Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Crystarium’s solar was bathed in blessed moon light, the air humming with quiet conversation as the Scions discussed the First’s slow recovery. Maps and reports littered the table, of the last sin eaters retreating, and of settlements recovering.

A mere week ago, Meteor had finally defeated Emet-Selch, and returned the night to this star.

Victory had been bought with every last ounce of strength, with the blood and sweat of every Scion. Now, Meteor stood at the end of the room, smiling at the sight of his treasured companions together and alive. Hydaelyn knows, he would die for any of them, but now... now that the battle was finally over, he allowed himself to hope for something more than mere friendship with a silver-haired Scion.

Y’shtola Rhul.

The inquisitive sorceress. Beauty and power in equal measure, with a wit to match too. And hidden beneath her sharp tongue and fearlessness was a woman so kind that she would sacrifice herself just to retrieve an antidote for people she had never met.

Meteor would never forget that moment in the Ronkan ruins, the instant his world nearly shattered, when Y’shtola vanished before his eyes and was thought lost to them forever. And then, the impossible happened: Emet-Selch, of all people, retrieved her from the Lifestream. The relief Meteor felt then, was so overwhelming he nearly broke down.

Y’shtola tilted her head and rapped on her cheek as she debated some arcane theory with Urianger. It was such an adorable habit of hers.

A tiny, crimson pixie flitted into his sight.

“My sapling stares so very very hard,” Feo Ul chirped, perching on his shoulder. Their voice was playful, but there was an edge to it. “Does he like what he sees?”

Meteor blinked, heat creeping up his neck. “Huh? I was just observing my fellow Scions and—”

Feo Ul’s wings buzzed impatiently. “Oh, don’t lie! This branch knows longing when they see it!” They twirled in the air, suddenly nose-to-nose with him. “Is it her wisdom you crave? Her power? Or—” Their grin turned wicked. “Her lips?”

“Feo Ul!” He swatted at them halfheartedly, but his gaze flicked back to Y’shtola unbidden.

The pixie stilled.

“…Oh.” Their voice lost its singsong lilt. “Our sapling desires her.”

“No! It’s not what you think.”

Feo Ul gasped in feigned horror. “Now our sapling denies it? To us? To his beloved branch? Have you forgotten we are bound by a pact?”

Meteor exhaled, shoulders slumping. “Yes, fine. You got me. I have liked her for years,” he admitted, so quiet the words were almost lost beneath the Scions’ chatter. “Since the first time I saw her. We’ve been through so much together. And despite what others think of me, she has never been afraid to give me a piece of her mind, to tell me when I have erred.”

He smiled. “And no matter what happened, she has always stuck by my side. She’s incredible.”

Feo UI tugged at Meteor’s ears. “My foolish little Sapling! She would never cherish you like your lovely branch does!”

Meteor’s eyebrows raised. “Sounds like someone is jealous.”

“Jealous? JEALOUS?! So what if I am?" Feo Ul pouted. "Our precious sapling has forsaken their branch! Such a heartless thing he is. So cold and cruel and heartless!”

Meteor chuckled.

The Scions were so engaged in their discussions that they did not even notice Feo Ul's outburst. Only Alphinaud glanced. When he saw the pixie, he gave a small courteous nod and returned to the maps.

Feo Ul’s tiny hands clenched. “What do you see in that woman? We admit that she is pretty, but the looks of a mortal are fleeting. Fae folk, on the other hand, are forever! Very well, as your lovely branch, we will be your lover!”

Meteor sighed. “You’re amazing, and I adore you—but not like that.”

“Surely our sapling jest!” They fluttered provocatively before his face, their glow pulsing. “Lest you forget, we are also King Titania! And we are so very generous with our favors!”

Meteor gently booped Feo Ul’s nose with a finger. “It’s not something you Fae folk would understand. It’s just… something that only mortals can do. You know, go on dates… hold hands… kiss… and well, you know the rest. Or maybe you don’t.”

