Chapter Text
The storm howled around the travelers, its icy breath seeping through even the thickest cloaks. The fire flickered valiantly against the wind, casting wavering shadows on their tired faces. Throné sat for a while, watching Temenos from the corner of her eye. He was distant, his eyes fixed on the fire, his shoulders stiff. The weight of his silence pressed heavily on her, as suffocating as the cold.
After a moment, she stood and walked over to him, her footsteps crunching softly in the snow. She didn’t sit next to him but stood a few feet away, arms folded across her chest.
“Stormy night,” she said, her voice carrying a lightness that didn’t quite reach her face.
Temenos didn’t look at her. “The storm has a way of silencing other things.”
She tilted her head, her eyes narrowing slightly. “It’s been storming for a while now, hasn’t it?”
He finally glanced up at her, his expression impassive. “Storms pass. Eventually.”
“Do they?” she asked, her tone sharper than she intended. “I have the feeling that they just leave wreckage behind.”
His lips curved into a faint, almost bitter smile. “Wreckage can be rebuilt.”
“Not if you’re too busy pretending it doesn’t exist,” she replied.
He turned back to the fire, his face unreadable. “What do you want, Throné?”
She blinked at the question, her voice soft but cutting. “I want to stop feeling like I’m talking to a ghost every time I try to speak to you.”
“I didn’t realize you were in the habit of speaking to ghosts.” he murmured, his voice tinged with a dry edge.
Her jaw clenched. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” he asked, looking up at her with mock innocence.
“Act like this is nothing,” she said. “Act like you’re fine when it’s clear you’re not.”
“I’m perfectly aware of my state, thank you,” he said, his tone clipped.
“Are you?” she shot back. “Because you seem perfectly content to sit here while the rest of us-” She stopped herself, her teeth clenching against the words she wanted to say.
He raised an eyebrow. “While the rest of you… what?”
She shook her head, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Never mind.”
“You’ve already started,” he said, his voice light but laced with something darker. “Why stop now?”
“Fine,” she snapped, taking a step closer. “While the rest of us are trying to hold things together, you’re acting, pretending like... like it didn't matter."
His gaze sharpened slightly, though his tone remained calm. “You think I don’t care?”
“I don’t know what to think,” she admitted, her voice trembling with restrained anger. “Because you won’t share anything, anymore with us.”
He leaned back slightly, his eyes flickering with something she couldn’t quite name. “Perhaps I have nothing to offer.”
“That’s a lie,” she whispered immediately.
“Is it?” he asked, his tone almost conversational. “Or is it easier for you to believe that because it fits the version of me you’ve created in your head?”
The words hit harder than she expected, and for a moment, she could only stare at him. “Don’t turn this around on me,” she said icy.
“I’m not turning anything around,” he said, his gaze steady. “I’m merely pointing out that your frustration might say more about you than it does about me.”
She felt her hands clench into fists at her sides. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”
He smiled faintly, the expression not reaching his eyes. “I’ve been told.”
Before she could respond, Partitio’s voice cut through the tension like a blade.
“Alright, that’s enough, you two,” he said firmly. His usual warmth was gone, replaced by an edge of exasperation. “Ain’t no sense in takin’ swings at each other when we’re all just tryin’ to get by.”
Throné turned her glare on him, her anger still simmering. “Oh, so now I’m the problem?”
Partitio sighed, holding up a hand. “I didn’t say that. But maybe you could ease up a bit. It’s been a tough time for everyone.”
Throné’s eyes narrowed. “And you think I don’t know that? Maybe I’m tired of tiptoeing around and pretending everything’s fine when it’s not.”
Agnea shifted uneasily, her voice soft but pointed. “But lashing out isn’t helping anyone either, Throné. Maybe you could try being… kinder?”
“Kinder?” Throné repeated. “I’ve been nothing but patient. But how long are we supposed to wait for him to stop brooding?”
