Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The door opened with a soft hiss, and Idia looked up in surprise.

“Here we are!” his mother’s voice chimed, cheerful as ever. “Idy, this is Riddle. He’ll be staying with us for a little while.”

A boy stepped in behind her.

He was small. His shoes made barely a sound against the floor, and he moved with a kind of precise grace, as if he’d rehearsed every step. His hands were folded in front of him, back straight.

“This is Idia,” his mother said warmly, one hand resting gently on the boy’s shoulder. “He’s only a little older than you, so I thought it’d be nice if you two could spend some time together. You can sit anywhere you like, sweetie.”

Riddle gave a shallow, precise bow.

“Good afternoon. It’s an honor to meet you,” he said softly. “Thank you for allowing me into your home.”

His tone was polite and distant, like a script. He didn’t shift his weight, didn’t look around. His hands remained folded, still as a statue, until Idia’s mother gently nudged him toward the desk chair in the corner.

Only then did he move, silent and obedient. He sat down without hesitation, posture rigid, legs tucked neatly together, back straight, eyes cast downward. Like he was in a classroom. Or a courtroom.

Idia blinked, confused.

His mother leaned in and gave him a quick squeeze on the arm. “Come with me for a second, sweetheart?”

He followed her into the hallway. The door slid shut behind them.

“You’ve heard about him, right?” she asked.

Idia glanced away. Of course he had. The lab techs and the researchers wouldn't stop talking about him, the little boy who overblotted. People whispered about how his magic was still unstable, how the readings had never looked like that before for someone this young. No one said it directly, but Idia had picked it up anyway—something terrible had happened to this boy.

“Why’s he here?” he muttered.

His mom gave him a soft smile.

“We just need to keep him under observation for a few days. Monitor his levels, make sure there aren’t any aftershocks. He’s… been through a lot.”

She hesitated, her gaze drifting past Idia as if searching for the right words.

“He’s very polite,” she said finally. “Very well-mannered. But I don’t think anyone’s ever really taught him how to be a kid.”

She reached up and brushed a lock of hair back from his face, fingertips cool and light.

“He’s very lonely, Idy. I thought… maybe you could keep him company, just for a little while.”

He hesitated.

“…Will he remember it?”

The air shifted. Her hand stilled against his cheek, then she let out a slow, careful breath.

“I’m sorry,” she said gently. “You know the rules. We have to wipe his memory before he leaves.”

The hallway went quiet. But then, she nudged him with a little smile, brightening her voice even if her eyes stayed sad.

“You’ve always been such a good big brother to Ortho. Just treat Riddle the same way, okay? Show him your games. Let him see what you’re working on.”

Idia nodded slowly. His mother kissed the top of his head, then turned and walked back down the corridor, footsteps fading into silence.

He stood there a moment longer. Then, after a beat, he returned to the room. Riddle was still there, sitting quietly in the chair, small hands folded neatly in his lap. He hadn’t touched a thing.

Idia shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, glancing at him, then at the shelf in the corner. Quietly, he made his way over to a small case of old handheld consoles. He crouched down and started sorting through them, trying to remember which ones still worked.

“…Wanna try one of my games?”

Riddle looked up, eyes wide, a little uncertain—but curious, too.

“If it’s alright,” Riddle said softly. “I’ve… never played one before.”

Idia blinked.

“…Oh.” He held out the console. “Well… I can show you.”

Moments later, Idia sat cross-legged on the floor and placed the small handheld between them, the screen flickering to life with vibrant colors and looping title music. Riddle watched it like it might bite him.

“It’s simple,” Idia said. “Left to move, this one jumps, and that button attacks. You don’t have to press too many at once, no complex combos in this game. Just, like… try it out.”

Riddle looked at the device, then at Idia, uncertain.

“What... what if I break something?”

Idia blinked. “What? No, you won’t. Look.” He tapped the buttons quickly, making the little character on screen bounce and spin with practiced ease. “See? It’s fine.”

He offered the console again.

Riddle reached for it with slow hands, holding it like it was a priceless artifact, thumbs hovering nervously over the buttons. Idia scooted a little closer so he could point to the controls comfortably.

“You can start with just jumping. Try that first.”

Riddle pressed the button. On screen, the little creature jumped straight into a wall and fell back with a defeated squeak.

Riddle flinched. “Ah—sorry—”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Idia said quickly. “Seriously. No one’s good at games the first time.”

“I’ll do better,” Riddle said, eyes fixed on the screen, voice soft but strained. “I just need to concentrate.”

Idia watched him quietly. The way he sat, still stiff. The way he held the console—tense, like he was bracing to be corrected.

“You’re supposed to have fun, you know,” Idia murmured.

Riddle’s hands stilled. “…Fun?”

“Yeah. You don’t have to win right away. It’s not a test.”

Riddle glanced sideways at him, like the concept hadn’t occurred to him before. Then he looked back down at the game. This time, when the character jumped, it made it over the wall. Riddle blinked.

“…Oh.”

Idia grinned. “There you go.”

“I think I understand now,” Riddle said, more to himself. “The movement… it has a rhythm.”

He didn’t smile. But he leaned in a bit, just enough to lose the too-perfect posture. His fingers adjusted their grip. The character jumped again, missed a platform, fell, and Riddle didn’t apologize this time. He just tried again.

Idia leaned his chin on his hand and watched him. The minutes slipped by.

At first, Riddle played with all the intensity of a student solving a math equation—silent, laser-focused, thumbs moving with careful precision. But the game was silly. The character made goofy sounds when it fell, bounced, or slipped on a banana peel. The enemies looked like plush toys with cardboard swords. It was hard to stay serious for long.

And then Riddle pressed a button too late and his character ran straight into a glittery, oversized chicken. The impact sent both flying across the screen with a comical crash. The chicken flapped its wings dramatically before vanishing in a puff of feathers.

Riddle blinked and... laughed. Just a short, surprised sound, like he didn’t mean to let it out.

Idia glanced at him. Riddle’s face had changed. His brows weren’t pinched together. His mouth had softened into something close to a real smile—small, but there.

Idia felt a tug in his chest. He looked away quickly.

“…That chicken’s ridiculous,” he said, trying to keep his voice casual.

Riddle nodded solemnly, but his lips twitched again. “Its sword was made of glitter. That hardly seems practical.”

He didn’t sit quite so straight anymore. His shoulders had lowered a little. His hands no longer gripped the console like it might break or vanish. He leaned toward the screen as he played, still focused, but now with a kind of cautious eagerness, like he actually wanted to see what happened next.

Idia just watched for a second, chin still resting on his hand.

“Wanna see something cooler?” Idia asked after a while, reaching over to pull another console from his collection. It was bigger, a bit scuffed on the edges, clearly well-loved.

Riddle tilted his head. “Is it another game?”

“The best one,” Idia said, a little more excited than he meant to sound. He paused, cleared his throat. “I mean, it’s my favorite.”

He switched it on. The screen lit up with stars, a sweeping orchestral theme humming through the speakers. The title glowed: Star Rogue.

Riddle blinked at the shimmering opening screen. “It’s… very dramatic.”

Idia’s lips quirked. “Yeah. It’s epic. You’re a lone pilot, caught between warring factions, and you have to survive through space battles, rogue AIs, collapsing wormholes…” His hands moved quickly as he flipped through save files. “You get to customize your ship, explore planets, pick your own alliances. And there’s a whole secret storyline if you max your affinity with the rebel faction’s navigator, she’s got this tragic backstory about a doomed moon colony, and—”

He caught himself rambling and glanced at Riddle. But Riddle wasn’t bored. He was watching the screen with wide, curious eyes, elbows resting on his knees, chin in his hands.

“A space adventure…” he said quietly. “That sounds so exciting.”

Idia blinked, startled by how genuine he sounded.

“I’ve never heard of anything like that before,” Riddle added. “It’s like something from a book, but even more… vivid.”

A small thrill buzzed in Idia’s chest.

“Here, wanna try the first mission?”

Riddle nodded, straightening. Idia passed him the console again and showed him how to adjust the thrusters, how to steer, how to aim. Riddle was cautious again at first—his ship spun in circles a few times, accidentally firing lasers into empty space—but he didn’t flinch or apologize. He just tried again, brows furrowed in concentration.

“You’re getting it,” Idia said, watching over his shoulder. “Okay, now try to land on that asteroid—no, tilt a little—yeah, like that.”

The tiny ship touched down.

Riddle exhaled, surprised. “I landed.”

“Nice. But this is just easy difficulty, you know. It's really hard on the higher difficulties.” He reached for the console again. “Wanna see?”

Riddle nodded, eyes alight.

Idia switched to his personal save file. The screen filled with explosions, alerts, warning lights. His fingers flew over the buttons, dodging enemy fire, warping through asteroid fields, looping back to shoot a trio of hostile drones in perfect formation.

Riddle let out a soft gasp. “Oh—! That was fast, how did you—?”

“Reflexes,” Idia said, grinning now. “And a lot of sleepless nights.”

Riddle leaned closer, watching as Idia took out a space cruiser and swooped through a gravity well with ease.

“Another one?” Riddle breathed. “And you didn’t even get hit.”

