—"Decided to show your face today? Feeling inspired?"—I lobbed the words with a lopsided grin.
He raised his head, face taut, but a spark flickered there.
—"I always wake up inspired. You just haven't noticed yet."—His voice rumbled low, edged with a taunt that thickened the air.
I let out a brief laugh, leaning closer.
—"Humble as ever. Maybe one day I'll crack how you hold so much with so little chatter."
He tilted his head a fraction and fell silent. He sipped his coffee slowly. The quiet returned, sharp and clawed. I knew he relished this—leaving me guessing in the shadows.
—"Maybe words just get in the way."—He murmured it, like dropping a scrap for me to gnaw on.
I rolled my eyes, snagging a piece of bread.
—"You and your notions. Where were you this morning? I looked everywhere."
He turned to me—or seemed to, beneath those dark blindfolds.
—"Running."—Just that.
—"Running?"—My voice climbed, tinged with exasperation.—"We have rooms for that, you know."
—"I know."—He didn't flinch.
I sighed loudly, abandoning the effort to pry more. Nael was a fortress, yet one I couldn't stop trying to scale.
—"At least you came for breakfast. Ella outdid herself."—I nudged the conversation elsewhere.
He nodded, biting into the fruit with care. I studied him, his calm certainty almost maddening.
—"You look tired."—He said abruptly, throwing me off balance.
—"Me? Tired?"—I laughed, though it wobbled.—"No, just trained hard today."
He didn't respond, but I felt his unseen gaze weighing me, as if he saw more than I did.
—"You should rest."—His tone was gentle yet firm.
—"Rest?"—I nearly laughed again.—"You know I don't stop, Nael."
He gave a faint nod, unsurprised. Of course he wasn't. He always knew.
Silence settled once more, thick and charged. I wanted to speak, but the words slipped from grasp. I clutched my tea, its heat searing my palms, grounding me.
—"Have you ever thought about…"—I began, then faltered.
—"About what?"—He asked, steady, intrigued.
—"About… I don't know, opening up more. Sharing what's in your head."—The words spilled out clumsily.
He paused, then a faint smile curved his lips.
—"Why?"—His voice was a whisper.
—"Because…"—I swallowed hard.—"Maybe it would do you good. Connect you more to people."
He chuckled softly, a rare sound that rippled through me.
—"Connect?"—He tested the word.—"I don't need that, Elowen. I'm fine like this."
I sighed, knowing I wouldn't sway him. Nael was unyielding stone, and I was too stubborn to quit chipping away.
—"Alright. But if you change your mind, you know where to find me."—I conceded.
He nodded, and I could've sworn something—gratitude, perhaps—flickered behind the blindfold. He said no more.
We ate in silence, each adrift in our own currents. When we rose, a strange hollowness lingered in my chest, as if something vast had brushed past, ungraspable.
Wandering the halls, I glanced at him again, probing for what Nael concealed. But he was a shadow, always just out of reach.
The apple's sweet scent hung in the air as he set it down, fingers still slick with juice. His eyes met mine, a moment that devoured time.
—"Maybe you should stop digging so much and start moving the pieces."—His voice rasped, soft yet heavy, like a still river with hidden depths.
I laughed, a sharp sound that echoed inside me. Our game was like this: each line a step on fragile glass, and I thrived on the next fracture.
—"And who says I'm just watching? Maybe you're the one blind to my moves."
He tilted his head slightly, an eyebrow arching as if a secret had slipped free. It was rare for his guard to crack.
—"Then show me."—Blunt, unadorned. He returned to his bread and butter, chewing slowly, as if I were a notion he could set aside.
Silence descended again, warm and alive with unquenched sparks. I watched him sidelong, tracing the stark lines of his face. He was a map without markers, and I craved every route.
When he finished, he stood—tall, unshaken, a shadow claiming the kitchen's corner. Before leaving, he shot me a glance—swift, piercing.
—"You said you play. Prove it."
His footsteps faded on the floorboards. I stayed, coffee cooling in my cup, a crooked smile tugging at my lips, a ember flaring in my chest.
Convincing Nael for a movie was like wringing water from rock. He grumbled, wavered, then relented with a curt nod, his face a familiar mask. We sank into the living room sofa, a space too grand for just us. We chose something offhand—a blend of romance and action, a steely CEO and an assistant who chipped away at him.
The TV's glow was our only light, dancing on the walls like restless spirits. Side by side, a gap between us held the line. The film started light, then deepened. The pair on screen—he icy, she relentless—mirrored us in warped reflection.