The pixie’s glow dimmed.

“So, just a bunch of shallow shallow physical acts that you mortals call love? How utterly boring! As shallow and boring as that woman you so crave!”

Meteor turned to Feo Ul, and his eyes narrowed.

“That’s quite enough. I don’t expect you to understand, but I will not stand for you insulting her.”

Feo Ul shrugged and rolled her eyes.

“Besides,” Meteor added, oblivious to the storm brewing in their eyes, “I’ve made up my mind. I’m going to tell her how I feel.”

For a heartbeat, Feo Ul hovered motionless. Then—

“Oho!” They twirled in a forced pirouette, their laughter high and shrill. “Then we wish you luck, my adorable, adorable little sapling! May your love bloom bright!”

They vanished in a spray of sparkles.

Across the room, Y’shtola glanced up—just in time to see Meteor’s tender smile directed at her. She arched a brow.

The air in the dimly lit bathing chamber was thick with steam, curling in lazy tendrils around the flickering glow of enchanted candles. The scent of lavender and bitter herbs clung to the damp stone walls, a result of Y’shtola’s meticulous preparations. Here, in this secluded corner of the Night’s Blessed’s sanctuary, no one would disturb Y’shtola, or Master Matoya as they called her.

Now that blessed darkness had finally returned to the First, Y’shtola could finally allow herself this rare indulgence.

Her staff lay propped against the far wall, well out of reach. Her robes, neatly folded, rested atop a wooden stool. The water lapped gently at her bare skin as she leaned back, exhaling slowly, her muscles unwinding for the first time in what felt like ages. Her eyelids fluttered shut.

For a single, fleeting moment, she was at peace.

Y’shtola never saw the pixie rise out of the ground behind her, eyes glaring daggers at her back.

Feo Ul paused for a moment, sensing the power brimming in this sorceress, the aether so refined and vast it surpassed most mortals.

This woman was dangerous, yes. But here, she was alone and vulnerable. And most importantly - unaware.

Feo Ul turned translucent and dived into her head.

Y’shtola’s eyes flew open, her breath hitching as her hands shot to her temples. A presence, alien and overwhelming, surged into her mind like a flood of ice water. She gasped, her fingers clawing at her scalp as if she could physically tear the intruder out.

"What—?!"

The voice that answered was honeyed and cruel, whispering from within her own thoughts.

"Oh, dear, dear mortal… Did you truly think you could steal my sapling?"

Feo Ul.

The pixie’s laughter echoed inside her skull, bright and manic. Y’shtola thrashed, water sloshing violently over the sides of the tub. Her vision blurred as her eyes grew heavy. Fae magic was dulling her senses.

"You’ve been so very careless," Feo Ul crooned. "Leaving yourself open like this… No weapon. No wards. Just you, all alone."

Y’shtola gritted her teeth. She had let her guard down. If she had noticed Feo Ul earlier, she could have burnt or repelled the pixie. But now, it was too late. Feo Ul was buried deep within her.

"What do you want?" she hissed.

"You’ve been distracting my dear sapling." The pixie's voice dripped with venom. "Meteor’s heart belongs to me."

“I don’t know what you are talking about!” Y’shtola said. “But you will leave my body or I will– GAH!” Pain lanced through her skull.

Memories unbidden flashed through her mind. Of her childhood. Of her training in Sharlayan. Of her fighting side-by-side with Meteor. And there were other memories too, not of her own. Of great fields of flower and magic in Il Mheg. Of hundreds of pixies zipping through the skies. Of the former King Titania facing a Light Warden…

She tried to stand. Her back jerked as the pixie wrenched control away from her. Her left leg kicked out unbidden. Her right fist closed and opened by itself.

Cold fear seized Y'shtola's heart. Feo Ul didn't just intend to hide in her. Feo Ul intended to take over her body.