Agnea frowned. “Brooding?! I don’t know, Throné. Maybe longer than two weeks? Grief doesn’t just go away because you’re sick of it.”
Osvald, seated slightly apart from the group, finally spoke up, his tone as cold as the storm. “Grief is no excuse to abandon responsibility. We don’t have the luxury of indulging it forever.”
Agnea turned toward him, her eyes flashing. “That’s cruel, Osvald. You can’t just-”
“It’s not cruel,” Osvald interrupted, his voice steady. “It’s reality. The world doesn’t stop for anyone’s pain.”
Hikari, who had been silent until now, shifted where he sat. His voice was calm but firm. “Reality doesn’t mean we forget compassion, either. Everyone deals with loss differently.”
“That’s convenient,” Throné muttered, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Maybe we should all just sit in silence and pretend nothing’s wrong. Would that make you happy, Temenos?”
All eyes turned to Temenos, who sat quietly, his hands clasped loosely in his lap. He didn’t look up, his voice clipped and emotionless. “Happiness has never been my goal.”
Throné’s jaw clenched. “No, of course not. Why would it be? You’d rather wallow in self-pity and drag us all down with you.”
“Careful,” Osvald said dryly, though his eyes were on the fire. “You’re dangerously close to honesty, Throné.”
“Honesty is exactly what we need,” she snapped. “We’re falling apart because no one will say what’s really going on.”
“And what’s that?” Agnea challenged, her tone sharp. “That we’re not handling things the way you want us to?”
Throné turned on her, her voice rising. “No! That we're pretending that nothing happened. That he-" she gestured to Temenos, "is pretending that... that Crick-”
“Enough,” Castti’s voice rang out, firm but calm, cutting through the rising chaos. She stood, her hands raised as if to physically halt the argument. “This isn’t helping anyone.”
The group fell into a tense silence, the storm raging on around them. Castti’s eyes moved from one face to another, her expression stern. “We’re all hurting. But tearing into each other won’t bring him back, and it won’t help us move forward.”
Throné’s chest heaved as she stood frozen for a moment, the weight of Castti’s words hanging in the air. Finally, she turned sharply on her heel and stormed off into the night, the snow swallowing her retreating form.
The group sat in heavy silence, the fire’s warmth doing little to dispel the chill left behind. Temenos remained seated, his expression unreadable, though his gaze lingered for a moment in the direction Throné had gone before falling back to the fire.
Castti watched Temenos for awhile from across the camp, his figure stark against the flickering light. He hadn’t moved much since Throné stormed off, his face unreadable, distant.
After a long moment, she stood and approached, her steps slow and measured. She stopped a few paces away, uncertain if she should even speak.
Temenos didn’t look at her. His expression was composed, but there was a tightness to his jaw. “There’s little worth saying tonight,” he said eventually.
Castti crouched near him, settling on the ground across from him. “That’s not like you,” she watched him carefully. “Usually, you have plenty to say about the world, its mysteries and faith."
His lips quirked in a ghost of a smile, but it faded as quickly as it appeared. “Some mysteries are… harder to untangle than others,” he admitted, his tone quiet, almost reluctant. "And faith," he sighed. "It’s supposed to be a foundation. The thing that holds you steady when the world tilts."
Castti studied him for a moment. “It is.” she agreed cautiously.
He tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. “What happens when it crumbles entirely? When the thing you’ve anchored yourself to feels… insubstantial?”
There it was, just the faintest crack in his demeanor. Castti saw it and leaned forward slightly. “You’re questioning more than faith, aren’t you?”
Temenos’ mouth twitched, a bitter smile threatening to surface but never quite forming. “I suppose it’s all tied together. Belief, purpose… guilt.” His voice dropped on the last word, nearly swallowed by the fire’s crackle.
“We’ve been traveling together for weeks now, Temenos. I haven’t seen you do anything that warrants the guilt you carry.” She paused, letting the words sink in before continuing. “Whatever happened - whatever you think you failed to do - you did not.” Her meaning was clear, though she avoided naming the events or the people he so carefully avoided mentioning.
