With the debt settled, Leiko let out a long, theatrical stretch, his feet gradually lifting off the snow as he defied gravity. He turned to Lunara, and for a brief mont, their eyes locked in a silent exchange of unspoken emotions. Then, he let out a sharp snarl of annoyance.
"This has been fun, but I’m done here," he called out. "Let know when sothing as interesting as this turns up again."
With a sudden burst of montum, his figure shot straight into the sky like a crimson cot. Magnus and Lunara watched him go for a split second before both simultaneously face-pald.
"The idiot," they muttered in unison. "He forgot the first rule, never fly in the Icy Expanse."
As if summoned by their words, a colossal shadow detached itself from the clouds, closing in on the ascending Leiko with terrifying speed. But before the predator could strike, a second, smaller dot streaked into the sky from the treeline, his hidden protector. There was a blinding flash of red light, a montary screech, and then a massive, decapitated bird of prey plumted toward the landscape like a stone.
Leiko didn’t even flinch or look back, continuing his flight as if the mid-air assassination were a re breeze. Magnus and Lunara looked at one another, the tension finally breaking as they burst into laughter. They had always played by the survival rules of the North when hunting, they had briefly forgotten a simple truth, the rules that governed the rest, didn’t apply to people of status like them.
The thunderous crash of the falling bird faded into the distance, leaving Magnus and Lunara alone in the newfound quiet of the Expanse. The gargantuan corpse of the serpent lood behind them, a silent mountain of scales that would likely take decades to wither.
But this was the Icy expanse, all it would take is a week for there to be nothing but bones and then the falling snow would cover everything to make a new mound.
Magnus ran a thumb over the limb of his restored bow. The wood felt different, warr, pulsing with a new life but he didn’t put it away. He looked out over the horizon where the sun hung low, casting long, bruised shadows across the snow.
"He never did learn how to properly say goodbye," Magnus remarked, his voice barely a murmur.
Lunara didn’t look at him, her gaze fixed on the dancing lights of the aurora beginning to shimr above. "He says it in his own way. By leaving us with a ss to explain to the nagerie."
She shifted her weight, the snow crunching softly under her boots as she stepped a fraction closer to him. Without asking, she reached out and took the bow from his grasp.
Magnus didn’t resist. Even as her fingers brushed against his skin, he remained still, his breath hitching slightly in the frozen air. A small, ethereal phantom of the moon shimred into existence above Lunara’s open palm. She dipped her fingers into the celestial glow, which coated her skin in traces of liquid silver ink. With focused precision, she began to draw elegant, flowing runes along the length of the bow, the silver light seeping into the wood to mask the scent of the previous ritual.
Magnus stood watching, completely srized. The harshness of the Icy Expanse seed to fade, leaving only the serious line of her brow and the way the moonlight reflected in her eyes. He was so deeply lost in the sight of her that he didn’t realize she had finished.
Lunara cleared her throat, tilting her head with a raised, expectant brow.
Caught off guard, Magnus blinked and felt a heat rose to his face. He let out a soft, sheepish chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck to ease the sudden awkwardness. "You just... you looked very pretty," he admitted, the honesty slipping out before he could filter it.
Lunara didn’t shy away, instead, she let out a bright laugh and flung her hair over her shoulder with practiced grace. "I always look pretty," she countered with a playful smirk, handing the bow back to him.
"Using grandmother’s blessing, I have refined and purified the traces of Björn’s essence within the wood," she explained, her voice softening. "Now you can use it with peace of mind."
Magnus looked down at the weapon and felt the difference imdiately. The predatory glare that had pulsed from the bow just monts ago was gone, replaced by a refined, celestial grace. It felt lighter, more balanced, a tool of a marksman rather than that of a butcher. The soothing hum of the moon-silver runes was a welco comfort.
"Thank you," he said, his voice carrying a sincerity that transcended the simple words.
Magnus let out a long breath that clouded in the air, the last of his rigid tension finally bleeding away into the frost. "The North is a little quieter now," he mused, looking over the vast, silent horizon. "For better or worse."
"For now," Lunara agreed, her gaze lingering on the empty sky for a bit before looking away.
She turned and began to walk toward the distant treeline, her silhouette cutting a sharp, graceful line against the endless white waste. Magnus lingered for a heartbeat longer, watching the faint indentations of her footsteps in the snow, before he moved to follow.
Both headed in the sa direction, though their paths would eventually diverge. It was clear they intended to stretch out the remaining ti, making the most of every step before the inevitable parting. Across the vast, shimring Icy Expanse, the two figures moved like dark ink against a white canvas, their silhouettes flickering by occasional bursts of shared laughter that carried on the wind.
Not long after, Magnus reached his own departure point. With a final nod, he too took to the sky, banking toward his distant ho. Just as it had been with Leiko, a shadow detached itself from the rocky crags, his own hidden protector and trailed closely behind the prince.
Lunara remained where she was, standing perfectly still as she watched Magnus disappear into the horizon. Tucked into her hair was a new ornant: a rare, hardy flower that managed to bloom even in the harshest reaches of the North. Magnus had found it nestled against a frozen ridge and had carefully placed it in her hair before leaving, a quiet gesture of affection she found herself appreciating more than she cared to admit.
Nova, who had maintained a detached, silent presence throughout the entire exchange, finally hopped onto her shoulder. His voice was small but tone ca out old.
"You do know," he spoke, his eyes fixed on the empty sky where the prince had been, "that you will have to make a choice sooner or later."
Lunara reached up and gave the small creature a sharp swat to the head, causing him to wince and rub the spot with a huff. "Why should I have to choose?" she demanded. "Why can’t I have both?"
Before Nova could even begin to retort, she pressed on, her voice rising with clear irritation. "From my draconic lineage and inherited mories, there are stories of a dragon queen who kept a harem of princes. I’m not even asking for a harem! It’s just two. Why is that such an impossible request?"
Nova fell into a heavy, pointed silence, his gaze fixed on her with a kind of weary patience.
"You can’t have both because your blood is more complicated than a simple dragon’s, Lunara," he said finally. "Aside from your draconic side, you bear another lineage no less potent or demanding. You are a Godling and a royal one at that. The rules for you are different."
He let out a long, burdened sigh, nudging her gently on the chin with his head to ground her. "You can’t have it all. In the world of high thrones and ancient blood, so sacrifices must be made. You know as well as I do that power always demands its tithe."
His words did nothing to soothe her, instead, Lunara’s glare intensified, her eyes flashing with a spark of genuine resentnt. "What royal lineage do you speak of?" she snapped. "What else defines royalty besides a title, a cold castle, and the shadow of attendants following every waking hour?"
She paced a short, frustrated circle in the snow, her boots kicking up silver dust. "I wake up every day feeling like a waste, Nova. I have nothing to offer my brother or our kingdom because he is simply too capable. Problems are solved before I hear of them, court decisions are finalized with a flick of his wrist. He is a great leader, perhaps too great."
Her voice dropped, tinged with a bitterness that had clearly been festering for years. "Never once has he sought my guidance or asked to stand by his side during a session. Even his new wife, in the short ti she has spent within our walls, has proven more useful to him than I have in my entire life."
User Comments
0 comments from readers