Y'shtola's body trembled as she tried to think. She had faced similar opponents before—the Sin Eaters, the Voidsent, the Ascians—beings who possessed or corrupted a victim by taking over their aether. If Y'shtola could just take control of her body's aether flow, she could use it to expel Feo Ul. Or failing that, she could instead immolate them both.

She breathed hard as she fought back. She reached deep into her well of aether–

There was nothing.

Her magic was cut off from her.

"It can't be..." she gasped. Feo Ul had twisted the flow of their aether together, ensuring that Y'shtola's control was buried under the wild aether of the Fae.

Feo Ul giggled. "Ahhh, this will be such fun!"

Tears welled in Y'shtola's eyes. She reached out with a shaky hand. She had to call for help… had to warn someone… Her mouth opened but no words came out.

No no no no–

Y’shtola’s breath came in ragged gasps. She could feel Feo Ul’s will pressing down on hers, tendrils of aether coiling around her thoughts, squeezing tighter, tighter—

Her fingers spasmed against the edge of the tub. The water stilled.

Then—

Silence.

A slow, languid breath escaped Y’shtola’s lips. Her hands lowered, fingers trailing idly through the water.

Her eyes opened again, and a smile curled at the corners of her mouth.

Chapter Text

Y’shtola stood up as water cascaded off her body.

"Much better," she purred, stretching her limbs with delight.

Y’shtola—Feo Ul—raised a hand and turned it slowly in the air, watching the water glide from fingertip to elbow. Such a strange weight to it. Such warmth. Even the way steam kissed the skin felt... vivid.

She stood still, utterly still, and listened — not with Fae ears, but with mortal ones.

The beat of a heart. The rhythm of a breath. The sensation of air moving across damp skin. Every one of them fascinated her.

Feo Ul giggled.

She lifted a lock of silver white hair and watched it cling damply to her fingers. She pinched her feline ears. “So this is what it’s like to be... mortal!”

She squeezed her own arm—gently—then kicked a leg above the water, delighting in how it splashed back down. And that tail! She swished it from left to right. Then she let it curl and relax as she learnt to control it.

She blinked rapidly, letting her world flicker between Y'shtola's aetheric-rich colors and her regular Fae vision. How unique her host's eyes were!

“Y’shtola Rhul at your service!” She angled her head as she admired the sound of her voice, so unlike Feo Ul’s own. “My dearest sapling, do you like the look of your new branch?”

You’ve had your fun. Now get out of my body.

Feo Ul only laughed—a sound too bright, too wrong coming from Y’shtola’s lips.

"Oh, but I just got here!" the pixie cooed. "And we shall give our sapling the happiness he craves! Yes, we shall!"

Y’shtola seethed. You will never fool him.

Feo Ul stopped grinning at once. Her face smoothed and became expressionless. She clasped her hands behind her back, standing tall.

“Meteor, your enthusiasm is appreciated, but do try not to interrupt when I am lecturing.” The tone was even, clipped, with a hint of dryness and a glimmer of condescension. Just like the real Y’shtola’s.

Feo Ul beamed. “Perfect!”

No, wait. Y’shtola did not smile like that.

Feo Ul cleared her throat, shook out her shoulders, and focused. She peered into the reservoir of Y’shtola’s memories, into her childhood, into her education in Sharlayan under Matoya, into her years fighting alongside the Scions. Every spell she learnt. Every enemy she slew. Every tear she shed when a friend perished.

Feo Ul exhaled. This mortal was truly extraordinary.

Those memories are not yours to see!

Feo Ul ignored her.

“Runar, you undersell yourself. I could not have led the Night’s Blessed without your constant support.”

The words came with just the faintest arch of an eyebrow and a small, aloof curl at the corner of her lips — subtle, restrained. She resisted the urge to curtsy afterward.

“Though you and I have not always seen eye to eye, there’s no archon I trust more than you, Urianger.”

She allowed herself the tiniest of smiles, her words firm and warm.

"Mayhap you had your reasons, Exarch. But summoning us against our will was not the way. The Scions will not abandon our home!"