Temenos’ jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond, his expression guarded.
“And Throné…” Castti added, her tone shifting. “I don’t know what your bond with her is. I don’t think Throné is someone who reaches out easily,” she said gently. “It’s… unusual, isn’t it, for her to reach out at all?” She hesitated, weighing her next words. "But she is being turned away. And I don’t think she’s someone who should be rejected too often."
At that, Temenos’ gaze flickered to her, a glint of something unspoken in his eyes. “I know,” he said quietly, the words heavy. “I see it too.” He paused, his voice growing softer, almost as if speaking to himself. “But how can I be a guiding light to her, when all I see is mist?” His brow furrowed as he stared into the fire. “I wonder if she’ll stop reaching out.” he murmured, almost too quiet to hear.
Castti didn’t answer, but her silence was enough. His lips pressed into a thin line. He didn’t look at her, couldn’t face the quiet conviction in her eyes.
“And when,” Castti asked then, “will you stop tormenting yourself? Your faith, your beliefs - why are you holding them to a higher standard than anyone else ever could? Clearly, others believe in you. Crick believed in you.”
“Look where his belief in me led him. It got him killed, Castti." His words were sharp, cutting into the stillness, but there was no malice behind them - only pain, raw and unyielding. "That was his reward for putting his faith in me.”
Castti’s expression softened, sadness washing over her face as she considered his anguish. “Temenos…” she began quietly, her voice steady yet filled with compassion. “You should never doubt someone’s belief if they were willing to die for it. Crick didn’t hesitate, did he? He knew what he was risking, and he made his choice.”
He turned away, his gaze fixed on the fire as if the flames might burn away the guilt gnawing at his chest. “And I should just accept that? Pretend that his death doesn’t haunt me?”
“No,” Castti said gently. “You shouldn’t pretend. But you should remember what that belief meant. Crick saw something in you, something worth fighting for. Worth sacrificing for.”
Temenos didn’t answer, didn’t even look up. His head fell into his hands, fingers threading through his hair as he sat hunched by the fire. Castti stayed where she was, arms crossed loosely as she watched him. Neither spoke, the silence stretching out between them like an unbridgeable gulf.
The fire popped softly, sending faint sparks into the air. Castti shifted her weight, glancing at Temenos as if waiting for him to say something, anything. But he didn’t.
Eventually, she sighed, a defeated sound that carried more weight than she intended. Slowly, she stood, brushing off her skirt. “Good night, Temenos,” she murmured, turning to leave.
“Do you think she’ll stop?”
The question was so quiet, so uncharacteristic of him, that she paused mid-step and turned back. Temenos still didn’t lift his head, his voice low and almost hesitant, like he was asking more than he wanted to reveal. “Throné,” he clarified. “Do you think she’ll stop... trying?”
Castti blinked, studying him for a moment before her expression softened. She stepped closer and let the quiet linger for a moment longer before answering.
“Yes. Yes, I do.”
Temenos didn’t look up, didn’t say a word.
Castti watched him for a moment. The firelight played shadows across his tense frame, but he stayed unmoving, his turmoil palpable in the stillness.
Without another word, she turned and walked away, her footsteps fading.
Left alone, Temenos’ hands tightened further in his hair, his breath shallow and uneven as the silence closed in around him.
The storm had finally passed, leaving the world blanketed in an unbroken sheet of pristine snow. The silence was profound, save for the faint crackling of the fire. Throné trudged back into the camp, her steps muffled by the fresh powder. The storm’s fury had given way to a calm, so absolute.
Everyone seemed to be asleep, tucked into their blankets around the fire. The only one still awake was Temenos, seated where she had left him, his figure unmoving. He didn’t look at her as she returned, nor did he acknowledge her presence.
Good, she thought bitterly, turning her back to him. She didn’t want to talk to him right now.