“Eh, they don’t scale well past level 40. If I upgrade the cloaking module, I can take out that whole fleet without triggering an alert. Watch this—”

Riddle didn’t say anything for a while, just kept letting out these small, astonished little “oh”s and “ah”s as Idia navigated the chaos on screen like it was second nature.

Idia couldn’t help it. His grin stretched wider.

Except for Ortho, no one ever really watched him play before. And Riddle wasn’t just watching, he was genuinely interested. 

***

Later that evening, Idia climbed onto the bed with a tablet in one hand and a crinkling snack bag in the other.

“Wanna watch something?” he asked. “It’s animated. It has sword fights, magic, and a cat with a hat!”

Riddle sat at the edge of the bed, hands resting neatly in his lap. “Is it educational?”

Idia blinked. “What?”

Riddle glanced down. “I'm not allowed to watch television. Mother said if I score perfectly on my evaluations, she will consider allowing me to watch educational programs.”

For a second, Idia just stared at him.

“…That’s tragic.”

Riddle looked confused.

“Okay, no offense,” Idia said, already navigating to the movie app with a few quick swipes, “but that’s seriously messed up. You’re gonna love this. Trust me. It’s got everything, duels, dramatic monologues, elemental explosions. It rules.”

He settled the tablet between them and hit play. As the DreamWorks logo shimmered onto the screen, Idia reached for the bag of caramel puffs and tore it open with a flourish. The sugary scent filled the air.

Riddle blinked. “We’re eating… in bed?”

Idia snorted. “Yeah?”

“But… that’s improper.”

Idia laughed, flopping back against the pillows. “Who’s gonna tell on us? The etiquette police?”

Riddle didn’t answer. His gaze drifted to the bag, lingering for a second on the sugary clusters inside. He didn’t reach for one.

“You don’t like sweets?” Idia asked.

Riddle shook his head slightly. “I’ve never tried it. I'm not allowed to eat sugar or high-calorie foods.”

Idia turned to stare. “Wait—never?”

“I have a controlled meal plan. My mother says it's important for mental clarity."

Idia sat up a little. He looked at the untouched snack bag. Then at Riddle—too small for his age, sitting so perfectly still, hands folded neatly in his lap.

No wonder he overblotted, Idia thought grimly.

He pushed the bag a little closer. “Well… you can eat now. Just saying.”

Riddle looked down at the caramel puffs like they were forbidden artifacts.

Idia lay back against the pillows, his arm curled behind his head, eyes flicking between the movie and the boy beside him. Riddle didn’t reach for the snacks. He sat still, back straight, eyes fixed on the tablet screen where the title rolled over glittering stars.

Halfway through the movie, Puss leapt across a rooftop, cloak billowing, sword glinting under moonlight. The dramatic music swelled, then cut to a perfectly timed gag—Puss slipping on a tile and tumbling face-first into a pile of hay.

Riddle let out a startled laugh, short and bright, quickly covering his mouth with his hand.

Idia grinned without thinking.

Riddle sat forward, eyes wide, completely focused on the screen. When the next scene began—a dramatic duel in a flickering tavern—he leaned in even more, a little breathless with wonder.

“I didn’t know movies were so fun,” he said. His eyes were shining. “It’s like… a story, but alive.”

Idia blinked at him, caught for a second on the curve of his smile and the way his voice had lifted, full of wonder.

Cute, he thought.

Then he noticed the way Riddle’s gaze flicked, not toward the screen, but toward the caramel puffs still sitting between them. Just for a second. Then back to the tablet. Idia shifted slightly, picking up the bag and holding it out without comment.

Riddle glanced at it, hesitated.

“It’s just sugar,” Idia said casually, eyes still on the screen. “Nothing cursed. You won’t get sick from one bite.”

Riddle looked uncertain. “I… I’m not supposed to—”

“It's okay,” Idia cut in, quiet but firm. “It's just food. And it’s good, just try it!”

Riddle stared at the bag, brows drawn together. There was a pause. Then, with hesitant fingers, Riddle reached out and took a single puff from the bag. He held it carefully, as if it might fall apart in his hand. He turned it over, studied the sugary coating with the same seriousness he’d used for the game control buttons earlier.

Then, slowly, he brought it to his mouth. He bit in. His lips parted slightly in surprise. His brows lifted, his eyes lit up. He chewed slowly, eyes fixed somewhere in the middle distance like he was processing something entirely new.

“It’s sweet,” he murmured after a long pause, as if trying to fit the sensation into words. “But soft. And it melts." His face lit up. "It's delicious!”

Idia grinned. “Yeah. That’s the point.”

Riddle looked back at the screen. A second later, he reached for another.

***

Later that night, they lay side by side in bed, both in clean pajamas. The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the hallway lights and the rustle of blankets. The door creaked open, and Idia’s mom peeked in, smiling.

“Did you two brush your teeth?” she asked in her usual singsong voice.

Riddle sat up slightly, folding his hands neatly in his lap. “Yes, ma’am. I wouldn’t go to bed without brushing properly.”

Idia rolled onto his side, muffling a snort into his pillow. “He’s serious.”

“Good boys,” she said cheerfully as she stepped inside. She leaned over and pressed a kiss to Idia’s forehead, brushing his hair back.

“Mom,” Idia groaned, pulling the blanket up to his nose, “I’m too old for that.”

“I know,” she cooed. “But I’m your mom. I get a pass.”

Then she turned to Riddle. He blinked at her, stiff in surprise, as she bent down and gave him a gentle kiss on the forehead too.

“Sweet dreams, Riddle,” she said, smoothing his hair back just once before turning to leave.

The door closed with a soft click.

Riddle lay curled slightly on his side, facing Idia. His red hair spilled over the pillow, soft in the low light. His eyes were open, watching Idia through the stillness.

After a moment, he whispered, “Does your mother always do that?”

Idia blinked, still half sunk into the pillow. “Do what?”

“Kiss you.”

Idia made a face, rolling onto his back with a low sigh. “Yeah. Almost every night. She thinks I’m still five or something.” He stared up at the ceiling. “I keep telling her I’m too grown up for stuff like that. She won’t stop.”

He meant it as a complaint. But as the words left his mouth, something about the silence that followed made him glance sideways.

Riddle hadn’t moved. He was still watching him, eyes thoughtful. Quiet.

Then he said, very softly, “My mother has never done that.”

Idia stilled. He’d thought earlier that his mom could be too much sometimes—loud, embarrassing, clingy with her forehead kisses and snack bags and baby talk.

But Riddle’s mom…

He remembered the rumors he’d overheard in the halls of Styx. That the boy had overblotted because of his mother. That she had made him use magic again and again, studying until he cracked under the pressure.

Idia swallowed, his chest feeling tight. He turned onto his side again, facing Riddle now. The other boy looked so serious. His voice hadn’t been sad, just matter-of-fact, like it was something he long accepted.

Idia reached out, poking the blanket between them.

“You kiss someone,” he murmured, “to show you care about them.”

Riddle blinked at him. Idia looked away, eyes on the faint glow of the nightlight.

“It’s kind of embarrassing,” Idia added, his voice quieter, “but that’s what it means. That you… care.”

Riddle didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then he shifted just a little closer under the blankets, and his eyes closed.

***

Over the next day, something shifted.

Idia found himself watching Riddle more than he expected to. Not just out of curiosity, but with something warmer, a kind of interest he didn’t know how to name. He wanted to see him smile. Wanted to hear him laugh again, like that small breath of a giggle he let slip during the movie. 

And it turned out, it wasn’t that hard. Everything was new to Riddle. 

Games, puzzles, silly cartoon shows with loud voices and bright colors. Even basic toys—those cheap plastic ones Idia usually ignored—could hold Riddle’s attention like they were treasures. His eyes would go wide, his focus sharp, as if every moment mattered. 

He’d never had any of it. Idia didn’t ask directly, but he could tell. Riddle was careful, always asking permission before touching anything, always sitting with his hands folded in his lap until invited to join in. But once he did—once Idia nudged a controller into his hands or tugged him toward a new puzzle—the boy lit up like a spark catching air. 

It was cute. Especially when it came to sweets. 

Idia had a stash of snacks, obviously. And Riddle, though hesitant, kept sneaking glances every time Idia opened the drawer. When Idia finally coaxed him into tasting a chocolate bar, Riddle’s whole face reacted—eyebrows lifting, mouth parting slightly in stunned surprise. Like he hadn’t expected something could taste like that. 

He was fun to be around, too. 

Once he started relaxing—once the tension began to ease from his shoulders—Riddle was sharp. Quick-witted. He could keep up with Idia’s explanations, even asking questions that made him blink in surprise. Most kids got bored when Idia started rambling about game mechanics or the physics of a space sim. But Riddle listened. He asked about level design, about coding. 

It was... kind of amazing.  Idia couldn’t help but want to show him more and more.

Ortho also liked Riddle right away. The moment he saw him first, Ortho had lit up like a switch had been flipped. “Hi! I’m Ortho!” he’d chirped, grinning wide as he scrambled over, blue socks skidding on the floor. “You’re the one staying for a few days, right? Wanna play something?”

Riddle had blinked, startled. His gaze had flicked between Ortho and Idia, then to the console still glowing from their paused game. “I'd love to,” he said softly, fingers knotting together in front of his chest. “But I'm still not very good."