Feo Ul's voice was now lower, wry, every word enunciated like it held weight.

"Oh Tataru, you should've seen how Thancred fumbled when the group of pirates flirted with him!"

She allowed herself a small giggle. Not the unrestrained joy of a pixie, but Y'shtola's refined playfulness, tempered by Matoya's strict upbringing.

Polite, but firm. Powerful, but humble. Knowledgeable, but always eager to learn. Assertive, but not arrogant.

Beauty. Wit. Confidence. These were all Y'sthola's weapons. All Feo Ul's.

The conviction that the path she walked was just. The desire to protect the weak. The promise to honor Louisoix's legacy. The absolute trust in Meteor and her fellow Scions.

Her head was slightly tilted in Y'shtola's usual style. Her eyes were sharp. Her posture now stood tall, still, unmoved by wind or whimsy.

The illusion was perfect now.

You are vile.

Despite those harsh words, Feo Ul could sense Y’shtola’s fear.

“And you are boring,” the pixie said. “So wise, yet so untouched. No lovers at all? What sort of scholar understands the world, yet knows nothing of desire?”

Feo Ul walked towards the mirror.

The reflection was hers—and yet, not.

She tilted Y’shtola’s head, studying the elegant slope of her neck, the sharp angles of her collarbones, her pearl-colored eyes with a hint of blue, the way her damp hair clung to her skin like threads of moonlight. A slow, fascinated smile spread across stolen lips.

"Oh…" Feo Ul murmured, running Y’shtola’s hands down the curve of her own waist.  “No wonder my sapling looks at you so."

There was a strange, almost reluctant admiration in the thought. Y’shtola was beautiful for a mortal. But more than that, there was a warmth to this body, a realness that the Fae had never experienced before.

A wicked idea bloomed in her mind.

She lifted Y’shtola’s hands—her hands now—and brushed her fingers over the swell of her own chest. The touch was light, curious.

Then—

A jolt.

Feo Ul gasped, her fingers jerking back as if burned. The sensation was—delightful—it was like nothing she had ever felt. Not the cool rush of the aether, not the dizzying thrill of mischief. This was heat, a pulse of something deep and unfamiliar, radiating from the point of contact.

Her stolen heart hammered.

"What… is this?" she whispered.

Slowly, almost warily, she touched again. This time, she didn’t pull away. Her fingers traced the shape of Y’shtola’s breasts, testing their weight, the softness of the skin beneath. A shiver ran through her—no, through Y’shtola’s body—but it was Feo Ul who trembled with the novelty of it.

Stop this at once!

But Feo Ul barely noticed Y’shtola’s rage. She was too enthralled by the discovery, by the way her—Y’shtola’s—nipples pebbled under her fingertips, the way her breath hitched when she pressed just a little harder.

A heat pooled between her legs.

A giggle escaped her, high and giddy.

"Oh, this is delightful."

Her hands continued their exploration, mapping the curves of this stolen flesh, each new sensation sending a thrill through her borrowed nerves.

She pressed on her nipples, then she flicked them. They were so sensitive it was almost painful. She rolled them gently between her fingers.

Each touch sent a new jolt between her legs.

She stroked her nipples. The more she did so, the more her breath hitched. Something was definitely happening at the lower part of her body.

Feo Ul’s exploration grew bolder.

Her fingers—Y’shtola’s fingers—traced lower, skimming over the taut plane of her stomach, the dip of her hips. A strange, restless heat coiled inside her, unfamiliar yet impossible to ignore.

For a moment, Feo Ul hesitated. This was the point of no return.

No, she had to do this. This was her body now, and she intended to explore it fully.

DON’T YOU DARE—

Her touch slipped between her thighs.

Feo Ul gasped.

"Oh—!"

The sensation was electric. Her folds were already slick, aching in a way Feo Ul had never known. Instinct took over. Her fingers swiped through wet heat, and a shudder wracked her stolen form.

"What is—ah—what is this?"