Each scene tightened the room. When the CEO's gaze locked on the assistant, Nael's burned into me. Does he see it too? I wondered, fumbling with popcorn to mask my racing pulse. The awkward moments stung, laying bare our buried truths.
Then the near-kiss played. The room's silence turned razor-edged. His breath, soft, roared in my ears. Our eyes collided, and something in me teetered—a taut thread ready to break.
The movie pressed on, but I was lost. When the pair surrendered—lips crashing, hands grasping—Nael's stare consumed me. He stayed mute, yet the air around him quivered, as if his heart might rupture.
We drifted closer, unintentional at first. Slow, cautious. Then swift, unavoidable, as if the distance pained us. Our lips met, and reality dissolved. It was a hurried kiss, a pent-up cry breaking free.
His hands seized my waist, pulling me flush against him. Mine tangled in his hair, worsening its chaos. The kiss grew frantic, untamed—teeth brushing, breaths knotting. His skin scorched mine, a blaze no one could smother.
The sofa shrank beneath us. Each touch burrowed deeper, each gasp unlocked more. His hand slid down my spine, steady, drawing me closer. Mine roamed his chest, feeling his heart pound in sync with mine.
We pressed together, clothes a flimsy, aggravating veil. He eased me onto the sofa, deliberate, eyes never leaving mine. All we heard was our jagged breathing and the blood thrumming in our veins.
But fate loves a jest. A faint meow sliced through. I turned to see the black cat, wings trembling, its deep eyes judging. Beside it, the snake coiled serenely, scales glinting in the TV's light.
Nael stilled, chest heaving, gaze alight. I closed my eyes, choking down the heat in my throat. We parted, the air dense, the silence a snapped string.
The film ended with the cat and snake between us, keepers of an unextinguished flame. I petted the creature absently, but Nael's eyes stayed on me. No words were needed. That look promised we'd revisit this—soon or late.
The morning veiled itself in dew, each drop quivering on leaf-tips like unshed tears, mirroring a pale sun too timid to pierce the thick clouds. The air bore a biting silence, heavy with the war's encroaching shadow—a presence unseen but felt in our marrow, a warning the wind whispered. Yet today wasn't about war. It was about my Primordial Ice Phoenix's egg.
—"Take the egg and come."—Nael's voice was dry, weightless, as if echoing a truth he'd long grasped.
His eyes, twin voids, met mine without wonder. He didn't question or marvel—just nodded, as if fate were a path he'd already charted. I followed, our steps muted by wet grass, a dull beat heralding something grander.
The garden greeted us like a breathing secret. Wildflowers shivered in the breeze, their sweet scent blending with the chill of soaked earth. At its heart, the pool of life waters shimmered, a flawless mirror swallowing the clouded sky and casting back a blue so vivid it stung. I took the egg, hands shaking, its icy shell biting my skin. Cold, yet harboring a strange warmth, like a vow unspoken.
—"Place it in the water."—Nael instructed, his gaze locked on me, measuring each move as if I were a piece in a game he'd mastered.
I complied. The egg kissed the surface, and the garden held its breath. A surge of energy burst from the water, a shiver racing up my arms, quickening my heart. The ice fractured, gleaming shards falling like stars, unveiling a shell aglow with faint light.
—"It needs blood and energy. And you."—His voice cut through, resolute, though its undertone eluded me. A command? A question?
With a swift slash to my palm, I let blood drip. Each crimson bead sank like ink, drawn into the egg with unsettling hunger. I shut my eyes, channeling my energy, feeling a rift open within—a link beyond flesh, as if my soul had clasped another. A jagged mark bloomed on the shell, pulsing with my heartbeat.
Then it shattered.
A crisp crack rang out, resounding through the garden. Ice splintered, and from it emerged a fragile creature of breathtaking beauty. Its feathers shimmered blue and silver, winter made flesh. I laughed quietly, unbidden. Compare this to a chicken? Ludicrous. It's like calling the ocean a puddle.
It devoured its shell, growing with each bite. In moments, it swelled from a tiny bird to a 100-meter colossus, wings casting icy shadows across the garden. The earth quaked beneath it, yet something felt amiss. Its power, vast enough to crack the air, seemed… bound.
—"Something's not right."—I muttered, brow creasing.
—"It's limited."—Nael answered, too composed, scanning the Phoenix like a text he'd memorized.—"To match you. Even primordials bend to their masters' pace."