“That’s okay!” Ortho said instantly, already bouncing back to grab a second controller. “I’ll teach you!”

Idia, watching from the bed, hid a small smile behind the sleeve of his hoodie. Of course Ortho would take to Riddle. He had that way of welcoming people in, like he’d known them forever. It wasn’t even fifteen minutes before he had Riddle laughing as if he forgot all about his strict upbringing.

Later, after the game ended and Ortho darted off to get snacks, Idia leaned back on his elbows and looked over at Riddle, who was still sitting on the floor with the controller in his lap.

“Hey,” he said. “Wanna see the rest of Styx?”

Riddle blinked up at him. “The rest?”

“Yeah.” Idia tilted his head. “The labs and other cool places."

Riddle blinked. “Are we… are we allowed to?”

Idia grinned, shrugging with casual confidence. “I’ll inherit Styx one day,” he said, puffing his chest a little. “Technically, this is all mine anyway. We can go wherever we want.”

That… wasn’t entirely true. There were a ton of places his parents would scold him for stepping into unsupervised. But Riddle didn’t need to know that.

Riddle looked uncertain for another breath, then nodded carefully. “Alright.”

And that was it—they were off to explore.

***

Riddle was really cute when he was curious.  And in Styx, he was always curious. 

His eyes went wide at the smallest things—glass panels lighting up beneath their feet, containment fields humming low, doors that opened l just from scanning a hand. His cheeks flushed pink as he asked question after question, voice hushed like he thought he shouldn’t be allowed to want to know so much. 

Idia answered every single one with smug confidence. Of course he did. This was his turf. He’d grown up here. He knew what all the blinking lights meant, what the readings on the monitors tracked, what parts of the facility were running on outdated code that he could fix in five minutes if anyone would just listen to him.

But even with all the fancy equipment and top-secret tech, what got Riddle just as excited—maybe more—were the simple things.

Soda in a can, cold and fizzy. He held it like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to touch it. Took a cautious sip and let out a tiny, startled sound at the sweetness.

Chips in a crinkly bag. He stared when Idia tore it open and poured some into his hand. “With your hands?” he’d asked.

And games—especially games. They’d stayed up past the usual lights-out, Riddle cross-legged on the bed in borrowed pajamas, completely focused on guiding a character through a basic tutorial level, failing and retrying without giving up.

It was... cute. And maybe a little heartbreaking. Idia tried not to dwell on how this was probably the first time Riddle had been allowed to just play. On how excited he got over things most kids would ignore. On how none of it would last.

Riddle wouldn’t remember this. Wouldn’t remember the couch or the games or the soda or the sound of Ortho laughing when he flailed through a mini-boss fight.

And eventually, he’d go back. Back to that cold house, to constant studying, to strict rules and careful manners.

So Idia kept going. Kept showing him everything he could before the clock ran out.

“Check this out,” he said after dinner, leading Riddle into the back corner of the lab. “Made it a couple months ago when I was bored.”

He tapped the side of a metal container, and it clicked open. Inside, something stirred. A small, cat-shaped robot blinked online. Its body gleamed silver-blue under the lab lights, smooth and carefully jointed. It flexed its legs, stretched like a real cat waking up, and let out a high-pitched electronic mewl before trotting out to meet them.

Riddle stepped back in surprise. Then slowly, crouched down, eyes wide.

“It—it's a cat,” he whispered, as if it might run off if he spoke too loud. “A real… no, a robot, but it moves like…”

“Pretty good, right?” Idia said, arms crossed, trying to play it cool. “The tail articulation took forever. Most people would be too stupid to figure it out.”

The robot cat twitched its tail and rubbed against Riddle’s knee with a soft chirp.

Riddle looked up at Idia, face glowing with open admiration. “You’re amazing,” he said. “Really, truly amazing.”

Idia opened his mouth to say something back—he had no idea what—but was interrupted by Ortho.

“Your hair is turning pink, Idy,” he sang, cheerful and smug.

“What—n-no!” Idia flailed, both hands flying to his head, feeling the heat crawl up his neck. “It’s not—!”

But then he heard a soft, small laugh. He turned. Riddle was covering his mouth, shoulders shaking. He was laughing. Actually laughing, bright and happy.

Idia blinked. Then he let his hands fall away from his hair, pink tips and all, and tried not to grin too obviously.

***

Later that night, Ortho padded out of the room with a cheerful goodnight, leaving Idia and Riddle alone in the quiet glow of the bedside lamp. Idia's mother peeked in a moment later, voice light and singsong as ever.

"Ready for bed, my boys?”

She crossed over to Idia first, brushing back his bangs and planting a kiss on his forehead before leaning over Riddle, who watched her with wide eyes. She kissed his forehead just the same, gentle and warm. 

Riddle didn’t move, didn’t speak, but Idia saw the way his hands curled in the blanket. 

“You’ve got a few more tests tomorrow,” she said, stroking Riddle’s hair once, lightly. “So make sure to get some good rest, okay?” 

“Yes, ma’am,” Riddle answered politely. 

She smiled and whispered her goodnights before leaving them alone once again. They lay side by side on the bed, the blankets pulled up to their shoulders. Riddle faced Idia, his expression clouded. 

“Hey,” he said quietly, “are you nervous about the tests tomorrow?”

Riddle’s head shook faintly against the pillow. “No. The tests here aren’t… scary.”

Idia blinked, brows furrowing. “They’re not?”

“No one gets angry about the results,” Riddle said quietly. “They don’t punish me if I do badly.”

That made something twist in Idia’s chest. “Wait. Did you get punished at home? For… test results?”

Riddle’s voice was soft and matter-of-fact, like he was stating something obvious. “Mistakes must be corrected or else I’ll repeat them. It’s important to improve. My mother says so.”

Idia didn’t say anything right away. The silence stretched between them. His thoughts tangled in frustration and sadness.

Finally, he mumbled, “That’s not right.”

Riddle blinked.

“You should be allowed to make mistakes. And play. All kids should be allowed to do that.”

Riddle’s eyes widened slightly. He didn’t speak for a long time. Then he blinked quicky, once, twice, and Idia noticed his eyes were shiny in the low light.

“It’s fine,” he said, but his voice trembled just a little. “Mother wants me to be a great mage. So... she must love me, right?”

He glanced up at Idia then, his eyes glistening with something more fragile than Idia had seen before. The question hung in the air, a simple, innocent thing, but it carried the weight of something much bigger. The look in Riddle’s eyes was so full of uncertainty, it tugged painfully at Idia’s heart.

Idia opened his mouth. Then closed it. He didn’t know what to say. He reached out under the blanket, lightly brushing his fingers against Riddle’s, letting them rest there. 

Riddle didn’t pull away.

***

The next day moved a little slower.

Riddle was quieter than usual after the tests, his steps a little smaller, his posture more slouched than the perfect upright line he normally held. The scientists had said he did well, that everything was progressing smoothly, but the long hours and unfamiliar equipment had clearly worn him out.

So when Idia suggested they skip games and just relax, Riddle didn’t argue. They curled up on the big sofa in the lounge, Ortho plopping down on Riddle’s other side with a blanket and the purring robot cat in his lap. Riddle seemed surprised by the closeness at first, blinking rapidly, but he didn’t pull away. He just leaned carefully into the cushions, knees tucked under him, his head resting near Idia’s shoulder.

The movie was an animated fantasy one—colorful, sweet, filled with talking animals and magic spells and kingdoms in danger. Idia had picked it at random, figuring something light would be best. Riddle didn’t say much at first, but he watched intently, eyes following every twist in the plot with quiet focus.

By the time the princess was saved from her sleeping curse by the prince’s true love’s kiss, Riddle was leaning slightly forward, his eyes wide.

He turned to Idia, lips parted, voice soft and genuinely curious. “Does your mother… kiss you like that? To protect you from curses?”

Idia blinked, startled, and then laughed. “What? No, no. More like to annoy me,” he said, shaking his head, a grin tugging at his mouth. “Kisses don't stop curses in real life.”

Riddle seemed to consider that, his brows slightly furrowed. His eyes flicked back to the screen as the credits rolled, the princess and prince dancing together under a sky full of stars.

Idia glanced at him, and his smile softened.

“But,” he added, voice lower now, “if you care about someone, of course you’d want to protect them. A kiss is just… something that shows that.”

Riddle looked up at him again, blinking slowly. His expression was thoughtful, like he was holding the words close, turning them over carefully in his mind. He didn’t say anything, but his gaze lingered on Idia’s face for a moment longer than usual, something unreadable in his expression.

Then he leaned back into the cushions again, drawing the blanket a little closer around himself.

“…I see,” he said quietly.

And they let the credits play out in silence.

***

That night, the lights in Idia's room were dimmed early. The hush of Styx settled softly around them, all quiet hums and distant echoes. The robot cat was curled at the end of the bed. Ortho had already gone to his own room with a sleepy yawn and a promise to play again tomorrow.

Idia lay on his side, facing Riddle, who was nestled under the covers, eyes blinking slowly as sleep crept in. Idia grinned and poked him lightly in the arm.