Feo Ul traced the delicate folds, feeling the soft, yielding flesh, a subtle warmth emanating from within. She panted for breath as she pressed deeper. Her body trembled.

Her fingertip pushed in.

“Ahh!”

A moan escaped her, even as her host yelled profanities from within.

Feo Ul smiled. She could feel Y'shtola's soul roiling in a mix of shame and unwanted pleasure.

She sank two fingers deep into herself, and her back arched involuntarily. She withdrew her fingers and examined them. They were wet with Y’shtola’s arousal. Her arousal. More. She needed this.

She stroked her wet folds. A new current began to course through her. It was a tingling, a subtle pressure that intensified with each gentle touch. Her breath, which she hadn't realized she was holding, hitched. Her body, more than ever, felt suddenly alive, receptive. She found a small, firm bud, tucked away, and when her fingertip brushed against it, a jolt, sharp and exquisite, rippled through her.

Her strokes grew more insistent. Every movement sent sparks through her nerves, every touch stoked the fire building low in her belly.

It was a dawning hunger, a desire she hadn't known she had. Each touch was a revelation, each burgeoning pulse a whisper of something more.

“Oh, poor Y’shtola. To think you denied yourself this for your entire life,” she said.

Her fingers, no longer tentative, moved with a newfound confidence. She pressed a little firmer, stroked a little faster, following the instincts of Y'shtola's body. Each touch unlocked a deeper sensation. The warmth intensified, spreading like liquid fire through her core. A delicious pressure built in that exquisitely sensitive bud.

Her left hand returned to her breasts to trace her nipples.

A soft moan escaped Feo Ul’s lips, a sound she barely recognized as her own. Her hips began to sway. She was no longer just exploring; she was fully immersed, swept away on a tide of pleasure. Her breath came in short, sharp gasps, her body arching into the touch.

The world outside dissolved, leaving only the relentless, exquisite build-up within Y’shtola’s body. Her breath became ragged gasps, small, guttural sounds escaping her throat – sounds she had never known she could make. Her fingers, now moving with an urgent, intuitive rhythm, intensified their pressure, each stroke pushing her further to the brink.

A delicious, unbearable tension coiled in her belly, tightening with each mounting wave. Her legs trembled, her knees threatening to buckle, but she pressed on, driven by an imperative she couldn't understand but desperately craved.

Inside, Y’shtola thrashed against her prison of flesh, crying out in silent fury—but her body no longer obeyed her. It bowed into Feo Ul’s touch, trembling, wanting.

Feo Ul’s breath came in ragged bursts. She didn’t understand what was happening; only that it was good, that she needed more. Her fingers moved faster, one pinching her nipple while another circled that aching, swollen place until the warmth that had bloomed within her surged into an inferno.

With a sudden, shattering force, it broke.

A gasp tore from her lungs as her body arched, a powerful, involuntary spasm rippling through her. Waves of intense pleasure crashed over her, one after another, blooming from deep within her core and radiating outwards, making every nerve ending sing. Her muscles clenched and released, a profound, shuddering surrender.

For one blinding moment, she was nothing but sensation, lost in the raw, primal thrill of a mortal body pushed to its limit.

When the last tremors subsided, Feo Ul slumped back against the wall, chest heaving, skin flushed. A slow, dazed smile spread across her lips.

"So that’s what that feels like." she murmured, voice thick with wonder. “No wonder mortals are so obsessed with this."

Feo Ul lifted her glistening fingers to Y’shtola’s lips, tasting her own salt-sweetness with a smirk.

"Mine," Feo Ul declared. "This body. This soul. Mine."

And deep within, Y’shtola could do nothing but weep.

Chapter Text

The Rak'tika Greatwood hummed with its usual eerie serenity, the afternoon sun casting long shadows through the towering trees.

Meteor adjusted the strap of his axe as he walked the familiar path toward Slitherbough, his pulse quickening with each step. He had visited Y’shtola countless times since he arrived on the First, but today was different.