His words struck like a blow. Limit. My weakness tethered it. Still, its eyes—two silent snowstorms—fixed on me with an intellect that dwarfed me.
Then they came. The domain's guardians stepped from the shadows, ancient shapes woven into the garden's fabric. A stone wolf, a deer with luminous antlers, and her: the Fire Phoenix. Her wings carved the sky, trailing flames that warmed the frigid air. As she landed, heat met cold, steam curling upward. Her fiery gaze locked with my Phoenix's, and time seemed to pause.
It was two titans taking measure. My Phoenix, young and untested, lifted her head, wary with unformed instinct. The Fire Phoenix angled her wings, maternal yet challenging, her eyes declaring, I am greater.
—"This will be interesting."—Nael said, a rare smirk tugging his lips. Amusement in Nael? I could scarcely believe it.
The afternoon settled softly, though the air thrummed with their presence. My Ice Phoenix trailed me like a shadow, her heavy tread making the ground moan. Her eyes, brimming with undeserved awe, warmed me in ways I couldn't name. She sees me as all, I thought, my chest tight with something unspoken.
With Nael, it differed. She watched him from afar, feathers quaking as if he were a storm about to break. I laughed, the sound ringing in the still garden.
—"What's wrong, huh? Scared of him? Does she see you as a threat? Hilarious, Nael. Maybe because now you're her father."—I teased, elbowing him.
Nael turned slowly, his blank stare piercing.—"I don't have furry, feathered, or any kind of children. Stop that."
Before I could laugh again, she let out a sound—a low trill, almost a cry, as if she longed to draw us closer, to shield her newfound family. A creature spanning 100 meters, a living force of nature, yet behaving like a child craving her parents' nearness. It was beautiful and absurd, and for a fleeting moment, the war raging outside slipped from my mind.
I glanced at Nael, anticipating a cutting remark, but he only watched, his face an unreadable mask. What are you thinking? I asked him silently. He didn't reply, of course. He never did.
The overcast sky pressed down on us, heavy and gray, but there—amid the ice and fire, between his cold emptiness and her radiant warmth—I felt something stir, something I hadn't known in ages: the whisper of a beginning.
Curiosity smoldered within me, an ember refusing to fade. I had to understand. Leaning against the room's chilled wall, I fixed my gaze on Nael, who read his book as though the world around him held no weight. —"Why was she born so intelligent?"—My voice emerged soft, nearly a whisper, yet edged with a quiet urgency.
He didn't lift his eyes from the page. —"Primordial beasts spend millennia in their eggs. They absorb what came before—legacies, echoes of knowledge. When they hatch, they already carry a sharp mind, almost adult. It's the same with all superior species."—His tone was crisp, clinical, as if he were dissecting the workings of a clock.
I fell silent, letting his words settle over me. My Phoenix, with her ice-blue eyes and feathers that seemed to trap moonlight, already knew more than I could ever hope to grasp. It was mesmerizing. And, I'll confess, a touch unsettling. —"So she understands me more than I do her,"—I murmured, almost to myself.
Nael snapped the book shut with a sharp thud. —"Probably."—The corner of his mouth twitched, not quite a smile—something shadowed, as if he held a secret just beyond my reach.
Then, without warning, the floor quivered faintly, and they appeared. A black cat with wings, its eyes devouring the light, and a white snake, long and sinuous, glided from Nael's spiritual realm like shadows given life. They moved with no hurry, only a cold, almost haughty grace. Their stares cut across the room to the Phoenix, sending a shiver down my spine.
She, my little ice-born beast, shrank back. Her feathers trembled, shedding glinting droplets like scattered gems before they struck the floor. Her head dipped in a bow, an instinctive deference. Before those two, she was a child facing titans.
The three stood frozen, locked in stillness. The air grew thick, heavy as mist before a downpour. No sound passed, yet I could swear something flowed between them—a wordless accord, a recognition I couldn't touch. Then, as swiftly as they'd come, Nael's creatures dissolved, fading like smoke on the breeze.
The Phoenix lingered, her breathing slow and deliberate. With a faint trill, she drifted to me, nestling against my leg. —"Even they felt something,"—I said, my words drifting more to the emptiness than to Nael.
—"Mutual respect,"—he replied, his voice a blade's edge.—"They're on a level she'll only understand with time. If she survives it."—A shadow hung in his words, a weight that made my throat tighten.