“You should rest,” he said cheerfully. “We’ve got a big day tomorrow. I was thinking—I can show you the simulation room. It’s like virtual reality but way cooler. You can walk around on a fake planet, and it feels totally real. There’s this ice world with giant jellyfish that float through the air. It’s awesome.”

Riddle’s eyes lit up, the weariness in them pushed back by curiosity. He nodded, the corners of his mouth curving up into a soft smile. “I’d like that.”

They lay in silence for a few more moments, the warmth of shared breath and soft blankets making the room feel cozier.

Then Riddle’s gaze drifted up, lingering on the halo of soft, faintly glowing blue hair curling around Idia’s head. His fingers twitched beneath the blanket, like he wanted to reach out. He started to raise his hand, then hesitated and pulled it back.

“…Why is your hair like that?” he asked at last, curious. “It’s… glowing.”

Idia blinked, surprised by the question. “Oh. Uh… it’s a family curse,” he said, scratching at his cheek, trying to sound casual. “All the Shrouds have it.”

Riddle’s eyes went round again. “A curse?” he echoed, frowning a little, like the idea bothered him. “But… it looks so pretty.”

Idia froze. His hair pulsed faintly, just a flicker of pink at the tips. He curled a hand over the edge of his blanket, wishing he could shrink down and vanish into it. He’d always thought his hair was weird. Another thing that made him stick out like a sore thumb. But Riddle—who looked like a porcelain doll with his neat red hair and impossibly long lashes—Riddle thought it was pretty.

Funny. Idia thought Riddle was the one who looked like he’d stepped out of a fairytale.

“…It’s weird,” he muttered, embarrassed. “It just means I’m stuck here forever. In Styx. That’s what the curse really is.”

Riddle tilted his head slightly, blinking. “But… isn’t that fun?” he asked, sincere. “You get to live in a place full of amazing technology, and you know everything about it. You can make robot cats and play in simulations of other worlds and—”

He paused, lips parting like he was trying to find the right words.

“It sounds like… something from a fairytale,” he said softly.

Idia didn’t know what to say to that. He looked at Riddle—small against the pillow, hair like soft rose petals in the dim light, cheeks flushed faintly with warmth, his expression open and honest.

The hair thing didn’t matter to him. The curse didn’t scare him. Idia felt his chest tighten, strange and warm and confusing.

He didn’t say anything for a while, just lay there watching Riddle blink slowly, his breath starting to even out with sleep. Eventually, Idia whispered, “Good night.”

Riddle whispered it back, even softer.

***

The next morning, after breakfast, Idia tugged on Riddle’s sleeve with a secretive grin. “C’mon. I’m taking you somewhere cool.”

Riddle followed without protest, his steps light, still a little sleepy-eyed but curious as always. The hallway curved into a dimmer wing, not part of Idia’s usual routes, but he knew where he was going. His fingers brushed over the scanner pad, and the door to the restricted zone slid open with a soft hiss. 

Riddle paused. “Is this allowed?”

Idia pulled a card from his pocket, flipping it between his fingers with a smirk. “Nope. But I hacked my clearance last week. Every time I do it, they improve the security, but it's still not good enough to stop me.”

Riddle’s eyes widened. “You hacked it?”

“Obviously,” Idia said, waving the card over the pad. The door slid open with a soft chime. “What kind of genius would I be if I couldn’t get into my own simulation room?”

Riddle’s mouth parted slightly as he stepped inside. The walls glowed with lines of magitech energy, panels flickering with shifting data and unreadable code. Giant mechanical arms lined one wall, dormant for now, and the ceiling arched high above them like a planetarium dome. 

“This is…” Riddle whispered. “I've never seen anything like this.” 

“Wait till we get to the simulation room,” Idia said, not hiding the pride in his voice. “It’s got full combat modes, flight programs, and even spell-loop testing. You’ll love it.” 

They took a sharp turn past another heavy door, Idia flashing the hacked card again. The air here felt cooler, tinged with hums of suppressed magic. 

Riddle slowed down to examine a floating blueprint display, the blue light reflecting in his eyes. “Is that a—?” 

Before he could finish, a voice snapped from behind them. 

“Idia!"

Idia froze. Riddle did too, like a caught animal. 

Two Styx personnel stood at the end of the corridor—one tall, the other with a clipboard in hand, glaring over the rim of her glasses. 

“What do you think you’re doing in this zone?” 

Idia slowly turned, slipping the clearance card back into his pocket. “Exploring?” he tried. 

The man stepped forward. “This area is off-limits to visitors. Especially children.” His eyes narrowed on Riddle. 

Riddle ducked his head slightly, cheeks coloring. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice quiet. 

Idia’s jaw clenched. Then, without much warning, he reached out and grabbed Riddle’s hand. 

“Come on.” 

“What—?” 

“Run!” 

Their shoes squeaked against the glossy floor as they bolted down the side corridor. Idia laughed under his breath as Riddle scrambled to keep up, clinging to his hand. 

“This way!” Idia whispered, yanking open a side panel door. 

By the time they ducked behind a stack of sealed crates, both of them were breathless. The shouting had faded into the distance.  Riddle leaned against the wall, flushed and breathless. Then he laughed—bright and soft and surprised, like he hadn’t expected it.

“We’re going to get in trouble,” he whispered between giggles.

Idia was laughing too, chest heaving. “Yeah, but it was worth it.”

Their hands were still linked, warm and close. Riddle glanced down at their fingers, his laughter fading into a quiet smile. His cheeks were pink. Idia looked too, but somehow didn’t feel like letting go.

So he didn’t.

***

The door to the simulation room slid open, cool air spilling out from within. Pale blue light bathed the dark corridor as the interior came into view—vast, echoing, filled with strange humming machines and glowing rings suspended high above, slowly rotating like silent celestial bodies. The walls were lined with control panels and crystal screens that shimmered with unreadable data. The entire space thrummed with power, like it was waiting to be brought to life.

Idia stepped in first, tugging Riddle gently by the wrist. His voice was bubbling with excitement.

“This is it,” he said, eyes flicking around the room like he was seeing it for the first time all over again. “The simulation chamber!”

He turned to Riddle, who had stepped just inside the threshold, his small hand still curled loosely in Idia’s. His eyes were wide, flicking from the softly glowing runes on the floor to the huge arcane mechanisms overhead. The faint blue light made his pale skin look almost translucent.

“You can recreate almost anything in here,” Idia went on, trying not to get distracted by how fascinated Riddle looked. “Spells, environments, old battles, even artificial enemies. I’ve coded a bunch myself. One of them’s like—okay, picture this—dungeon setting, crumbling ruins, magical traps, and monsters. Like, big ones. You’d love it.”

Riddle turned to him sharply, eyes even wider than before. “Monsters…?” he echoed in a soft, uncertain voice.

Idia blinked, and only then noticed how Riddle had shifted closer, almost unconsciously. He was standing so near their shoulders nearly touched.

“They’re not real,” Idia said quickly, straightening up. “I mean, the sim makes them look and sound and move real, but they can’t hurt you. And if anything tried to, I’ll just take it down.”

He felt a sudden heat climb to his ears and didn’t dare look at Riddle directly.

“I’ll protect you,” he added, quieter now, but firmer. “So don't worry!”

There was a pause. Riddle was looking at him again, his expression unreadable. Then his lips parted slightly.

“Like a prince…?” he asked, so softly it almost wasn’t a question. There was a little wonder in it, a hesitant kind of admiration.

Idia froze. His mouth opened, then closed again.

“Wha—no!” he sputtered finally, waving his hands. “No way, ew, princes are—are lame. They ride white horses and give speeches and wear tights. Ugh. I meant like… like a hero! You know, someone with a giant sword and cool theme music and a cloak that flaps in the wind and they fight for justice and stuff.”

Riddle blinked, then smiled. It was small, but real.

“I think you’d make a good hero,” he said simply. 

Idia looked away quickly. His hair shimmered pink at the edges.

The simulation chamber shimmered as the program loaded, its pulse syncing with Idia’s fingers flying over the console. Lights flickered, a soft thrumming sound growing louder until the air seemed to buzz with static. Riddle stood beside him, watching the scene form with wide, wondering eyes.

First came the light—warm and golden, then the colors. Trees unfurled like blooming paper flowers, their leaves iridescent, shifting hues as the wind stirred them. Suddenly they stood beneath a sky that glowed like an opal, streaked with pink-gold clouds and twin suns hanging low over a sprawling, glimmering forest. Strange birds called from the canopy above. Everything glittered with magic.

Riddle gasped, eyes wide, taking a slow step forward. “Is this… real?” he breathed.

Idia gave a crooked grin, resting a hand on his hip. “Simulated, but yeah. Cool, right? The environment was originally coded to test magic proficiency—target training, elemental reaction times, that kind of thing. But I customized the terrain layout, swapped out the standard mobs for enchanted variants, and added a bunch of magical creatures."

He leaned in like sharing a secret. “I may or may not have added a few mods. Like custom weapons. Wanna see?”

He swiped the air and summoned his blade: a long, obsidian sword etched with glowing blue runes, jagged at the tip, humming softly with power. The glow of it lit his face from below.

Riddle stared at it in awe. “You… made that?”