Throné moved toward her things which were located near a rock, one of the seldom dry spots here. Her hands were numb as she unpacked a change of clothes, the icy remnants of the storm clung to her, and her thick layers were soaked through. She peeled them off one by one, exposing herself to the biting chill in the air. Her breath misted faintly as she slipped into a sleeveless top, her arms bare as she fumbled for her dry tunic.
That’s when she felt him.
His warmth was sudden, cutting through the cold. His body pressed lightly against her back, and before she could react, she felt his hands - a touch so soft she wasn't sure he was there. His fingers brushed over the pale skin of her arms, tracing a slow, deliberate path. Goosebumps rose in their wake, but it wasn’t from the cold.
His breath was warm against the curve of her neck. A shiver coursed through her as he leaned closer, his presence steady yet trembling with something unspoken.
“Throné,” he whispered, his voice low, almost reverent.
Her heartbeat was loud in her ears.
“Right now, I don’t know how to handle this,” he admitted, his words faltering but laced with honesty. His lips hovered near her ear, his confession as fragile as it was raw. “Everything I once believed, everything I built myself upon… it’s all crackling beneath me, like a fire that’s been left untended too long.”
Her breath hitched, her hands gripping the fabric she had been holding. She didn’t turn, didn’t speak, but his touch continued, hesitant. His fingers traced over her arms, lingering, then sliding back up to rest lightly on her shoulders.
“I am unsteady,” he murmured, his tone breaking with the weight of the admission. “And yet, even in this storm of doubt… here I stand, asking you to see me as I am, stripped of certainty." His hands slid to her waist. "Imperfect." His face buried in the crook of her neck. "Seeking.”
Her eyes fluttered closed, her mind racing, yet unable to form a coherent thought. His touch, his voice - it was too much.
She could feel the weight of his confession, the pieces of himself he was offering. And as much as she wanted to lash out, to guard herself against the pain of his distance, she couldn’t deny the truth: she wasn’t ready to let him go.
Her eyes remained closed as she leaned back into him, her head falling against his shoulder, her body tense despite the warmth of his arms around her.
She let the fabric she was clutching to fall and lay her hands over his. It wasn’t easy to let herself be vulnerable - not with anyone. As a thief, she had learned the hard way what it meant to have others take from you: things you didn’t want to give, pieces of yourself you couldn’t ever get back.
The memories flickered unbidden - grasping hands, harsh demands, the unrelenting weight of survival in a world that took without asking. Her throat tightened, and for a brief moment, she wanted to pull away. Offering herself, even to someone she trusted, felt like trying to breathe underwater.
But this wasn’t anyone.
This is Temenos.
She drew in a deep, shuddering breath, reminding herself of that truth. He wasn’t like others - he wasn’t the kind of man who would hurt her, take from her, or leave her hollowed out. She trusted him, not just with her safety, but with the fragile, battered pieces of herself that she never showed anyone else.
Her grip on his hand tightened briefly, grounding herself in the moment.
"I’m here." She whispered, her voice soft but steady despite the storm inside her. "I don't know how to offer. Or what to offer. But if you need... if you need anything-"
Her chest tightened as she said it, the vulnerability in her offer making her heart race. But she meant it. She wanted him to have whatever he needed because she knew he wouldn’t take more than she could give. He wouldn’t hurt her.
This is Temenos.
"Take it."
He said nothing. His breath ghosted over her neck, warm and uneven, and she felt his grip on her waist tighten slightly, as if the words had struck something deep within him. Then he pressed his face again into the crook of her neck, his movements slow and hesitant, like a man who didn’t know what he was searching for.
She froze at first, her body instinctively going rigid, but then she exhaled and relaxed against him. He wasn’t like the others.
This is Temenos.
He stayed like that, his face buried against her neck, his silence speaking louder than any words. She could feel the tremor in his breath, the unspoken struggle within him, and she ached for him in a way she couldn’t describe.