Today, he had resolved to ask her the question that had been burning in his chest for months.

Several villagers bowed to him as he passed. Meteor returned their bows. The Night’s Blessed revered him as the Warrior of Darkness. He prayed his presence wouldn’t be noticed by the rest of the settlement. The last thing he needed was to be swarmed by dozens of excited adherents.

As luck would have it, he found her alone, standing near the edge of the clearing, examining ancient runes carved into the bark of a gnarled tree. The sight of her, poised and serene as ever, sent a familiar warmth through him.

"Y’shtola," he called, his voice steadier than he felt.

She turned, and her lips curved into a smile. "Meteor," she greeted. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

“Well, I just came to check in on the Night’s Blessed… and umm… You know, to see if any of you needed help.”

She tilted her head slightly. “Well, there’s a pack of atrociraptors that was sighted about two hundred yalms to the East of Slitherbough. If you’re here to offer help, then that’s where you could start.”

Y’shtola crossed her arms, her expression unreadable.

Meteor opened and closed his mouth. He was suddenly unsure how to ask the actual question he meant to ask.

“You are here for something else,” she said. "Out with it."

He rubbed the back of his neck, aware of the weight of his own words. "I was, uh… wondering if you might be free later. There’s a place at Lakeland I’ve been meaning to visit. A quiet little spot by the water, safe from Sin Eaters and all that. I thought… maybe you’d like to join me? And–and afterwards, if we have time, we could grab dinner in the Crystarium. There’s this lovely new restaurant that just popped up. I heard they have nice lemon pies."

A beat passed.

Then—

"I would love to," she said, her voice smooth as silk.

Meteor blinked. "Really?"

She stepped closer, her tail flicking in amusement. "Did you expect me to refuse?"

"No! I just—" He exhaled. "I wasn’t sure if you’d have the time."

"Why not?" She narrowed her eyes, studying him. "Is this official Scion business, or are you asking me on a date?"

Meteor’s eyes widened. A date had romantic implications. He’d avoided using that word as he didn’t want her to be on guard. He'd never heard of her entertaining any notions of love.

But the Y'shtola he knew had no patience for deceit or veiled intentions.

He clenched his fist and sucked in his breath. “I guess you could call it a date. Is that okay?”

“You brought the night back to Norvrandt. Every soul on this star owes their lives to you." Her fingers brushed his arm—lightly, teasingly. "For you? Always.”

The contact sent a jolt through him. Y’shtola was never this forward. But then again, maybe she had been waiting for him to make the first move. Maybe she felt the same.

Hope flared bright in his chest. "This evening then? We could catch the sunset together."

"Perfect."

As Meteor turned to leave, practically floating on clouded elation, he heard her clear her throat.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” she said.

He swallowed. Had he miscalculated? Maybe she was just testing him. Maybe she wanted to remind him that she doesn’t date.

Y’sthola placed her hands on her hips. “You said you came to offer help, didn’t you? Don’t you dare leave without dealing with those atrociraptors first.”

Meteor drew his axe, grinning in relief. “Consider it done, M’lady!”

The great lake murmured softly, its surface catching the last golden light of the dipping sun.

Meteor sat beside Y’shtola on the grassy riverbank, close enough that their arms nearly brushed. Neither spoke. They simply gazed at the sunset, appreciating the moment of peace, of how rare it was that they could sit here unguarded without the threat of a Sin Eater or wild beast.

Y’shtola’s ears twitched once as a dragonfly zipped past. Her long lashes fluttered, and for a moment, she tilted her head just so. Meteor’s breath caught. The way the light caught on her face… Gods, she was beautiful.

She broke the silence at last, a quiet hum escaping her lips. “You’re staring.”

Meteor glanced sideways. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” She gave him a soft smile. “I was just poking fun at you.”

He exhaled, but his heart was thundering. He would make this the perfect date. He swore it.

They lingered until the sun dipped fully behind the crystalline skyline of Amh Araeng, leaving only the faintest blush of fire across the water. Then, without a word, they stood — their steps falling into easy rhythm as they headed back toward the Crystarium.