Idia puffed his chest slightly. “Yup. Fully integrated with my casting style. It even reacts to my emotional state. Like, the cooler I feel, the stronger it gets. You know. Very gamer-core.”

Riddle gave a quiet, impressed “Oh,” and followed as Idia motioned for him to come along.

They walked deeper into the forest, passing luminous mushrooms and fluttering fairies that scattered when approached. Some of them shimmered curiously, others bared tiny fangs. Idia warned him gently—“Those bite”—and drove a few off with a lazy swing of his sword.

Then, through a break in the trees, a castle revealed itself. Pale, tall, elegant, like something out of a fairytale. Its towers glittered in the fading twin light, casting long shadows over the glimmering moat below.

Riddle’s mouth parted. “It’s beautiful,” he whispered, then looked at Idia. “Why would a training environment need something like this?”

“It doesn’t,” Idia said, grinning. “I made it for fun. Thought the fairies and the castle might be your thing.”

Riddle flushed and looked away, but didn’t deny it.

They explored it all: climbed ivy-covered castle walls, tiptoed across enchanted bridges, ran from the shrieking fairies when Idia poked one on purpose. Deeper still, they reached the glowing mouth of a cave.

The cavern shimmered with a low, pulsing light. Crystals jutted out of the rock in jagged clusters, casting long, shifting shadows over the ground. High above, the ceiling arched into darkness, glowing faintly with phosphorescent veins that made the whole place feel like a dream.

The dragon loomed in the center, curled around a pile of molten gold and flickering treasure. Its scales were black as obsidian, veins of orange heat pulsing beneath them like magma. It opened one yellow eye as Idia and Riddle approached.

“Okay,” Idia said, his voice a mix of giddy excitement and mock seriousness. “This guy’s got a big bite radius and flame AOE.”

Riddle stayed close to him, his hands curled tightly at his sides, eyes wide as he looked around. “It’s… so realistic.”

“Right?” Idia beamed. “I coded the textures and ambient effects myself. You should see the ice realm, it’s—whoa, later. Watch this.”

He darted ahead, sword in hand. He moved easily, confidently. This was his space, his creation. Riddle hung back near the cave wall, watching him with round, fascinated eyes.

The dragon rose with a growl, stretching its wings. Fire licked at its throat. Idia smirked.

He charged ahead with practiced ease, dodging flaming bursts, slashing at its wings. Riddle gasped with every movement, clapping once when Idia landed a particularly graceful strike. Idia’s hair flared bright pink. He told himself it was just the lighting.

The dragon’s roar shook the cavern, its voice a low, thunderous growl echoing against the gemstone walls. Idia was grinning as he darted forward, sword slicing through the air in bright arcs, runes gleaming. He weaved past the swipes of claws, jumped back from a plume of fire, already planning his next move—until the floor shifted beneath him.

A glowing crystal beneath his foot cracked with a sharp sound. His footing slipped. Just a second—just long enough to throw off his rhythm. The dragon’s head snapped toward the small figure near the wall. Its pupils contracted.

Riddle froze, a hand half-raised as if to shield himself. His mouth parted in surprise.

Then his expression shifted, suddenly cold and determined. There was no hesitation. In an instant, a spark of magic flared bright and hot and the ground beneath him pulsed with a circle of crimson light. A wave of fire erupted forward, hotter and more concentrated than anything Idia had ever seen in the sim. The flames surged in a controlled, arrowed strike, hitting the dragon full force. 

It was erased instantly.The fire dissolved it in a roar of sound and color, the beast vanishing into digital embers, its death coded in perfect silence after the flash.

Idia blinked, still frozen mid-motion, sword slack in his grip.

“...Whoa,” he breathed.

Riddle was standing stiffly, hands still raised, chest rising and falling in sharp little breaths. His eyes were wide, as if afraid of what he’d just done. Then he looked to Idia, like he was waiting to be scolded.

Riddle’s lips parted. “I—I didn’t mean to—”

“Hey, hey,” Idia said quickly, smiling, voice light. “It’s fine. That was insane. That was, like, final-boss-tier magic.”

Of course. To overblot like he had… his magic had to be immense. That much power in a kid so small... it wasn’t normal. No wonder he was so tightly wound. How much pressure must he have been under? How hard had his mother pushed him to refine his casting like this?

No child should carry that weight. Idia looked at Riddle—so small, still trembling a little, waiting for judgment. He quickly forced a grin.

“I mean—clearly you don’t need me to protect you,” he joked. “You just deep-fried that thing. I don’t even think the cleanup system can handle that kind of total annihilation."

Riddle blinked.

“Really,” Idia said, voice softer now, more sincere, “your magic is… amazing.”

Riddle paused, then gave a serious nod. He exhaled shakily and sat down slowly on one of the glowing rocks near where the dragon had vanished, hands folded in his lap. He looked troubled.

"Mother says I don't control it well," he murmured, eyes on the ground. "And my casting speed is too slow."

Idia blinked. “What? You cast that thing in like—literally a second.”

Riddle’s shoulders tensed. He didn't answer, but his mouth tightened like he was trying not to argue. Idia stepped closer, nudged the side of Riddle’s shoe with the toe of his own. 

“Well, I say you’re super powerful and super cool.  So. Your mom can go debug herself."

Riddle looked up at him in surprise, a little laugh escaping before he caught himself. Idia grinned, happy to see him smile again.

"But well,” he said, sheepish, “you probably shouldn’t be using magic just yet. The staff would kill me if they found out I let you fire off a Level 9 incantation. You're super powerful, but I still need to protect you.”

Riddle's eyes softened. “I… liked it,” he said quietly, “when you fought the dragon. It was like that movie we watched. The one where the prince saves the princess with his sword.”

Idia’s hair gave a little spark of pink before he made a sound halfway between a squawk and a groan. “Ugh, I told you already, I’m not a prince! Princes are lame. It wasn’t like some dumb fairy tale for kids, it was like an adventure game, okay? Like a boss fight. Real combat. Tactics. Stats.”

Riddle tilted his head, a little frown pulling at his lips. “Oh,” he said simply, voice small. He looked away. “I thought the movie was nice.”

“I mean—I didn’t mean it like it was bad,” Idia rushed, waving his hands a little too fast. “Like, yeah, okay, not a prince. But heroes protect people too, you know? That’s what they do. Of course I’d protect you. Always."

He said the last part quickly, then looked off, pretending to examine the flickering code of the cavern walls. His hair had gone almost fully pink now.

Riddle glanced back at him and gave the tiniest smile, like he’d been reassured without needing any more words. He stood and brushed off his pants.

“Then let’s keep exploring, Hero.”

Idia cleared his throat. “Yeah. T-totally. I’ll lead the way.”

They walked deeper into the simulation, down a winding path glowing with floating fireflies and mysterious coded magic. And though he didn’t say it out loud, Idia was thinking—

I really would protect you. Every time.

***

“That was... so good,” Idia said, dropping into his chair, breathless with leftover energy. His voice cracked with excitement. “Did you see the way the simulation terrain adapted to your spell? I mean, sure, I tweaked the AI algorithm to be a little more responsive, but I didn’t think it’d shift that beautifully. And the way that flame spell of yours lit up the cave ceiling? That was like, full cinematic mode!”

Riddle sat on the edge of the bed, legs tucked neatly under him, watching Idia with that soft, attentive expression that somehow always made Idia talk more than he meant to.

Idia leaned back, twirling slightly in his chair, voice softening as the adrenaline started to fade. “Sometimes I pretend it’s real. I always think about it, you know. Going on a real adventure with Ortho. Like, actual exploring in the outside world."

He hesitated, then added, quieter, “But I can’t. I’m stuck here. This is it. Styx, forever.”

There was a heavy pause. 

“You’re so smart,” Riddle said gently. “You can find a way.” And then, a little quieter, as if unsure, Riddle added, “Maybe I could come too…”

The words hit Idia like a punch to the gut. A tight, aching feeling bloomed in his chest. He knew—knew—that in just a few days, Riddle wouldn’t remember any of this. The simulation, playing games together, the way they’d run hand-in-hand through the corridors, laughing. He... he wouldn't remember Idia at all.

He swallowed hard and forced a smile.

“Yeah, totally,” he said, trying to keep his voice light. “What kind of team doesn’t want a max-level mage with crazy stats? We’d be, like, unstoppable.”

Riddle smiled a little, ducking his head, fingers folding in his lap.

The door slid open and Ortho ran into the room, a little out of breath. He was cradling a large box in his arms, one nearly as big as he was.

“Idy!” Ortho beamed. “I brought the space adventure board game! The one with the starships and alien overlords. We were gonna save it for later but—” He looked between them. “Riddle should try board games too, right?”

Idia blinked, then grinned as Ortho placed the box carefully on the rug beside the bed. Riddle leaned over curiously, eyes wide as he traced the glossy cover with his fingertips. The game art glittered under the lamplight—rocky planets, starlight, heroes in armor, a looming alien mothership.

“It’s cooperative,” Ortho explained, opening the lid with care. “We all play on the same team. You get to build your ship and explore space and fight evil together. I can teach you!”

Riddle nodded, moving to sit beside him. Ortho was talking fast, clearly excited. And Riddle… his eyes were bright, full of focused interest. Idia watched from his chair, something warm building in his chest. He found himself reaching for the recording feature on his tablet. Just a short clip. Just to keep this moment. Just to remember it after.

