modest desk and pulled out a folded scrap of parchment — Boo's drunken, rambling letter, still stained with ink and creases.
But it wasn't Boo's voice that haunted him.
It was Nyxia. Laughing. Scowling. Defiant. Alive.
It had been bearable when she was gone. Bearable when she was a memory he could fold and hide between the pages of duty. But now?
Now she was out there. In the world. Living.
And he was here, watching life pass through colored glass and reciting prayers he no longer believed.
Perseus stared at the candle on the nightstand.
And for the first time in years, he considered blowing it out and not lighting it again.