Dinner was simple. Just well-seasoned game from Lakeland, vegetables from Crystarium’s gardens, spiced tea, and warm bread that steamed when broken open. And of course, the lemon pies. They sat in a quiet corner of the dining hall, away from the crowd.

“Thancred would never believe you’re capable of this sort of evening,” Y’shtola mused as she spooned a light stew into her bowl.

“This sort of evening?” Meteor said.

She turned toward him, her voice carrying a hint of amusement. “One with no monsters, no battles, and no dramatic monologues about heroism.”

“I can be charming without killing something first,” he said, mock-wounded. “No, wait. I did slay a dozen atrociraptors at your behest.”

She chuckled. "My savior."

Before this evening, Meteor had rarely spent time with Y’shtola outside the urgent business of the Scions. Their conversations had always revolved around primals, politics, or the latest Garlean crisis. Yet now, seated across from her with no world-ending threat looming overhead, the silence between them felt refreshingly ordinary.

Conversation came easily — not because they forced it, but because the weight of saving the First had finally lifted. Y’shtola leaned forward, intrigued, as Meteor recounted his return trip to Eorzea, telling her of how Tataru was still keeping the Rising Stones running despite the absence of the Scions, and how Krile had taken to reading ancient texts on cross dimensional travel. In turn, Y’shtola shared tales from Slitherbough, of the Night’s Blessed’s struggles when they first lived in the Rak’tika Greatwoods, and of how they were now learning to study the Ronkan ruins alongside the Viis of Fanow.

They lingered long after their plates had been cleared, the soft murmur of the dining hall fading around them. No pressing duties. No next move on the board. Just warm tea, a few exchanged glances, and the quiet comfort of each other's company.

After dinner, the night had cooled, and the sky was wide and spangled above the Crystarium. They walked the lantern-lit paths that looped between the open green courtyards and softly glowing flowerbeds.

Here and there, the city still buzzed – friends gathered over drinks, children running in bare feet. But between Meteor and Y’shtola, the world felt quieter, more slowed. They spoke of books they hadn’t yet read. Of places they might visit when things were calmer.

Their hands brushed once — then again. A touch, fleeting. Neither pulled away.

The third time, Meteor gently let his fingers curl around hers, just enough to ask. Y’shtola’s hand didn’t flinch. In fact, she let out the smallest breath. Not of surprise, but something softer. Permission. He looked over at her.

She was smiling again. Not her scholar’s smirk or her dry amusement. There was a glint of mischief in her eyes.

They didn’t speak about it. They just kept walking, fingers intertwined, steps in sync.

When they reached the outer gate of the city, Meteor’s steps slowed.

Should he call an amaro for her? Should he give her a parting hug? Suddenly, he felt like he was the newest Scion at the Waking Sands again, young and unsure.

“Isn’t this the part where you kiss me goodbye?” Y’shtola said.

Meteor’s jaw dropped.

She shook her head in exasperation, then she grabbed his collar and pulled him in. Her lips, soft and full, found his.

She was kissing him. She was kissing him!

When they parted, Meteor was breathless. The faintest smirk played at the corner of Y’shtola’s mouth, her eyes half-lidded in a way that sent heat creeping up his neck.

"Wow. I–I should probably send you back," he said, clearing his throat. "The amaro is usually safe, but this late at night we can’t be sure–"

"There’s no need," she interrupted. "I find myself… reluctant to part so soon."

Meteor swallowed.

She stepped closer, her tail brushing against his leg. "You’ve spoken often of your suite in the Pendants. And yet, I’ve never seen it."

His pulse spiked. "You… want to come up?"

Her fingers traced idle patterns along his forearm. "Unless you’d rather I didn’t."

"No! I mean—yes. I’d like that." He fumbled for his key, his grip suddenly unsteady.

She laughed and held his hand again, pulling him back towards the Crystarium.