The screen lit up. He recorded a few seconds—Riddle tilting his head as Ortho explained turn orders, Ortho gesturing animatedly to the alien overlord card, the little glimmer of a smile on Riddle’s face. That was it. Just that.

But Ortho noticed.

“Ooh!” he said, peeking over. “You’re recording? Let’s make it a memory log!”

More clips followed. Riddle trying to say something while chewing on the sticky toffee candy Ortho gave him, his mouth completely glued shut, his eyes widening in betrayal as he tried to chew faster, cheeks puffed with effort, hands hovering helplessly near his face. He made a muffled sound that might have been mmmph?

Idia and Ortho both burst into laughter.

“You okay there?” Idia wheezed, camera shaking slightly.

Riddle’s ears turned red. He nodded frantically, trying to chew through it with determination and growing embarrassment. “Mmm—‘m fine,” he finally managed, still chewing furiously.

Another clip: Idia, in full voice-modulator mode, dramatically impersonating the Evil Space Emperor Overlord. He held up a game piece like it was a scepter and delivered a monologue in a ridiculous accent. Riddle laughed so hard he had to clutch his sides, his face lighting up in a way Idia would never forget.

Then there was Riddle playing with the robot cat, a thin string of dangling beads in one hand, a toy Ortho made for the cat. The cat approached with slow feline dignity, then pounced with lightning speed. Riddle laughed, only to freeze, horrified, when the cat batted its paw and sent several game pieces flying. He looked genuinely betrayed, brows scrunched and lower lip jutting out in a little pout.

But the one that got to him most—the one he saved and replayed when everyone had gone quiet—was the clip where Riddle, breathless and flushed from the heat of the game, watched Idia defeat the final boss. It was a risky move, and Idia had pulled it off with a few perfectly timed actions.

Riddle had gasped, eyes shining. “Idia, you’re so cool!”

Idia blinked. “H-huh?”

Riddle was glowing, flushed and smiling, earnest like he didn’t even realize what he’d just said. Idia’s hair lit up in streaks of pink, too fast to stop.

He fiddled with his sleeves, mumbled something about how of course he won, because he was the best strategist and everyone else was basically playing with negative IQ. But later, after Riddle had fallen asleep on the sofa, curled up in a little bundle with his knees tucked close and hair tousled like soft flame, Idia watched that clip again.

And again. And again.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, watching the screen in the dark.

He didn’t want to forget it.

***

The tests drained Riddle. Idis could see it instantly in how quiet he was when he came in. No soft I’m back, no wide-eyed recounting of what they’d made him do, no spark of curiosity lighting up his face.

He just slipped off his shoes and sat on the edge of the sofa, hands folded neatly in his lap, blinking slowly like even that much focus took effort.

Idia hesitated. He'd been excited—he’d stayed up half the night reworking the monster AI in the simulation, and it had turned out so cool. He thought maybe Riddle would like to hear about it, so he started talking. A bit too fast.

“—so then I set the parameters to 0.3 for aggression reaction times, but that was way too fast, even for a simulation boss, so I started recoding the AI core with a dynamic difficulty response curve—uh, you know, so the enemies react to the player’s skill level in real-time—”

Riddle was nodding, politely, but his eyes weren’t as wide as usual. He wasn’t leaning in, wasn’t asking questions. He looked... exhausted. Idia’s voice trailed off. He stared at the carpet for a second, then slowly reached for his tablet.

“Hey,” he said, trying to sound casual. “Want to watch another movie? I found one kinda like that princess one from before. This one’s got dragons and magic and a magic mirror that sees the future, stuff like that.”

Riddle blinked at him, a bit slower than usual, and gave a small nod.

They settled on the sofa again. Idia started the movie with a quick tap on the holo-menu. He sat beside Riddle, arms drawn close, eyes flicking from the screen to the boy next to him.

Riddle didn’t say much. He watched quietly at first, curled neatly in his corner, legs tucked up beside him, the flickering colors painting his pale face in soft blues and golds. But at some point—Idia didn’t notice exactly when—a gentle weight leaned against his shoulder.

He froze. Riddle’s head was resting there, light and warm and completely unguarded. His breathing was soft, his eyes were closed. He’d fallen asleep.

Idia’s heart clenched so suddenly it hurt.

It was ridiculous. He knew Riddle was powerful. He’d seen it. That fire spell in the simulation had practically melted the dragon off the map. Riddle was smart—scary smart. Sharp and quick and laser-focused when he wanted to be.

And yet...

And yet he looked so small, sleeping like this. And Idia wanted to protect him.

There were things even someone as brilliant as Riddle couldn’t fight off. His mother’s cold strictness. The rules pressed into his spine so deeply he sat straighter than he needed to, even in his sleep. The pressure. The expectations. The endless, grinding weight of it all.

And Idia couldn’t protect him from that, either. He clenched his hands in his lap, careful not to move. Careful not to wake him.

Even if Lethe didn’t erase his memory—even if, somehow, by some miracle, Riddle remembered all of this—what then? Riddle would be stuck at home with his mother. And Idia... Idia didn't really exist in the outside world. He was just a ghost on the edge of the map.

Would they ever meet again? Would Riddle ever look at him again with those bright, amazed eyes, lighting up when Idia showed him something new? Would he ever hear that soft laugh again, or the focused hum Riddle made when he was thinking, or those clever questions that always caught him off guard?

Idia swallowed.

He stared at the screen, not really seeing it, barely hearing the music swelling as the prince fought the final battle.

Riddle shifted slightly in his sleep, nestling a little closer. And Idia just sat there, heart aching, memorizing every second. His fingers twitched with sudden nervous energy. Something inside him—restless and aching—wanted to do something.

Then the idea struck.

He shifted, gently coaxing Riddle down to lie more comfortably on the couch. The boy hadn’t stirred, he just curled in a little tighter, one hand tucked under his chin. Now, lying there with his hair fanned like a spill of rose petals, Riddle looked so delicate. Idia lingered a moment, watching the way his lashes lay against his cheeks, the little rise and fall of his chest. Something ached in his chest, deep and strange.

He stood slowly, crossed to his desk and slipped on his headphones. The moment the system booted, he dove into the video files they’d collected, each one more precious than the last. Idia’s hands hovered over the keyboard, then began to move.

He edited carefully. No flashy transitions or effects, just simple moments, strung together like beads on a thread. A memory preserved.

Then came the second part. He pulled up the schematics for a custom memory storage device. It had to be subtle, unassuming. Something small enough not to raise questions. He stared at the blank design window for a while, then typed in a word: Rose.

It reminded him of Riddle’s hair. That pretty, striking red. It had a kind of elegance to it, delicate and sharp all at once. He sketched out a pendant first, shaped like a rosebud just beginning to open, but then split it in half—two perfect mirrored pieces.

He coded the device so that the video wouldn’t play unless the halves were brought together. Even if Styx ordered him to delete the files, he’d have a copy, hidden in plain sight. And the other half would be with Riddle. No one would know what it held. But if… if Riddle ever found him again, if by some miracle their paths crossed once more…

They could watch it together. And maybe... maybe Riddle would remember.

He ran the 3D printer and started working on the casing: silver-gray metal softened by the rosy blush of the enamel. The halves clicked into each other like puzzle pieces, seamless and elegant. He designed them into bracelets, simple and sleek. He could wear his without raising suspicion. And Riddle’s… maybe it could be slipped into his things. Maybe he’d keep it. Maybe…

He held one of the finished pieces in his palm, the metal cool against his skin. His thumb traced the soft curve of the petals. It felt… too small, somehow, to carry everything he wanted it to mean. His hands shook a little, but he smiled.

Even if he was forced to erase the files from his system… this memory would live somewhere else. Hidden. Protected.

Waiting.

***

They woke late the next day, but didn’t matter—the simulation world waited for them, untethered by time. Ortho ran ahead, already animated with energy, while Idia lagged behind, blinking drowsily. He’d worked all night. After Riddle had fallen asleep on the couch the evening before, Idia hadn’t been able to stop thinking about ways to make Riddle happy. Riddle loved animals. So… Idia created more.

By the time they entered the simulator, Riddle was awake and bright-eyed again, still rubbing sleep from the corners of his eyes. Idia led them into the scenario he had spent hours preparing, a patchwork adventure that threaded together all his favorite tropes, but also tailored for Riddle.

They began in a sleepy forest village with winding trails and fluttering pennants. The horses—yes, horses, because he had added that mechanic too—waited just outside the stables. Riddle walked toward one of them slowly, cautiously. It was a tall silver mare with a steady gait and big dark eyes. She leaned her head down toward him, and Riddle reached up instinctively, brushing his fingers against her nose with a quiet murmur of awe.

“Do you want to ride?” Idia asked, trying to sound casual and not like he was holding his breath.

Riddle nodded. “I’ve never really ridden before,” he said, a little sheepish but honest, the way he always was.

“That’s okay! I coded the riding physics to be super forgiving. The horses basically drive themselves,” Idia blurted.

With Ortho’s help, Riddle swung himself onto the saddle, holding the reins delicately, like he was afraid of tugging too hard. As the horse walked, he wobbled slightly, but soon he was smiling, the wind catching his hair as the mare trotted up the trail.