Slowly, she laced their fingers together, squeezing gently to remind him she was there, offering everything she had. She trusted him, and that trust was enough to keep her standing.
Temenos' grip on her waist tightened, pulling her even closer as if the act of holding her could anchor him to something solid, something real. Throné could feel the weight of his vulnerability in the way he held her, as though he was both desperate and afraid of what he might find in the depths of himself. She had never seen him like this. So raw, so broken - and it frightened her.
She felt his lips brush her neck, featherlight and warm, each touch like a whisper against her skin. They trailed Iower, soft and deliberate, leaving a faint dampness in their wake. A tremor ran through her as his lips pressed gently at the curve where her neck met her shoulder. Her entire body was going still at the sensation.
With every passing second, his grip tightened, his body pressing against hers with a fervor that bordered on desperation. His hips shifted forward, aligning with hers, and she felt the weight of him against her lower back. His hand, hesitant yet trembling with need, slid up her side and cupped her breast through the thin fabric. The warmth of his palm made her gasp.
Her heart skipped a beat, a surge of heat flooding her, but with it came a fierce, paralyzing panic.
This isn't right, her mind screamed.
This isn't what you wanted. Not like this.
She struggled to breathe, to think, as his hand moved with a trembling urgency. She was caught between wanting to pull away and not wanting to hurt him.
For a brief, suspended moment, the world around them vanished. It was just his unsteady breaths against her neck, the electric heat between them, and the pounding of her heart. Throné didn't pull away.
He was reaching for something - something deep and aching - and she didn't know how to give it to him. Her breath was coming in shallow gasps, as she felt the weight of his need pressing against her.
And then, he froze. His hand pulled away from her breast abruptly, like it had been burned, his entire body stiffening behind her. He let out a ragged breath, half a groan of frustration and half a broken apology. "No," he whispered, his voice cracking. "This... this isn't right."
His hands trembled on her waist, and for a brief moment, she thought he might let go altogether, but then he pulled her closer again, his arms tightening, his desperation palpable.
"I don't" His words faltered, his chest rising and falling. His forehead pressed against the back of her head, his body shaking with something too heavy for her to understand. "I don't know what I'm doing" he admitted, the words tumbling from him like the weight of his soul. "I... I can't do this, Throné. I'm lost. I don't know how to-" His voice broke, and for a moment, he just held her, trembling, as if the simple act of staying connected to her was the only thing keeping him grounded.
Her heart ached for him. She could feel his internal battle, the way he was pulling at the edges of himself, desperate to find his way back to something he could control. She didn't move, didn't pull away, even though her chest felt tight. She had never seen him so vulnerable.
"Please..." His voice barely reached her, a fragile whisper lost in the stillness of the night. "Please, just let me hold you. I just want to hold you. That's all I can do right now."
His words cracked through her. She reached for his hands, guiding them back around her waist, silently letting him know she wasn't going anywhere. She didn't need him to say more. She didn't need him to figure it all out right now.
"Then hold me" she murmured softly. Again, she leaned back into him, letting his warmth wash over her, feeling the tremble in his arms as he pulled her closer, pressing his face into the curve of her neck.
He buried his face into her hair, the tension leaving his body as he clung to her, his arms strong and unshaking now. It was like the floodgates had opened, and he was holding on to her for dear life. She felt the weight of his need, his exhaustion, his loss, all pressing against her. And she held him back, without hesitation, without question.
In this moment, she didn't need to understand everything. She didn't need to know how to make everything right again. All she needed to do was be there, to hold him the way he needed.
She had always been able to take what she needed from the world - had always been the one to survive by taking - but with him, it was different. He wasn't like the others. He wouldn't take anything from her that she wasn't willing to give.
And she knew, deep down, that she was ready to give him everything. She closed her eyes, feeling his chest rise and fall against her, grounding herself in the moment.
They would find their way back to each other, no matter how lost they both felt. She trusted him, and she knew he trusted her too. That was enough for now.
For now, they would hold on to each other.