Idia followed on a black stallion, a little clumsier, a little crooked, but he couldn’t stop watching Riddle—how happy he looked, how alive. He wondered if he was imagining it, or if something about Riddle shone brighter here.

They traveled through glowing caves, an enchanted river, a field where soft-eared deer grazed beside waterfalls. Finally, near twilight in the simulator, they arrived at the hidden cave—the endpoint of the quest Idia had worked all night to create.

The cave was round and echoing, illuminated by torchlight that flickered with an enchanted glow. In the center, nestled in velvet moss and ringed by crystals, was a large egg. It pulsed softly with light. The dragon egg.

Riddle gasped in surprise. He walked forward, then knelt, reaching out like he was afraid even his shadow would startle it.

And then, the egg shifted. A crack formed, running jagged across the shell, then another. They held their breath.

And then—a soft whimpering chirp, a little puff of smoke, and a baby dragon blinked up at them with bright, curious eyes. Its scales shimmered with iridescent greens and blues, and the moment Riddle knelt beside it, it scrambled into his arms and nuzzled his cheek with a soft purr.

Riddle went completely still. Then he let out a sound—a breathless laugh, more of a gasp really—and cradled the dragon closer, his expression full of wonder.

Idia stared, struck dumb. He had done that. He had made this. That smile on Riddle’s face… that wide-eyed joy…

Totally worth it.

Ortho beamed. “Idy, you’re really a genius! You created all of this in just one night?”

“Well,” Idia started, flushing immediately, “I mean—uh—it’s not that hard, it’s just efficient modular coding and a basic expansion of creature behavior scripts with a few… okay maybe several custom assets but—"

Riddle looked up, eyes still sparkling as the dragon snuggled under his chin. “Idia,” he said with quiet awe, “you’re amazing.”

His hair flared pink immediately. “Wha—? No! I mean, it’s not like I’m a genius or anything! I just—everyone else is mid, okay?! They’re like, basic NPC tier. I’m just… not useless. Which is a very low bar, by the way.”

Riddle giggled softly, stroking the dragon’s soft scales. “If you say so.”

Idia’s face burned.

The dragon chirped and flapped its tiny wings, climbing up to perch on Riddle’s shoulder. He looked so happy.

Idia stored the image away deep in his memory. He wanted to remember it always.

***

They sat on the couch again, close enough their knees almost touched, a blanket pooling over their legs. The lights were dimmed, the projector humming softly overhead as the animated lanterns of Tangled flickered across the screen. Riddle watched with quiet absorption, eyes wide and bright with each new turn of the story.

Idia tried not to think about how little time they had left.

He busied himself with half-eaten popcorn and commentary he barely voiced, eyes flicking from the screen to Riddle now and then, just to see his reactions. The tiny smile when Rapunzel stepped onto the grass for the first time. The soft intake of breath at the lanterns. The way he looked, lit up in golden hues, the same warm glow dancing over his cheeks and lashes. Idia swallowed.

Then, somewhere near the middle of the movie, Riddle spoke, not looking away from the screen.

“…It felt a little like this.”

Idia blinked, turned toward him. “Huh?”

“Being here.” Riddle’s voice was quiet, almost like he was thinking aloud more than speaking to anyone in particular. “It’s like… you took me out of a tower. Just for a little while. And showed me so many new things.”

Idia didn’t know what to say. To him, Styx felt like a tower he was locked in, with nobody to save him. But to Riddle... his life until then hadn’t even been like a tower. It was far more restricted than Idia’s, like a small, suffocating cage. So he understood.

Riddle's eyes shifted to Idia. They lingered. And that look was completely unguarded, warm and far too gentle. Idia couldn’t breathe for a moment. A slow, rising blush crept up his neck and into his hair, which immediately flared pink, betraying him. He scrambled for words.

“W-well—I’m not like—cool or anything, okay? I mean I’m not like those smooth-talking prince types with their whole smolder thing. That’s not me. I’m like—glitchy NPC energy at best.”

Riddle tilted his head slightly, considering him. The corners of his lips curled into a faint, knowing smile.

“I think…” he said quietly, “you’re cooler than all of them.”

It landed like a blow. Idia stared, his breath caught in his throat. Riddle didn’t say it to flatter him. He said it like it was simply the truth. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. And for a second, Idia forgot how this ended. Forgot that soon Riddle wouldn’t remember anything at all. That this—this tiny moment on the couch with a movie playing—might be the last time they ever felt like this.

His hand shifted on the blanket. Not quite close enough to touch. But still, there. Still, here.

He didn’t know what to say. So he didn’t say anything. He stared at the screen, but all he saw was the light in Riddle’s eyes from moments ago, glowing like a lantern rising into the sky.

The movie played on, but neither of them was really watching now. Riddle sat curled close beside Idia, knees drawn up under the blanket, his head tipped slightly down, hair falling into his eyes.

“…I’m scared,” he said, so quietly Idia barely heard it.

Idia’s chest tightened.

“When I go back,” Riddle continued, voice tight and careful like he was holding something in, “my mother… she won’t be pleased. I shouldn’t have lost control like that. I should’ve been able to hold back.”

Idia froze. It hit like a slap, how matter-of-fact Riddle sounded, like he was already bracing for punishment. Like it was his fault. As if being driven to overblot by relentless pressure and control was some personal failure. As if he deserved it.

Idia wanted to tell him so much. To tell him it wasn’t his fault, that he didn’t deserve to feel this way. But no matter what he said, Riddle wouldn’t remember it in a few days. Everything would be wiped clean, and none of this—none of the things they’d shared, none of the things that had meant so much—would remain.

The thought stabbed at him.

Idia glanced over at Riddle, watching the way he looked down at his hands, fidgeting nervously. His face was downcast, the weight of something unsaid hanging over him. And something in Idia ached.

But then—he remembered.

“I, uh—hey,” he said, moving toward his desk. “I made you something.”

Riddle blinked, looking up as Idia returned with a small box. He opened it to reveal the bracelets he’d made for them.

“I... I thought you might like them,” Idia murmured, feeling his ears burn with the heat of embarrassment. “They’re friendship bracelets. I thought you could have one and I could have the other, you know, like matching ones.”

Riddle’s expression softened, his eyes curious. “They’re really pretty,” he murmured, touching the petal-shaped metal with a careful finger. “You made these?”

“Yeah,” Idia rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m… kinda used to making stuff. For cosplay, mostly. Like props and accessories. Sometimes full armor. Once I made a moving tail for a dragon OC—well, it wasn’t very stable, but it wagged! I mean, that sounds weird, but you get used to animatronics once you rig the servos properly—and you can integrate sound chips—"

He stopped, realizing how fast he’d been talking. “Ah, s-sorry! I’m rambling. Again.”

But when he looked at Riddle, the other boy was smiling.

“It’s fun when you get so excited,” Riddle said, eyes warm. “I like listening.”

Idia’s heart thudded stupidly in his chest.

“R-right,” he mumbled, fumbling to demonstrate. “So, look—when you click the pendants together…”

He gently pressed his bracelet to Riddle’s. The two halves of the rose locked into place with a soft click. A tiny holo-lens flickered to life in the center, and above their hands, a miniature projection glowed. One of the recordings—Riddle’s bright laughter mid-game as Idia voiced the Evil Space Overlord in an exaggerated accent. Ortho offscreen wheezing, the camera shaking.

Riddle gasped softly. “That’s…”

“It's all the videos,” Idia said, a little too quickly, a little too shy. “From our time here. Only plays when the pendants connect. So, uh. We could watch it. Later, if we met again. If you… want to.”

Riddle’s eyes lingered on the glowing image, but he slowly looked up at Idia, his gaze soft, vulnerable. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

Idia nodded. His throat tightened, and he swallowed hard, trying to fight the lump that had lodged there. He didn’t know what to say. There was so much he wanted to tell Riddle, but he knew the time was running out.

Riddle slid the bracelet onto his wrist carefully. It was subtle enough that the long sleeve of his shirt covered it completely, and Idia hoped that it would remain unnoticed when Styx brought him back home. He didn’t want to imagine what might happen if Riddle’s mother saw it—the last thing he wanted was for it to be taken the wrong way, to have something so small and innocent be used against him.

“It’s pretty,” Riddle said, his voice soft, as he looked at the bracelet once more, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. There was something about the way he said it, as if the bracelet held more significance than just an accessory. Idia couldn’t help but watch him, feeling something stir in his chest. He watched the way Riddle’s fingers traced the pendant carefully.

Then, Riddle shifted slightly, his eyes meeting Idia’s, almost hesitant. Idia noticed the way his gaze flickered away for just a moment, as if he were unsure of something. Then, with no warning, Riddle leaned in, closing the space between them.

His lips were soft against Idia’s, a brief, fleeting kiss, warm and gentle. The world stopped for a moment. Idia’s mind went blank, and his heart skipped a beat.

He didn’t know how long it lasted—probably only a second—but when Riddle pulled away, Idia’s lips still tingled, his chest felt tight, and his mind was scrambling to catch up with what had just happened. He blinked, his fingers reaching up to touch his lips, still feeling the softness of Riddle’s kiss lingering there.

Did... did Riddle just kiss him?

His face flushed hotter than ever. “W-what was that?”

Riddle pulled back, his expression suddenly vulnerable. “Well... you said that when you care about someone, you kiss them,” he said, a blush creeping up his neck. “I didn’t have a gift for you, so... at least I could give you a kiss.” He looked away quickly . “I... I hope that was okay.”

Idia’s mind stumbled over itself. “B-but, but on the lips is like...! You know, it’s not just for friends, it’s more like... couples in the movies!” His words rushed out in a disjointed mess, his heart pounding in his chest.

Riddle looked at him, blinking in confusion. He tilted his head, his cheeks flushed. “You said you’d be my hero and protect me,” he said softly, his voice a little hesitant now. “Like in the movies, right?” His words faltered slightly, his eyes searching Idia’s face for reassurance.

Idia blinked, his breath catching in his throat as he tried to make sense of Riddle’s words. “Yeah... but, you only do that with someone... special.”

Riddle’s eyes searched his face, his lips slightly parted, as if he were working through something in his head. A hint of disappointment flickered across his face, but then he looked down at his lap, his hands folding together. “I don’t want to do that with anyone else,” he said quietly, his voice small but sure. “So... you’re special.”

Idia’s heart skipped a beat, his chest tight. He stared at Riddle, the words settling deep within him. Riddle didn’t want to kiss anyone else. He wanted to kiss Idia.

Idia felt his breath catch in his throat, his face flushed with heat. The sudden surge of emotions threatened to overwhelm him, but he didn’t know how to respond, didn’t know what to say to all of this—because everything was so complicated and fleeting, and nothing was certain.

But... Riddle’s expression faltered, a flicker of insecurity crossing his face, his eyes downcast. The sight of him like that was too much for Idia to bear. He couldn’t stand seeing Riddle upset.

Without thinking, without any more hesitation, Idia leaned in and pressed a quick, soft kiss to Riddle’s lips. It was gentle, a simple gesture, but it was everything he needed to say, everything he was too afraid to put into words. He pulled away just as quickly, his face flushed a deep red.

“Y-you're special to me too,” he mumbled.

Riddle’s eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, he just stared at Idia, his lips parted. But then, a soft smile curved his mouth, and he relaxed a little. Without saying anything else, Riddle curled up beside Idia, his head gently resting on his shoulder. 

“I wish I could stay here,” Riddle said quietly, his voice muffled by Idia’s shoulder, as though the words were difficult to get out.

Idia swallowed hard, his throat tight. He didn’t even have to think about it before the words slipped from his lips. “I wish you could stay too.” It was an understatement, a small echo of the truth that was so much bigger than that. He wanted Riddle to stay more than anything. He wanted to be able to laugh with him, to share more of these moments, to have someone who truly understood him.

A friend who wouldn’t forget.

But Idia knew the truth, knew that Riddle would forget him in a few days. He would go back to his life, and this would all be nothing but a dream. Riddle would forget the warmth of their moments together.

It hurt. It ached deep in his chest, but he pushed it down, shoving the feeling into the farthest corner of his mind, locking it away as best he could.

As Riddle sighed softly, snuggling closer, Idia’s arm unconsciously tightened around him, both protective and desperate. He knew what was coming, knew that the goodbye was inevitable. But for now, in this moment, he allowed himself to hold on to Riddle just a little longer, wishing that things could be different.

***

When Idia woke up, he was met with the soft warmth of Riddle sleeping beside him, the peaceful rise and fall of his chest as he slept soundly. For a brief moment, everything felt right. Idia let out a soft breath, a small smile tugging at his lips as he watched Riddle’s quiet, untroubled expression.

But then, reality crashed down on him like a wave. It was the last day. In a few hours, Riddle would be taken back home, and Lethe would wipe away everything. All the moments, all the memories, all the small, precious things they had shared—gone.

His chest tightened, suffocating under the weight of it. Desperation clawed at him, overwhelming in its intensity.

He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t bear the thought of Riddle not remembering him, of their time together becoming nothing more than a fleeting dream. The pain was unbearable, like a weight crushing down on him, leaving him gasping for air.

Quietly, he slipped out of the bed, trying not to wake Riddle. His movements were fast, frantic, his mind spinning with the only thought that could bring him some semblance of peace—stopping this. He needed to stop it. He needed to make sure Riddle would remember him, that the memories they had made together wouldn’t be erased.

His heart raced as he ran through the halls, his steps loud in the corridor. He didn’t slow down until he found himself outside his mother’s workshop. His hands were shaking, and his breathing was ragged, but he forced himself to knock.

“Mom,” he said, voice trembling, the moment the door slid open. “Please. Please don’t let them erase his memory. I—I can’t lose him. Please.”

His mother looked up from her work, her expression understanding, but there was sadness in her eyes that made Idia’s heart drop. She knew what was coming too.

“I’m sorry, Idy,” she said gently, her tone full of sorrow. “It’s impossible. You know it’s always been this way. The way Styx operates... we can’t change it.”

“No!” Idia shouted, his voice breaking. “No, you don’t understand!! I can’t... I can’t lose him, Mom!”

His voice cracked on the last word, and the floodgates opened. He felt the desperate, gut-wrenching sobs clawing their way out of him, but he couldn’t stop them. Tears spilled down his face, mingling with the anger that surged through him. He didn’t want to accept it.

“You—You’re just going to take him from me! You’re going to make him forget everything, and I’ll never get to see him again!” His voice was harsh, raw, and full of pain.

His mother’s face softened even more. She knew. She had been through this before.

“I know you’re upset, sweetie,” she said quietly, her voice tinged with regret. “But this was always going to happen. It’s not something we can change. You know this, Idy.”

Idia’s breath hitched, and the anger boiled over, hot and sharp.

“I hate you,” he spat out, his voice full of venom. “I hate Styx. I hate my life! It's—it's not fair! You don’t even care—that I hate all of it!”

The words left him in a rush, bitter and full of an overwhelming rage he didn’t know how to handle. His fists clenched at his sides, trembling with the force of his emotions.

Before his mother could say anything else, before she could try to comfort him or explain further, he turned and ran. He didn’t know where he was going, only that he needed to get away, needed to escape the suffocating weight of it all. He needed to be alone.

He found himself in a small, quiet corner, somewhere where he could curl up, away from everything. He huddled there, knees drawn to his chest, his head buried in his arms as the sobs wracked through him, violent and relentless. The tears kept coming, and the world felt too heavy to hold.

All he wanted was to make it stop, to make Riddle stay, to make him remember. The pain was too much, too overwhelming to keep inside, and he let it all pour out, helpless against it.

The thought of Riddle disappearing from his life, of never seeing him again, of never hearing his voice or seeing that spark in his eyes... it was unbearable.

Eventually, Idia's sobs began to subside, his chest tight and raw. His eyes felt hollow, exhausted from crying, and his throat was sore. The emptiness in his heart was too much to bear, but there was nothing left to do but try to breathe, try to regain some sense of control.

His thoughts were a blur, disjointed and painful, until panic suddenly surged within him. How long had he been crying? How long had he been hidden away in this corner? The seconds, the minutes, the hours—they all blended together in a haze. He didn’t know how much time had passed, didn’t know if he had missed his chance to say goodbye, to see Riddle one last time.

His heart raced as he scrambled to his feet, his breath quickening in his chest. He rushed down the hall, panic fueling his every step, a cold sweat beading at his brow. His thoughts were a whirlwind—Please, please, I haven’t missed him yet.

He didn’t stop until he reached his room, panting as the door slid open.

But Riddle wasn’t there. His stomach churned with dread, his heart sinking further and further into the depths of despair.

"Riddle..." he whispered, his voice barely a breath.

But there was no answer.

Instead, it was Ortho who was there. The sight of his younger brother standing by the door with tears glistening in his eyes made Idia’s heart twist painfully. Ortho was usually so bright, but now his face was full of sorrow.

“They... they took him away,” he said quietly, his voice breaking.

Idia froze. The words hit him like a punch to the gut, leaving him winded and hollow. His legs felt weak, as if the very earth beneath him had shifted. The weight of the loss crashed down on him, he felt the sharp sting of tears building in his eyes again. It felt like the world was pulling away from him, taking everything precious with it.

But he knew he couldn’t break down again, not in front of Ortho. His brother’s eyes were already filled with sadness, with the same helplessness that Idia felt. Ortho didn’t deserve to see him like this, not when he needed someone strong to hold him together.

Without thinking, Idia stepped forward and pulled Ortho into a tight hug. Ortho’s sobs were muffled against his chest, and Idia could feel the small, broken tremors in his brother’s body. It felt like the only thing he could do now—hold him, be the one to give comfort, even if his own heart was breaking.

Idia pressed his face into the top of Ortho’s head, swallowing the lump in his throat, forcing the tears back. He couldn’t cry anymore. He had to be strong, at least for Ortho.

In the end, Mom was right. It was always like this, he thought numbly. It would always be like this.

They would never get to keep the people they cared about. People would always forget them, vanish from their lives, no matter how much they mattered to each other.

He closed his eyes tightly, trying to push the feelings down, trying to force himself to accept it. For Ortho.

They only had each other now.